Once Upon A Diamond (Prince Uncharming Book 1) (8 page)

Drew passed him and went into the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed one over as he went back to the living room.

As always he perched on the couch arm. “You were an epic prick. She confessed her feelings and you hadn't even let the wet spot dry before you broke things off? Jeez. I'm not that heartless.”

“You're never heartless.” Shame washed over Greg. He cracked the beer top and threw the small cap at his cousin. “You're grinning to gloat. Nice.”

“I'm grinning because you're running scared.” Drew's eyes darkened as he glared at him. “I know you. You'd break your neck just to make sure you didn't leave too much damage in your wake. You break out the charm, the smiles to smooth things over. You don't need me for that. Never did. It's why we got along.”

The taste in his mouth turned bitter and he had to take a swig to wash it down. “You make it sound like I think I'm better than you.”

“Everyone else thinks so, Golden Boy.” Drew waved his beer as though that was a small point.

And because Greg knew his cousin, he knew it wasn't. “If this is the only reason you came over...”

“No. I just wanted to see your face when you lied to me about how you feel about Yvonne.”

Greg stalked to the couch and plopped down. “The game is about to come on.”

“What about the ring?” Drew kept fucking pushing.

“Got the money already. We're done. It's done.”

Soft metal hit in on the side of his face. His gaze fell on the beer bottle cap after it fell into his lap. “What the hell was that for?”

Drew ran a hand down his face. “I swear, sometimes, you're so thick. You work with money. You know how it goes. Tell me, would any sale happen in that short amount of time?”

“It can.”

This time Drew didn't even bother to throw something at him, he just shook his head and then took a pull on his beer. Greg did know money. Even if by some miracle Yvonne had made the sale the day before, it would take a few days for the money to show up in her account. Another few days for her to send the money from her account to his. They lived in the same city so she could have just walked into his local bank to make a deposit, but that first transfer wouldn't happen that fast. And the amount of money she'd sent him wasn't anything to sneeze at.

She'd paid him out of her own pocket and pretty close to what he'd spent on the ring. Yvonne wanted him gone, out of her life maybe even as a bitter afterthought. His throat felt thick and tight. Shame heated his face again.

The past month had been amazing. He'd never had so much fun, never felt so comfortable to be himself...to just be. He'd never yearned the way he had for her with anyone else. He wasn't young. Damn sure wasn't innocent and yet he could write a mile long list of nevers with Yvonne. So when he'd gone to her apartment, he'd been intent on making them...something other than what they were. But they weren't just sex. Seeing her, every single time, had been like coming home.

“Shut up,” he growled and tried to relax into the couch cushions.

“Because I'm right. Because you did something crappy to a woman you fell in love with. In a month. That's kind of impressive and scary.” Drew held up his beer. “Before you say anything to the contrary I'm just going to point out that this is the first time I've seen you since leaving you in the dance studio. I've called, I've texted, I've even emailed and every time your response was a variation of 'Yvonne and I...'” His cousin finished his beer and set the bottle on the table.

He didn't have to say or do anything else to drive the point home. Yvonne had dropped the L-bomb and Greg had frozen. He had actually felt cold sweat drip down his spine and it had nothing to do with the sex.

She'd spoken the one word he'd done his best to not even think about. He'd known her for a month. He hadn't felt this way with Abigail so soon, so early on. Given, probably not the best example, but what else could he compare it to? How could he avoid the same road?

He knocked back more beer but it didn't go down smooth. He could still feel his cousin's glare fixed on him. Greg sighed. “What should I do? Since you seem to have all the answers?”

“Don't walk away just because it's not going to be easy.” He rose from the arm of the couch, headed back toward the kitchen. “Also, you're probably going to need a few dozen roses. Michelle wanted to gut you and she's not that close to Yvonne. A whole classroom of women hate you by proxy. You're an idiot.”

Despite the grinding in his stomach, Greg laughed. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“No problem. Want another beer?”

“Sounds like I'm going to need some liquid courage.”

At that, his cousin faced him. “Good. You came to your senses. I thought I was going to have to verbally abuse you for the next week or so. I like Yvonne. She's a good fit for you.”

And wasn't that the damndest thing, Greg could see that so clearly. She wasn't just the woman he'd needed after Abigail. Maybe, even, if his cards had been dealt differently that night at the bookstore and he'd seen Yvonne instead, talked to her, laughed with her...Abigail wouldn't have stood a chance.

“Dammit,” he murmured. He had to fix this and hope that Yvonne took him back.

*****

Her music started with a melancholy melody. She'd closed her eyes because she knew this room. This studio had become a haven after she'd crashed and burned trying to be “not a ballerina.”

Ten years of her life had revolved around clean lines, taped feet, side glances because her breasts and butt were bigger than acceptable. She'd convinced herself she hadn't needed to dance ever again. Starting Glitter had definitely kept the restlessness at bay. She'd made a clean cut and had severed her past life from her new one. No mess. No fuss.

And then one day out of sheer boredom, she started to do her old foot exercises at her desk. Then the next day she found an excuse to get new shoes. The next it was shellacking the insoles to make them stronger, breaking out her pink thread to get the laces just right. Finally she had to admit, ballet had left its mark. She wouldn't die if she never danced again, but her life was better, fuller with dancing.

So in this dance studio, Yvonne knew where everyone stood when each they did a solo—to knock the dust off their skills. Tonight it was her turn. She could spin, stretch her leg to the ceiling and jump and know exactly how close the barre was from her outstretched hand without ever opening her eyes.

The pluck of the strings blaring from the speakers picked up, turned angry and her movements seamlessly followed the beat. Sweat slicked her skin, her ankles ached, her toes screamed, and Yvonne knew it wouldn't be enough to work out the ache in her heart.

Greg hadn't said what she'd so needed to him to say. Greg's reaction was messy. So she'd done her best to sever him from her life. But she was still picking up her phone to text him something stupid and funny about her day. Only two days had passed. Time had to cure this restlessness for him.

But it wouldn't. Neither would dancing until her legs felt like they would give out. So as the song turned back to a melancholy melody, she let her knees give and slid to the floor. There wasn't applause. They didn't do that here. They all had their own reasons for coming back to ballet and it was never about the accolades.

Sweaty and sticky—tired, just bone tired, Yvonne opened her eyes. Her labored breathing stopped for a moment. She blinked to clear some of the moisture from her eyes. No. Her eyes weren't lying to her. Greg stood there along with the class. His hands were in his jean's pockets but it was his gaze that made it hard to breathe. She had to or she'd pass out. But his expression held a mixture of awe and pride as though he couldn't believe something so beautiful could be witnessed.

She rose onto her unsteady legs, anger flashing through her chest. Not once, but twice he'd seen her vulnerable and open. He'd managed to hurt her because she couldn't compartmentalize how she felt about him. How she felt wasn't neat or pretty or perfect.

That dug in her stomach and twisted. Yvonne, still riding high from the dance, of letting every emotion she was feeling be a physical thing, closed the space between them and pushed at the solid wall of his chest.

“Get out,” she barked at him.

He didn't move, not an inch. “I came to tell you a story.”

A lump rose in her throat at the softly spoken words. She pushed past him, ignoring all the gazes fixed on them. She grabbed her bag from a chair and walked out of the door. But, apparently, he wasn't done. He'd followed her out. She could hear his heavy footfalls on the ground keeping pace with her.

“I'm guessing you don't want to hear the story,” he said.

“We're done. I gave you the money. Leave me alone.”

“You gave me your money. That's cheating.”

Because she'd thought the same when she'd put it in his account, Yvonne's step faltered. That gave him enough time to slide in front her and block her path. She refused to look him straight in the face. It would be too much.

“What's the story?” she threw at him. “Tell me so you can go.”

His gaze darkened. “We don't humor each other, not like this. Either you want to hear it or you don't.”

She gestured with her free hand. “You're blocking the way to my car.”

“'Cause I'm starting to realize you have a temper. It's a good thing to know now.”

Now
as though he intended to find out more later. She gripped her bag. God, she'd missed him. Two days ago he'd been clean-shaven. There was way more scruff along his jaw today. A small vindictive part of her liked to think he'd missed her too and hadn't cared about his appearance. He'd suffered. Good.

And he was here, at the studio. It couldn't mean anything. She asked, “Didn't find me at my shop or home, so you hunted me down here?”

“It's Wednesday,” he said simply. He scrubbed a hand down his face and added, “We eat out tonight. My cousin came by and around seven I started to get hungry as hell. This is the night I take you to the Thai place or for pizza. You steal my food and I complain, but don't mean it.” He took a step forward. “Friday or Saturday you text me about a TV show you haven't seen but it's Netflix. I come over and then you feed me. I'm going to be fat by the end of the year.”

She took a step back and he closed the space between them again. “Stop,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

“No. This is the just the beginning of our story and I want to know how it ends. I'm sorry. I almost ruined it, but my last relationship kind of turned to shit. I'm wary.”

“Understatement,” she said dryly.

“Yeah.” He took her hand. She snatched it back. He sighed. “I meant it when I told you, I didn't want to leave.”

She scoffed and tried to push past him but he gripped her arms. Shocked, she stilled. “So you're going to make me listen?”

“I don't fight fair. I can be a downright jackass sometimes. You should know that, too.”

If he didn't let her go, she'd start to tremble and he'd be able to feel it. “Stop. Just stop.”

“I'm wary as hell. We've known each other for a month. And I've never felt this way about a woman before. Not so soon.” His jaw tightened. “Not this strong. So if you don't want that story, tell me now. If you have any reservations or doubts, tell me and I'll let you go.”

Her eyes burned from unshead tears, but she held his gaze. Any other man and those words wouldn't hold the same weight. He'd loved another woman enough to want to marry her. He'd loved that deeply before, and now he was saying what he felt for her didn't come close. Any other man in the same position, the same experience probably wouldn't have been this open, this exposed so easily to be hurt again. Hell, she'd taken his hesitance as a full out rejection and gotten pissy with him over it.

And here he was ready and willing to do it all again. “You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” she asked.

He chuckled as his gaze softened. “Clearly not.”

Her heart squeezed. “I want to know the story, too. Where should we start ?”

“Gregory Woods didn't care she was sweaty, and probably still angry at him—he wanted to kiss her.”

She shook her head but a watery smile broke through. “Feed Yvonne first and then maybe—”

He pulled her into him and crushed his mouth to hers.
Yeah
. There her knees went. He pressed her closer and held her steady. That was the kind of man he was. A good, solid man. The one man for her because she wanted her life, her family and friends to intermingle with his—to make a complete mess of things. And when he pulled back enough to murmur, “I'm falling in with you too,” she was sure of it.

“Really?” she whispered.

“It was the spaghetti,” he answered on a laugh.

“Greg, we—I...” she sighed, looking up into his eyes. She wanted to see every emotion she was feeling reflecting back at her. And she did.

He smiled that good ol' boy charm smile and then leaned into her, pressing his mouth into her ear, “A few years ago...” he began.

“A story?” She curled into him and knew she was going to listen to every word.

“It's what you used on me. Now, shhhh. A few years ago...”