by Mia Caldwell
Paris jumped a foot in the air when Cat began talking, and Cat stopped to chuckle, and put a gentle hand on Paris' own.
“I'm sorry I startled you, sweetie. I just wanted you to fully understand what is going to be happening here over the next few days. Now, in the deepest part of my heart, I believe it is my son's responsibility to be talking to you about this. But since we have to keep you two apart for a while longer, the burden falls on me, unfortunately. I must ask... did he explain to you why your... relationship... is such a massive issue for our country?”
Paris began to squirm in the chair. She'd spent most of the flight, when she was awake anyway, going over all the reasons that the press would be in such a frenzy. The obvious answer was just that Alex was fodder for the paparazzi. He was a handsome, intelligent, kind Prince from a country that looked as if it had been plucked from a storybook. Of course they'd want to know who he was dating, or who he was even interested in dating. But then, there was the other option. The option that made Paris sick to her stomach.
She looked down at her hands and set her jaw, bracing herself. “It’s because I’m black, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.
Catriona was momentarily stunned into silence, not having expected that answer. But then, of course that is what the girl would think, wasn’t it?
The Queen gently took Paris’ hand in her own, and lightly turned her face toward hers with the touch of a finger. She smiled a sad, wistful smile.
“Oh, my dear—is that what you’ve been thinking? I’m sorry for that. No, no—while I’m sure there are some of the old nobility who would have a fit on those grounds, they are of no account to us, and they would never dare make any remarks publicly if we voiced our approval.”
Catriona sighed and looked out the window at the vast glacier-fed lake that seemed to extend to touch the sky. Paris looked up at her, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“He never—said, or mentioned anything to you? About his duty as heir? As a Prince of Dalvana?”
Paris took a deep breath before she spoke.
“He didn't tell me anything... about anything.”
Cat sighed again, long and slow. She reached back behind her and pulled a pin from her hair, letting her long blonde locks fall down from their bun. Then she exhaustedly ran her fingers through the loose strands.
“If it's any consolation, my darling, I know he didn't intend to hurt you. Alex wouldn't hurt a fly. And I think, when he met you, he was following his heart for the first time in his life, instead of his responsibilities.”
Paris felt her stomach knot up. She knew whatever was coming wasn't going to be good.
“Paris, when Alex was just a baby, he was betrothed to a child from another country, a Princess called Whitney from a small island called Estia. Now, we couldn't have known this at the time, but Whitney has turned out to be… well... Whitney is not what we would have hoped for Alex.”
Cat pursed her lips, doing her damnedest to be diplomatic. She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and threw caution to the wind. “Okay, Whitney is what you Americans would call—a bitch. Just an awful, awful woman. The worst really.”
In spite of her nerves, in spite of her knotted stomach and her fears about her future, Paris burst out into peals of hysterical laughter. Once she started, she couldn't stop. And then Cat began laughing too. Even Celia, who had been standing demurely in the corner, allowed herself to chuckle. Catriona took a deep breath and forced herself to get control, despite the fact that she could have gone on laughing at Whitney all day.
“As you can imagine, Alex being as he is, he and Whitney have never particularly warmed to each other. But unfortunately, we made the arrangement so long ago, and arranged marriages are almost impossible to get out of. The livelihoods of millions of our citizens depend on this union going forward. Trade agreements and tariffs, and all sorts of things depend on Estia and Dalvana being joined through this marriage.”
Cat sighed once more, silently cursing her son for putting her in this position. She squeezed Paris’ hand gently, to comfort her.
“Now, I don't want you to think that I'm insensitive to your feelings. I know how lucky I was to meet Alexander's father when I was a teenager, and for him to be the true love of my life, despite the fact we were betrothed. But the King and I have been discussing this for days and we just... don't know how to make things better. For either of you.”
Paris felt her shoulders drop, and tears began to well in her eyes. She nodded, even though she didn't know why she was nodding. All she could see in her mind was Alex's sweet face, his kind eyes, and his gentle way with her. She knew it as well as she'd known anything else in her life; she'd fallen in love with him. In just a few days, she'd fallen in love with him. But now, Cat was telling her that there was no chance they could ever be together.
She had only herself to blame. Paris had known that Alex had been hiding a massive secret from her. She felt betrayed, and horrified.
Whether this Whitney was a bitch or not, Alex had made Paris into ‘the other woman,’—his side piece. Just a little distraction before he had to settle down and do his duty.
Paris had known their romance would have to end at some point—at the very least when she would have to go back to the States—but she hadn’t expected it to end like this.
And now the entire world thought she was some kind of home-wrecking whore—her face plastered on every trashy tabloid on every newsstand in Europe.
What kind of horrible mistake have I made? Paris thought to herself.
* * *
Alex followed his brothers down the stairs from the living quarters of the house to the dining room. Joseph and Mathias were playing around, punching each other, and joking like when they were kids— a practice they had never outgrown. The truth was, all three boys hadn't been in the house at the same time for this long since Alex was a teenager and getting ready to leave his time in the Royal Services.
As much as Alex loved his brothers, he couldn't stop thinking about Paris. He couldn't bring himself to joke or laugh; all he could think about was the fact that Paris was somewhere in the house, and he couldn't see her. He couldn't hold her. He couldn't tell her how sorry he was.
As the boys gathered in the kitchen to pick at the food before it made its way to the dining room table, King Alexander and Queen Catriona were in his office, trying to figure out how to get everyone out of the mess they were currently in.
“Al, she's a wonderful, kind, sweet, honest girl. She's nothing like Whitney. You know I would never suggest anything that would cause the country harm, but let's think about this long term. Whitney is a spoiled, conniving brat. She's going to make Alex's life a living hell. Can you image her at state dinners? At holidays? She's going to make our life a living hell. But Paris is exactly the kind of girl who is the opposite of that. I truly believe she loves Alex for who he is as a person—not for his power. And I believe the people of Dalvana would love her.”
The King leaned over his desk, as he'd made a habit of doing as of late, and banged his head against his desk several times until Cat yelled at him to stop.
“My darling Cat, do you have any idea what kind of hell we're in for? That insufferable Leonard has been calling my phone every hour on the hour. I've already heard rumbles from friends on the Council that he and that shrew of a wife are threatening to pull the trade agreement if we back out of the marriage. Now, if we know that this is what our son wants, I'm willing to discuss it. But are we all willing to live with the consequences? And are we sure this isn't some passing boyish fancy? Sowing his wild oats? One last hurrah before marrying that shrew?”
Cat crossed the room and sat gingerly in her husband's lap. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. When she pulled away, she found herself amazed by how much he still looked like the man she married so many years ago. His hair, though gray, was just as thick and gorgeous. His eyes still sparkled with the same boyish charm, and his smile still felt like home. Kno
wing how much Alex looked like his father, and how full of the same heart and spirit he was, she was at once struck with the same sadness Paris must have been feeling at that same moment.
“My love, I don't know what the future will hold. But I do know this. That girl loves our son. And I suspect that our son loves her.”
The King took his wife's hands in his own, kissed them both gently, and then picked up his phone.
“Celia, will you please bring Miss Martell to the family dining room?”
* * *
“What are we waiting for father? I'm starving.”
Joseph had been tying his napkin in knots for ten minutes, shooting daggers at Alex like it was his fault that dinner was late. Alex was too sick to care about food. All he could think about was Paris, and how much she must hate him right now.
The King pointed his elegant silver knife directly at his middle son's head.
“You can wait a few minutes for your food, young man. Don't pretend you haven't been in that kitchen all afternoon having the staff make you at least 10 different varieties of pastry. You're not going to starve to death.”
Joseph let out an exaggerated groan and slumped back in his seat. Catriona crossed her arms over her chest and shot daggers at Joseph.
“You have the manners of a commoner, Joseph, and I won’t stand for it.”
As if to prove his mother's point, Joseph began to laugh, taunting her in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the formal dining room.
“I’d rather be a commoner. Why, I’m a like prisoner in this house! I'm allowed to act like a child if I’d like—what about my princely privilege? What are the benefits to being a prince if I can’t do what I like, when I like, wherever I like?”
He said this bombastically, in an exaggerated way that let people know he was joking—but his brother was in no mood for a joke.
For the first time all evening, Alex made a noise, slamming his fist down on the table and causing the china to clatter, making his whole family jump in their seats.
“YOU'RE a prisoner? You are? Paris, the woman I love, the woman I essentially kidnapped, is being held hostage somewhere in a CASTLE like a damn fairy tale princess, all because I was born into a marriage I never agreed to! Paris is the victim here. Paris is the one who has been dragged into this against her will. And you're whining because your dinner is late? Grow UP, Joseph!”
The silence in the dining room was palpable and only amplified when Mathias looked up from the table and blurted out, “Who is that?”
Celia was hovering in the doorway of the dining room, with Paris standing awkwardly next to her. Celia had loaned Paris some clothes, and she was currently wearing one of her dresses: a long, flowy pale pink strapless with little grey flowers scattered throughout. Her long, curly hair had been swept back into a loose bun, and Cat had given Paris one of her favorite necklaces, a sparkling pink diamond set inside a little heart. Every eye in the room was on Paris, but the only eyes she was even aware of were Alex's.
“Paris... how did you... when did... you look beautiful.”
Cat tried to hide her smile behind her hand, but she wasn't doing a great job. She'd never heard her son stammer like that in his whole life, not even when he was a child. She watched with fascination as the energy almost crackled between the two of them. If she wasn't sure before, she knew it now... Alex was in love with this girl.
As the room went quiet again, the King got fed up with all the awkwardness. He might have been considering throwing away decades of diplomacy over his son's love life, but one thing he wouldn't abide was an uncomfortable dinner.
“Well, what's all this standing about? Miss... Paris, is it? Please, have a seat. Celia, go inform Benson that we are ready to eat. Alexander... sit down and stop staring at the poor girl like she's an exhibition at the museum. Now. Paris, tell me. What brought you all the way to this side of the world from the States?”
* * *
After the dinner had been eaten and the dishes cleared, after polite conversation had waned and the coffee had been topped off, Cat gently kicked her husband under the table to signal it was time for everyone to go their separate ways. He flinched and groaned audibly, drawing every eye in the room to his corner of the table.
As he scowled at his wife, he grumbled, “Well, I'm feeling the need to exercise my brain. Joseph, Mathias, what do you say? Round robin chess tournament?”
The boys grinned at each other, more than aware that their parents were trying to break up the group so Paris and Alex could be alone, just for a little while.
Cat stood up first, brushing the wrinkles from her white silk pants. “I have some calls to make, and I've put them off far too long. Alex, why don't you take Paris for a walk around the grounds? But for the sake of my and Celia's sanity, could you stick to the areas behind the house? Just in case any of those basta... I mean, photographers, have managed to sneak onto the property.”
Paris managed a shy smile and Alex nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that his parents had changed their minds about letting them be alone. As everyone made their way to the door, the King's arms around his youngest sons, just like when they were boys, Cat and Celia already chattering with one another about the plans they had to make, Paris couldn't help but feel that same longing she felt when she saw happy families in restaurants. Or mothers and fathers in airports waiting excitedly for their kids to walk off a plane. It was the feeling that she may never be a part of a whole, functional family, not in the way she wanted to be.
She felt herself drifting into her sadness when suddenly, Alex's hand slipped gently around her own. Even as her anger resurfaced she couldn't help but feel the same butterflies she'd felt that first night when Alex had come to her rescue in the alley in Paris.
“Care to take a walk, Paris?”
* * *
The light of a blinding white full moon was already reflecting off the water when Paris and Alex got outside of the castle. Once they were a few hundred steps away, Paris allowed herself to turn around and take in the palatial estate in the starlight; it was even more stunning at night. The song of nightbirds echoed across the lake, causing Paris' heart to swell with emotion.
“I can't believe you grew up here,” she whispered.
Alex scuffed lightly at the grass, and took in a deep breath of the night air.
“I did and I didn't. I spent a lot of time at boarding school when I was a kid. Equestrian training. That didn't take. And then, a form of what you Americans have—ROTC, to prepare for my time in the Navy when I got out of school. But I was here during the summer, and on holidays. It was nice. I lucked out with my family... I know that. Many royals have no relationship with their family at all. Our parents love us, and each other. Everything else is just... filler.”
Paris turned from the castle and looked at Alex. Even in the darkness of the night, she could see the brightness of his eyes behind his glasses. He was so tall and strong, his face so honest and kind.
Her voice trembled slightly. “I hate you, you know. Just a little. You made me seem like an idiot.” The sound was a whisper but it seemed to echo over the lake and reverberate off the peaks of the mountains. The moon highlighted the tears streaming down her face.
He watched her steadily, aware of the pain he’d caused her—never having wanted her to find out this way. His heart clenched, aware that he was on the verge of losing her forever. He would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening. Alex took one step toward her and held out his hand.
“Paris—I love you.”
Even though she wanted to hang on to her anger just a little longer, she knew it wasn't possible.
Paris brushed a tear away from her cheek and ran toward Alex, into his waiting arms. Their lips met in a searing kiss as he just held her close and relished the feel of her body against his own.
He didn't know what he could say to make everything better, so he just kept whispering into her ear, “It's going to be okay, my love. I don’t know
how, but it's going to be okay.”
22
Hurricane Whitney had been blowing through the Royal palace in Estia ever since she arrived. Leonard had been calling King Alexander's phone all morning but getting no response, which was aggravating him beyond all belief, and driving him to drink earlier than usual. Most of the servants were used to Whitney's screaming, she'd been shouting like a madwoman since she was a child, but today, her anger was palpable and contagious. Everyone in the palace was in a terrible mood.
Rather than the usual tinkling ice cubes in a pitcher full of Bloody Mary's, the dining room was reverberating with the sound of plates and glasses crashing against the wall again. Leonard was guzzling the crimson liquor straight from the pitcher while Penelope held an ice bag against her head.
Once Whitney finally stopped screeching in gibberish, Leonard groaned in an exhausted voice, “What would you like us to do about it, my angel? Alexander isn't taking my calls, none of my contacts know anything. So, I'm open to any suggestions you have.”
Whitney threw a croissant at her father's head, which he didn't even bother to try and deflect.
“I want the plane. And I want it to take me to Dalvana. Right now.”
Penelope pulled the ice bag away from her head and looked at her husband with a terrified and panicked stare. Leonard knew the last thing he should do was allow his daughter to fly to Dalvana and cause further damage to Estia's already tenuous relationship with the country. But telling Whitney “no” wasn't an option in the best of circumstances. He let out a massive sigh and swallowed the rest of his Bloody Mary in one gulp.