Girl on a Diamond Pedestal. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.”
CHAPTER THREE
ETHAN 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