The Princess Problem. Teri Wilson

to pay if she didn’t fall in step behind him.

      Plus she didn’t have any money. Or credit cards. Which meant she was totally dependent on the very cranky Dalton Drake.

      Besides, every three or four paces, he glanced over his shoulder, probably to assure himself of her obedience. It was infuriating, particularly when Aurélie recalled the archaic Delamotte law that stated royal wives must walk a minimum of two paces behind their husbands in public. No doubt a man had come up with such a ludicrous decree.

      She held the trembling little dog tight against her chest and hastened her steps. She wasn’t Dalton’s lowly subordinate, and she refused to act like it. Even if, as they said in Delamotte, la moutarde lui monte au nez. The mustard was getting to his nose. In other words, he was angry.

      Fine. So was she. And she wasn’t spending another second scurrying to keep up with him.

      “Arrête! Stop it.” She tugged on his sleeve, sending him lurching backward.

      Dalton’s conservative businessman shoes slid on the snowy pavement, but he righted himself before he fell down. Pity.

      He exhaled a mighty sigh, raked his disheveled hair back into place and stared down at her with thunder in his gaze. “What is it, Aurélie?”

      She blinked up at him, wishing for what felt like the thousandth time, that he wasn’t so handsome. His intensity would be far easier to take if it didn’t come in such a beautiful package.

      His gray eyes flashed, and a shiver coursed through Aurélie. As much as she would have liked to blame it on the cold, she knew the trembling in her bones had nothing to do with the weather. He got to her. Especially when he looked at her like he could see every troublesome thought tumbling in her head. “What do you want?”

      What did she want?

      Not this. Not the carefully controlled existence she’d lived with for so long. Not the future awaiting her on the distant shores of home.

      She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, only that she needed it as surely as she needed to breathe. She couldn’t name it—this dark, aching thing inside her that had become impossible to ignore once her father had sat her down and laid out his plans for her future.

      Palace life had never come easily to Aurélie. Even as a child, she’d played too hard, laughed too loudly, run too fast. Then that little girl had grown into a woman who felt things too keenly. Wanted things too much. The wrong things.

      Just like her mother.

      Aurélie had learned to conduct herself like royalty, though. Eventually. It had been years since she’d torn through the palace halls, since she’d danced with abandon. She’d become the model princess. Proper. Polite. Demure.

      But since the awful meeting with the Reigning Prince and his advisors a month ago, her carefully constructed façade had begun to crack. She couldn’t keep pretending, no matter how hard she tried.

      What do I want? She couldn’t say, but she’d know it when she found it.

      Dalton glowered at Aurélie.

      She inhaled a breath of frigid air and felt as if she might freeze from the inside out. “Are you always this cranky?”

      He arched a single, accusatory brow. “Are you always this irresponsible?”

      “Irresponsible?” The nerve. He didn’t know a thing about her life in Delamotte. “Did I just hear you correctly?”

      People jostled past them on the sidewalk. Skyscrapers towered on either side of the street. The snow was coming down harder now, like they were inside a snow globe that had been given a good, hard shake.

      “You certainly did,” he said.

      God, he was rude. Particularly for a man who wanted something from her. “You do realize who you’re speaking to, don’t you, Mr. Drake?”

      He looked pointedly at the puppy in Aurélie’s arms.

      The little dog whimpered, and she gave him a comforting squeeze.

      If she put herself in Dalton’s shoes, she could understand how adopting a dog on a whim might appear a tad irresponsible. But it wasn’t a whim. Not exactly. And anyway, she shouldn’t have to explain herself. They had a deal.

      He crossed his arms. Aurélie tried not to think about the biceps that appeared to be straining the fabric of his suit jacket. How did a man who so obviously spent most of his time at work get muscles like that? It was hardly fair. “You said you wanted a hot dog, not a French bulldog.”

      What was he even talking about? Oh, that’s right—her grand speech. “The hot dog was a metaphor, Mr. Drake.”

      “And what about the pretzel? Was that a metaphor, as well?”

      “No. I mean, yes. I mean...” Merde. Why did she get so flustered every time she tried to talk to him? “What do you have against dogs, anyway?”

      “Nothing.” He frowned. How anyone could frown in the presence of a puppy was a mystery Aurélie couldn’t begin to fathom. “I do, however, have a problem with your little disappearing act.”

      “And I have a problem with your patronizing attitude.”

      She needed to put an end to this ridiculous standoff and get them both inside, preferably somewhere other than Dalton’s boring office. “I could very easily pack up my egg and go home, if you like.”

      “Fine.” He shrugged, and to her utter astonishment, he began walking away.

      “I beg your pardon?” she sputtered.

      He turned back around. “Fine. Go back to your castle. And take the mutt with you.”

      A slap to the face wouldn’t have been more painful. She squared her shoulders and did her best to ignore the panicked beating of her heart. “He has a name.”

      “Since when? Five minutes ago?”

      “It’s Jacques.” She ran a hand over the dog’s smooth little head. “In case you were wondering.”

      A hint of a smile passed through his gaze. “Very French. I’m sure the palace will love it.”

      She wasn’t sure if his praise was genuine or sarcastic. Either way, it sent a pleasant thrill skittering through Aurélie. A pleasant thrill that irritated her to no end.

      Why should she care what he thought about anything? Clearly he considered her spoiled. Foolish. Irresponsible. He’d said as much, right to her face. When he looked at her, he saw one thing. A princess.

      She wondered what it would be like to be seen. Really seen. Every move she made back home was watched and reported. Not a day passed when her face wasn’t on the front page of the Delamotte papers.

      “Let’s be serious, Mr. Drake. We both know I’m not going anywhere. You want that egg.”

      He took a few steps nearer, until she could feel the angry heat of his body. Too close. Much too close. “Yes, I do. But not as much as you wish to escape whatever it is you’re running from. You’re not going anywhere. I, on the other hand, won’t hesitate to call the palace. Tell me, Princess, what is it that’s got you so frightened?”

      As if she would share any part of herself with someone like him. She hadn’t crossed an ocean in an effort to get away from one overbearing man, only to throw herself into the path of another.

      She leveled her gaze at him. “Nothing scares me, Mr. Drake. Least of all, your empty threats. If you’re not prepared to uphold your end of our bargain, then I will, in fact, leave. Only I won’t take my egg back to Delamotte. I’ll take it right down the street to Harry Winston.”

      She pasted a sweet smile on her face. Dalton gave her a long look, and as the silence stretched between them, she feared he might actually call her bluff.

      Finally, he placed a hand on the small