Girl on a Diamond Pedestal (3 page)

Her scope had always been so narrow. She’d lived and breathed piano. Performance, composition, practice, drills … she had dreamed music. It had been her all-consuming passion and drive. And when it had faltered, her mother had always been there to push her past it. To make sure that she didn’t lose focus for even a moment.

It was good in a way. She didn’t have a romantic fantasy tied to the thought of wedding. A wedding was … well, it was paper. Paper with performance added into the mix. And she did performance. At least she had done it. She’d done it well, too.

A kind of restless energy overtook her, starting in her fingertips, tingling up her arms and to her stomach. Why not do it? How was it really different than any other performance she’d given? She’d always projected a character on stage. Serene and sweet no matter what was going on inside of her. No matter if she’d been fighting with her mother or if she’d suffered a slap across the face at the other woman’s hands ten minutes before show time. She just added another layer of powder and went out on stage, smile pasted on.

“It’s a temporary arrangement. A business proposition. And I would pay you well.”

“And we would be expected to … go out. Go to parties, that sort of thing.” It shamed her that it mattered, almost more than the money. To be bathed in the glow of admiration again. Nothing felt like that. Nothing. It made her feel that she was a part of something, that she was important. That she was loved.

And she’d been so alone for so long. Hiding, hoping no one would find out what had happened.

“Yes. We would have to at least give the appearance of a courtship, even if it is a whirlwind one.”

“Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Much stranger.”

“Like a mother making off with her daughter’s earnings?”

He nodded. “Or a father betraying his family to spend time with his mistress.”

And this was a chance, for both of them, to make some of it right. And maybe she was making it more than it was because right now the latte was so warm and so comforting, and the caffeine was making her feel more awake and alive than she had in weeks but it seemed slightly poetic in nature.

They had both been manipulated. Betrayed in a way. They had both lost things they had earned, things that were theirs by right, at the hands of those who were supposed to love them.

They deserved to take those things back. They both deserved to win.

“You’ll put this all in a … a contract, right?” She had learned the hard way that even her own mother couldn’t be trusted, she wasn’t about to put her trust in a man she’d only just met.

“We’ll have a prenup. Of course it won’t outline the specifics of the arrangement, as we don’t want that made public. The house will be yours upon the signing of our marriage license, money after the divorce.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

A wicked grin curved his lips. “I’m making it up as I go along, but I’ve been told I’m pretty good at improvising.”

“I would say so.”

She wasn’t. She was pretty crap at improvising, as it happened. The whole last year was proof of that.

“I’ve begun the paperwork with the bank to purchase the manor. I’ll sign it over to you once we speak the vows.”

“And the prenup?”

“My lawyer can have it ready by tomorrow.”

She felt dizzy. Her life had been stagnant for so long, nothing to mark the passing of months but a new mortgage bill in the mail. Now suddenly things were changing. She felt like she might be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

And there had been nothing but damp, dank cold for so long.

“Good,” she heard herself say. She felt as if she were hovering above the scene now, watching it all with a surreal kind of detachment.

It didn’t seem real, that was for sure. But it felt hopeful in a really strange way.

That marriage to a man she didn’t know or love seemed hopeful said a lot about the sad state of her affairs, that was for certain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said.

“Your place or mine?” she asked, trying to force a laugh.

A dark light shone in his eyes. “I’d say yours, since it is the thing that brought us together.”

E
THAN
could hear the music as soon as he walked up to the door of the manor. It wasn’t a classical piece. It wasn’t a song at all. Repetition and scales, the same few notes over and over again with regimented perfection. A straight, staccato rhythm more like a military maneuver than anything related to music.

Strange. He hadn’t associated that kind of discipline with her. But then, she looked so much like her mother it was hard for him not to think of their personalities being as identical as their features. Celine Birch was a cloud of perfume and gauzy clothing in his memory. Frothy and elegant, nice even. It had taken some time to realize what she was.

His father’s mistress. No, more than that. The woman Damien Grey had loved above his family. The woman he hadn’t even bothered to hide from his wife.

Ethan gritted his teeth and raised his hand, pounding on the door hard and fast. The strains of the piano continued, unbroken, unyielding. He turned the knob and the door opened. He followed the sounds of the piano, his footsteps echoing as he crossed the marble tiled entryway and walked into the formal sitting room.

There were no interior lights on, the opulent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling was dark. The only
illumination came from the sun shining through two large windows.

And then there was Noelle, sitting at the piano, her eyes fixed on a point in front of her rather than down at her fingers, playing the notes over and over again. The sun was like golden fire in her hair, illuminating it, giving the impression of a halo. He wondered how it was possible for someone who looked so angelic to set fire to a man’s blood without so much as a sultry glance.

She looked up and the music stopped abruptly, her toolarge eyes overly wide in her face. “Ethan.” She scrambled around to the other side of the glossy white grand piano.

“Am I early?” He knew he wasn’t.

“I …” She looked around for as if searching for something. “I don’t have a clock in here.”

“What are you working on?”

She shook her head and tucked a strand of glossy hair behind her ear. “Nothing. Drills. Keeping up my dexterity.”

“Do you practice every day?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you were doing music anymore.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

He walked over to the piano and ran his fingers over the sleek body. “I don’t have a piano in my penthouse.”

She frowned slightly. “Do you play?”

He chuckled. “No.”

“Then why …” she trailed off, her mouth falling open. “Oh.”

“You didn’t imagine you would continue to live out here in the country did you? Especially not after we’re married.”

“I hadn’t really … I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“I’ll be installing you in a penthouse suite in one of my
hotels. All the better to garner the proper attention and establish ourselves as a real couple.”

She winced over his choice of words. “Right.”

“Is that a problem?”

She shook her head. “I’m used to moving around.” Actually, the habit of moving around was so ingrained in her that staying in one place for so long had actually felt wrong in many ways. This past year, stuck out in the weeds all by herself, had been more surreal than a different city every night.

“I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

Although the idea of running into her seemed extremely appealing.

“Great.” She bit her lip and looked back at the piano.

“Do you need it in Manhattan?”

“I don’t … it’s a pain to move pianos. Hardly worth it.”

“I’ll buy you a new one and have it moved into the suite.”

He said it so casually, like the purchase of a piano that would run him six figures meant absolutely nothing. There was a time when it had been the same for her. She’d had an allowance, provided by her mother, with the money from touring, merchandise and album sales, and she’d wanted for nothing.

There had been so much money then. Money she’d earned. Money that had somehow never been hers.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s nothing, Noelle. As you mentioned before, I have no shortage of resources at my disposal. You and I are working together and I see no reason why this partnership can’t be beneficial for the both of us.”

She frowned slightly. “I suppose.”

Noelle wasn’t certain what to do with such an accommodating offer. That he cared about her need to play the
piano seemed strange. Her playing didn’t benefit him. Now, her mother had always made certain there was a piano in every hotel suite they used. She couldn’t skip practice, not for one afternoon. Being on tour was no excuse. She always got her hours in on the piano. It was her job, and she worked at it as faithfully as anyone who went to an office every day.

Or well beyond that point. It was her only input into the business that was her career. Her mother did the networking. She went to the parties, talked to booking agents, labels and made sure all the needs per her tour rider were in order. It was all about making sure that Noelle Birch—the business—was in order. It was never about her as a person.

But Ethan just seemed to be concerned with what she wanted, what might make her happy. It was strange. It made her feel warm inside, more even than yesterday’s latte. She liked that even less than his wicked smiles. Because she knew better than to trust those feelings. Than to trust people who acted like they cared.

“Do you have the prenup?” she asked, stomach suddenly filled with a shivering sensation.

“Yes.” He reached into his interior suit-jacket pocket and took out a folded stack of papers.

His fingers brushed against hers as he passed them to her. He was warm, like his office. She unfolded the papers and skimmed them, her heart accelerating when she got to the part about children and custody.

“But we don’t need …”

“This is mostly a standard document. As far as even my lawyer is concerned this is a real marriage. My grandfather wanted me to have stability. The kind I lacked growing up, I think. Of course, I’m of the opinion that marriage doesn’t necessarily bring that sort of stability. You can understand why.”

“Haven’t you tried just explaining to him?”

“You don’t explain things to my grandfather. There’s no point. He knows everything already. He’s coming from a good place. And I don’t mind following his rules—if only because I have such an easy time bending them,” he grinned.

She kept on reading the prenup, her eyes widening when she saw the settlement she was entitled to in the event of a divorce. An event that they already had planned.

“Enough?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “I … yes.”

It was generous. Not enough that she’d never have to work again, but enough to keep her out of abject poverty, and with the full ownership of the manor in addition to the cash settlement it was all more than enough.

She could sell the manor, get a smaller apartment in town. She’d have enough to buy lattes and eat more than a cup of instant noodles for dinner.

It was enough that she couldn’t say no. Even if the whole situation made her want to get in the shower and scrub her skin until she could wash away the film it had left on her. Her mother sleeping with his father, hurting his family that way. The idea of marrying just so she could keep her house …

Okay, so it might seem mercenary marrying for money, but it wasn’t a real marriage. And why shouldn’t she be a little bit mercenary? Everyone in her life had looked out for themselves, they’d used her to make their position in life better. What was wrong with her doing something for herself? And she wasn’t using Ethan, she was helping him. They were helping each other. It was a very good rationalization, anyway.

“Once we leave here, you aren’t backing out.”

She shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.”

“Just remember, you stand to lose a lot more than I do.”

“There’s no way I could forget that.” She bit her lip hard, trying to block out the feeling of hopelessness that was rising up in her, a feeling she had become far too familiar with. “Do you have a pen?” she asked, holding out her hand and hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremble in her fingers.

“You don’t have to sign it yet. We haven’t even applied for the license. The actual wedding won’t be for a while. We’ll have to establish ourselves as a couple. For my grandfather’s satisfaction.”

“But I’m ready to sign.” She was ready to move forward. Ready to commit one hundred percent.

“Good.” He took the documents from her and put them back in his pocket. “Are you ready to come with me now?”

“Now?”

“Why wait?”

She looked around the living room, at the last connection to her former life. “No reason. It might take me a while to pack.”

“I can wait.”

It was the kind of opulence that felt like both a half-remembered dream and her due at the same time. The kind she had almost forgotten about, but longed for. She’d been reminded, with full and brutal force, just how much she missed it yesterday in Ethan’s office, the warmth and glamour surrounding her like a comforting blanket.

And now, in the open, expansive suite, she just wanted to throw Ethan out the door and turn circles like the little girl she’d never truly been.

“Does it meet your standards?” he asked, resting his broad, dark hand on the white marble bar top.

She turned and forced a smile, trying to ignore the growing ball of emotion in her chest. “Perfectly.”

“I can have a piano brought in tomorrow, does that work for you?”

“Yes, absolutely.” A piano too. To go with the lush, amazing view of Central Park. And money. All fine and good to stand on principle and pretend it didn’t matter … when you had some. But when you didn’t … well, that was when you realized how important money was. It might not buy happiness, but it paid power bills, bought food and clothes. Those things made her pretty happy.

The knot inside her grew larger, made it hard to breathe. She felt … the whole thing just felt wrong, and yet she didn’t think she could walk away. It wasn’t like she was sleeping with him. That would make it all truly reprehensible.

But she still felt as if she was selling herself.

Haven’t you always sold yourself?

What else was performance anyway? She had always been the product. It wasn’t just her music. If her music had been all people wanted from her, it wouldn’t have mattered that she was an adult now. That she was no longer a cute little cherub dwarfed by the grand piano she played.

This was just a different venue.

And she wasn’t going to sleep with him.

Her body felt hot all over just thinking about it. She had zero experience when it came to men, and while in theory she knew about sex—all about it, since she had a pretty curious nature and she’d done a lot of … reading on the subject—she’d never had a chance to put her knowledge into practice. When would she have found the time? And her mother would have …

She closed that thought off. She didn’t care anymore. She had once—she had cared so much. She’d wanted to please her mother, her instructor, her fans and her tutors
more than anything in the world. To earn love by being talented and easy to deal with, to give and give.

She had nothing to show for it.

She didn’t care what her mother would think of her now. And, considering her mother’s personal life, it would be hypocritical for her even to have an opinion. So she could sleep with Ethan if she wanted to. She didn’t have anyone around telling her what to do, what to wear and what to think. She could do what she liked, and that meant she didn’t have to hide away, she didn’t have to do drills every day and she didn’t have to stay away from men.

A little tremor wracked her body. Sensual and shameful. Sensual because … well, Ethan just took her thoughts down that path. Shameful because, while in normal circumstances the idea might appeal, she wasn’t out to sell her body in the interest of spiting her mother. No, things weren’t as desperate as all that.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Ethan crossed behind her. She turned quickly. She wanted to make sure she could see him.

He opened the door without checking to verify who it was. “Yes?”

“Mr. Grey.” An employee of the hotel, identified only by his highly polished name tag—his sharply tailored suit was as far from a hotel uniform as anything Noelle had ever seen—stood in the entryway. “When I heard you were here, I thought I would come and make sure that everything was—”

“Everything’s fine, Thomas,” Ethan said, moving to where Noelle was standing, his stance possessive. A clear sign that he was linking the two of them, proving to the employee just where things stood.

Of course, it was all for show. But he was as good as putting on a show as she had once been.

“Noelle will be staying here for the foreseeable future. Everything is to go to my account. Food and service, anything she wants.”

She didn’t—couldn’t—believe that Ethan was truly giving her carte blanche to have whatever she wanted. All part of the show, she reminded herself. Because a man could hardly seem stingy in regards to his … whatever the world was meant to see her as at the moment.

A potential wife. A high-priced call girl.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest. They could see her as either, it wouldn’t matter. Ethan would marry her in the end and that would put a bit of salve on her reputation. Of course, the reputation would blister again after the divorce, but that was the least of her worries. At the moment she had no reputation. Her star had fizzled out.

Ethan moved nearer to her, curling his arm around her waist, drawing her to his body. His fingers moved, idly, slowly, the touch feather light over her clothing. Yet it seemed to blaze a trail of fire that penetrated the thin fabric of her blouse, leaving smoldering embers in its wake that retained the heat long after the flame had moved on.

She tried to suppress the small shiver that raced up her spine, but she couldn’t. Too much of her energy was focused on keeping her face neutral, keeping from conveying to Thomas that having a man’s fingertips drifting over the line of her waist was anything more than a common occurrence.