Bride By Design
A marriage of convenience is hardly the mostnromantic proposal Eve has ever received! But family circumstances, and Eve's conviction that she'll never fall in love again anyway, persuade her to say "I do" to a man she barely knows.…True, David Elliot is ideal husband material. He's handsome, talented and happy to fulfill his side of the bargain–Eve gets to please her family, and David gets to run the business. But sealing the deal with a kiss changes everything. David orders their marriage contract to be torn up–and Eve to share his bed!
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“There will be no white satin, no morning suits and no orange blossoms,” Eve announced.
“Also, no bridesmaids, no wedding cake, no romantic first waltz and no guest list of thousands,” she continued.
“You didn’t mention a ring in this catalogue of traditions you don’t plan to indulge in,” David said.
“I just want a platinum band. A plain platinum band. No diamond. No decoration.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and then he said, sounding grim, “Purely utilitarian. Just like the marriage. I’m beginning to get the picture.”
“Good,” she said. “Because then we understand each other.”
A wedding dilemma:
What should a sexy, successful bachelor do if he’s too busy making millions to find a wife? Or if he finds the perfect woman, and just has to strike a bridal bargain…
The perfect proposal:
The solution? For better, for worse, these grooms in a hurry have decided to sign, seal and deliver the ultimate marriage contract…to buy a bride!
Will these paper marriages blossom into wedded bliss?
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
HE WAS used to glitter, for it surrounded him always. He had grown accustomed to the iridescent mystery of opals, the sullen fire of rubies, the icy brilliance of diamonds, the chilly gleam of platinum and the quick warmth of gold.
But he had never seen anything like this jewelry store—a store so well known that its formal title didn’t bother to specify exactly what it was. Instead, it was simply known as Birmingham on State. The proprietor’s name and the street, that was all—for nothing else was needed. Everyone knew that Birmingham on State was the place to go for jewelry—if one wanted the beautiful, the unique, the costly, or the innovative.
It didn’t look like the usual jewelry store, either, but more like a fashion salon. There were no display windows in front, facing onto Chicago’s famous State Street. Inside, instead of rows of display cases, there were only half a dozen individual glass boxes, each perched atop a gray marble pillar at perfect viewing height and each containing only a few items. The boxes were scattered seemingly at random across an expanse of plain blue-gray plush carpet. Nearest the door, the only case he could really see held an inch-wide diamond choker draped across a velvet display board so that it looked like a waterfall of fire under the spotlight above it.
A man in a dark suit approached him, his steps hushed on the thick carpet. “May I help you, sir?”
David was still looking at the choker. There was something unusual about the way those stones were set. Even from several feet away, he knew it as clearly as if the necklace had spoken to him. But he didn’t know exactly what made it different. His fingertips itched to get hold of the necklace, to take a closer look at the workmanship, to see if he could figure out precisely how it had been done.
But he hadn’t been invited to fly out here from Atlanta to inspect Henry Birmingham’s merchandise and learn all the old man’s tricks. At least, he didn’t think that was why he was here—but the truth was, he really didn’t know why he’d been summoned, out of the blue.
“David Elliot to see Mr. Birmingham,” he said.
“Oh, yes. He’s expecting you.” The man led the way across the acre of carpet and around the artfully designed end of a wall into a tiny room which hadn’t even been visible from the main entrance. It contained three small but comfortable-looking armchairs and—between the chairs—a small table with the top half draped in velvet the same color as the carpet. In one of the armchairs was Henry Birmingham. At the moment, the old man looked as if he was playing tiddledywinks with a dozen diamond rings.
David stopped in the doorway. Henry pushed the rings aside into a careless heap and stood up.
David had seen Henry Birmingham from a distance, of course, at jewelers’ conventions and seminars, but he’d never before come face-to-face with the king of jewelry design. He was startled to see that the man was smaller than he’d expected—both shorter and slighter, his spine slightly stooped with age. But his hair, though it was iron-gray, was still thick and unruly, and his eyes were as brilliant as the stones he worked with.
The old man’s gaze focused narrowly on David. For nearly ten seconds he simply looked, and when at last he smiled and held out a hand, David felt as if he’d just finished running a quarter-mile high-hurdle race blindfolded, and still managed to come in the winner.
“Welcome to Birmingham on State,” Henry said. “And thank you for coming all the way out here to see me. Have a chair.” He sat again himself and looked contemplatively at the rings spread in front of him. “A most unusual request, this one. The lady gathered up all the rings she’s acquired through the years—family pieces that have been handed down, her own wedding rings from her first couple of marriages, that sort of thing. Not a valuable one among them, really—the gold is all right, but they’re of ordinary design, set with undistinguished stones. Certainly there’s nothing here she’ll ever wear again. But instead of leaving them at the bottom of her jewelry case to gather dust for even more years, she brought them here and asked me to make them into a piece she will enjoy.” He looked up. “Any ideas?”
