Paris and the Prince: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (Royal Weddings Book 1)

by Mia Caldwell

  * * *

  “You're sure you won't wear white? You're absolutely sure?”

  Paris scrunched up her nose at a lovely, simple white evening gown, but a gown that would not have suited her body type at all.

  “I really do look terrible in white, I promise.”

  Cat laughed and sent the dress away on the arms of a flustered assistant.

  “Oh, my love. That's just silly. I'm sure you'd look beautiful in anything. But generally, attendees at birthday parties for royals in Dalvana wear white or black. Could we consider black?”

  Paris had never been a fan of black. While she wasn't averse to mixing it into her everyday wardrobe, she never felt like herself in it. Cat, like her son, had excellent instincts, and saw the hesitation on Paris' face.

  “Hmm... You know what, my dear? Why in the world should you blend in with everyone else? You are far too lovely for that! And furthermore, I am tired of black and white myself! Estella... darling! Fetch me that lovely red Dior number that Armand told me you were getting in, in my size, would you? And for Paris... I think I have just the dress in mind.”

  Cat disappeared into a back room with Estella, the assistant, and left Paris to explore the racks of shockingly expensive dresses, and the beautiful shoes set around on actual silver pedestals. Trying on clothing was never her favorite pastime, and she was just about to plop down in a huge velvet armchair when she spotted a pair of gorgeous heels, twinkling from a locked glass case in the corner. The simple white heels were set in the loveliest swirling design from heel to toe, sparkling with what almost looked like diamonds. Paris had just touched her hand to the glass when Estella walked up behind her.

  “Beautiful, aren't they?”

  Paris jumped a foot off the ground.

  “I... I wasn't going to do... anything. I promise.”

  Estella giggled.

  “Of course not, Miss Paris. I would never presume such a thing. Many times a day, I find myself stopping to marvel at them. They truly are one-of-a-kind. The last three Queens of Dalvana have worn them.”

  “Are those diamonds? Real diamonds?”

  Estella blushed, as if the implication of anything less was offensive.

  “Of course, Miss! Over twenty karats. The last time the appraiser came in, he valued them at over four million American dollars.”

  Paris practically fell back away from the case, suddenly afraid to so much as breathe in the direction of the shoes.

  “That's... That's more than ten times what it will cost me to go to medical school!”

  Estella bowed and smiled softly at Paris.

  “They are shoes fit for a queen, Miss.” She whispered conspiratorially, “I think they'd look most lovely on you.”

  Paris was just about to argue when Cat walked out from the back carrying one of the loveliest dresses Paris had ever seen in her life. It was long, made from a combination of royal blue chiffon, teal silk, and teal lace. The elegant cap sleeves, bodice, and back were made from the lace, with little pearls as buttons leading up a high neck in the back but a low cut front. The chiffon crossed delicately over the chest from the sleeves, and then led down to the flowing skirt, looking almost like the ocean lapping gently at a sandy beach. The whole dress was finished off with a thin teal belt, encrusted in the front with a small flower made of tiny blue gemstones. Paris couldn't even form words as she stared at the exquisite dress.

  “Now, Estella here will probably have to take this in a little around the waist, and let it out a little at the chest and the hips, but we can do that today, right?”

  Estella nodded enthusiastically and started hurrying Paris into one of the canopied dressing rooms.

  “Estella will be right in to help you. But start slipping into it, Paris!”

  Once Paris was safely ensconced in the dressing room, Catriona grabbed Estella's arm and held her back.

  “Estella, dear... Fetch the keys to the case with the diamond shoes please.” She gave the servant a small wink. “They are indeed shoes that are fit for a Queen.”

  * * *

  As Dennis pulled the car up in front of the palace, Paris was totally caught off guard by the amount of activity currently taking place. There were florists rushing around with huge bouquets of white flowers, chefs and waiters carrying trays full of food from vans into the house, and a bevy of men, hanging twinkling lights all over the front walk. As she got out of the car, she couldn't help but surprise herself, as she was overcome with a feeling of belonging, even amongst all of the grandeur.

  Catching Paris off guard, Cat rushed around the side of the car and took her arm, rushing her into the house.

  “Okay, Paris. Joy, our press secretary here, is going to take you to your room to help you get ready. She will have your dress, and she is very skilled at doing lovely hair and makeup. At a quarter to eight, I'll have Alex come collect you from your room. If you need more time, just let Joy know! Otherwise, I will see you at the party. Okay, my sweet?”

  Once again, Paris felt overwhelmed by the kindness the Lennox family was showing her, and she was struck by the immense affection she felt for Cat. In a rush of emotion, she leaned over and kissed Catriona on the cheek.

  “Thank you. For everything. For being so kind. For accepting me. For being... amazing. No matter what happens in the future—I will never forget you.”

  Cat's eyes filled with tears and she squeezed one of Paris' hands in her own. Not accustomed to showing emotion like this in front of her staff, she rushed off before Joy could see the tears roll down her cheeks. Paris felt tears building herself, but she didn't have time to succumb to them. Joy grabbed Paris' hand and started pulling her toward the guest wing.

  “We don't have a lot of time to get ready! I've already had the dress and shoes taken to the room. The makeup is all set up so I can start right away, and I've set some curlers to heat. I thought we could straighten your hair, then put in some soft, big curls. Now, I don't know if the Queen spoke to you about the shoes, but the one condition the keeper of the Crown Jewels had to lending them was that one of our security guards be present. So if you see a man in a suit watching you, don't worry. He's just watching the shoes.”

  They were already in Paris' room, Joy having moved at a breakneck pace through the palace, when Paris threw up her hands to stop her from continuing.

  “Hold it! Shoes? What shoes? A security guard? What are you talking about?”

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. Joy opened it to a hulking man in a suit with a deeply stern face. He handed Joy a velvet box, which she accepted gingerly, before nodding with appreciation and shutting the door on him. When she opened the box for Paris to see, Paris couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She was fairly confident all of her blood stopped flowing. Joy smiled over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses.

  “You were lucky they were in your size, huh?”

  The diamond shoes glittered from inside the box like a thousand tiny stars, pulled from the sky and collected just for her.

  “I'm supposed to wear those? That's insane!”

  Joy chuckled and pointed to the chair in front of the vanity, where dozens of bottles and tubes and palettes of powder had already been laid out.

  “Have a seat, Miss Martell. You have a ball to get to.”

  * * *

  Paris looked at herself in the mirror, and couldn't even believe that the reflection looking back at her was her own. The gorgeous blue dress perfectly complimented all of her curves, the lace clinging in all the right places and the silk and chiffon flowing all around her like crystalline water. Joy had tamed Paris' hair and coaxed it into elegant movie star curls, with one simple silver barrette holding all of the hair back from her face. Her makeup was clean and uncomplicated, with just a few swipes of golden eyeshadow complimenting her huge sparkling eyes.

  At the last moment, Paris picked up the bottom of the dress, and watched as the diamond shoes glittered in the mirror. She couldn't help but twirl in a circle, and take in the sight of
the glimmering shoes dancing underneath the blue silk. Paris had never felt so beautiful in her life. She couldn't wait to show the dress to Alex.

  As if he could read her mind, a knock on the door broke her reverie, and sent Paris running to let Alex in. But when she happily opened the door, it wasn't Alex standing on the other side. It was a woman, taller than Paris by six inches at least, impeccably dressed in a strapless, tight black evening gown and giant silver stiletto heels.

  She had a fluffy white fur over her arm, and huge black sunglasses covering her eyes, even though it was night and not terribly bright in the hall of the guest wing. Paris almost stumbled backward, overcome by the feeling that she was faced with a fairy tale villain, and not a mere mortal woman. Paris had no idea what to say, but she didn't have long to worry about it because the woman spoke first.

  “Paris, right? Is that your real name? Paris?”

  Paris nodded her head.

  “What a ridiculous American little name.” She sniffed in disdain. “Well, Paris, I am Princess Whitney Maradonna Eloise Josephine Bishop-St.Claire of Estia. You may call me, ‘Your Highness.’ And I believe you have been sleeping with my fiancé.”

  Paris collapsed back onto the vanity chair and just stared ahead, looking through Whitney, not even seeing her. She felt her head swimming, not with thoughts, but with pure, unadulterated fear. Whitney took the opportunity to walk into the room and shut the door behind her. Paris couldn't help but notice that Whitney moved elegantly, the way she had always imagined royalty should. Whitney looked like she was floating on a cloud... a cloud of pure evil.

  “Paris, I'm not here to cause trouble for you, or hurt you, or start a fight. I just think it's right that you should know, Alex has no intention of leaving me for you. I know everyone around here has been very nice to you, doing this whole Pygmalion—Cinderella thing. They are always polite to Alex’s whores.”

  Whitney grinned with satisfaction as she saw Paris’ eyes widen. “Oh, did you think you were the first? No, dear. You are simply the latest in a long line of inappropriate women dear Alex likes to play with. The royal family plays nice with them to keep the stories out of the press, but honey, no one has any intention of keeping you here. Not even Alex.”

  Paris felt her body start to shake at the tips of her toes and spreading slowly up her legs, to her shoulders, and down her arms to her fingers. In all her life, she'd never been confronted with a situation like this, and she had no idea what to say. So instead she just sat there, and shook.

  “You’re lying.” Her voice wavered, but she held firm in her belief of Alex’s love for her. There was no way she could have imagined that.

  “Why—? Did he say he wanted to move you into the castle? Marry you even?” Whitney threw her head back and laughed. “You’re the third one this year. Silly chit. The treaty can’t be broken. The consequences are too high. He may not like me…” Whitney’s mouth widened into a Cheshire smile, “but he’ll do his duty by me. You? You will be on your way next week, the only reminder of your existence the tabloids lining the bottom of my birdcages.”

  Whitney walked across the room and reached into a purse tucked under her arm, a purse so tiny that Paris hadn't even noticed she was carrying it before. Whitney slipped her phone out of it, clicked a few buttons, and then unceremoniously shoved the phone in Paris' face.

  It took Paris a few moments to blink the tears out of her eyes so she could make out what she was supposed to be looking at. After a few seconds, she finally saw that it was a text message exchange between Whitney and Alex, time stamped earlier that day.

  Alex: I mis you babby.

  Whitney: It dosn't seem like it.

  Alex: I'm sorry :( I made a terrible mistake. This girl means noting to me.

  Alex: Fourgive me. Please.

  Whitney: How can I? It’s all over the pres!

  Alex: She throew herself at me. I was week. Please. Come bake to me.

  Alex: I <3 you.

  Whitney: I <3 you too, my darling. I'll come 2night. You no I can never stay mad. Be more discrete next time.

  Alex: xoxoxox <3 <3 <3

  Alex: I’ll get rid of her after the party tonight— let her down ez.

  Whitney: Right. No moor scandals, my love.

  Paris inched as far back in the seat as she could, trying to put as much distance between the phone and herself as possible. But it didn't feel like there was enough distance in the world to make the pain go away. She couldn't hold the tears back any more, and when she looked up at Whitney, grinning again like a Cheshire cat, they poured down her cheeks with abandon.

  “Paris, it's obvious he made his decision. Dennis is sitting outside in the limo, ready to take you anywhere you'd like to go after the party. But perhaps you’d like to save yourself the humiliation and leave now? May I suggest the airport?”

  With a smirk on her face and a flip of her hair, Whitney turned on her heel and walked for the door. Before she walked out, she called over her shoulder, “Safe travels back to the States, Paris.”

  Paris could practically taste the venom of her own name as it tumbled from Whitney's lips. Once the door was closed, and Paris was again alone in the room, the sobs poured from her so hard that she had no control over them.

  She didn’t want to believe Whitney. Everything in her said that it couldn’t be true—and yet, which was more probable? That a handsome Prince had swept her off her feet, fallen in love with her, and wanted to marry her and make her his Queen? Her? A nobody from nowhere with nothing?

  Or was it more probable that she was just another in a long line of mistresses? Just another side-piece?

  The more she thought about it, the more ludicrous it seemed, and she wondered how she could have ever deceived herself into believing the fantasy world of the past weeks could possibly be anything more than that—that it could possibly be real.

  Paris thought back to the fact that she hadn’t been able to call her family—hadn’t spoken to anyone since she’d been here. She hadn’t even been completely alone with a servant. Everything had all been very tightly and carefully controlled with military precision. Almost as if—almost as if they’d done this before.

  A sob escaped her throat, and she didn't think; she just grabbed a sweater from the closet and tossed it around her shoulders, then threw everything that was hers into her backpack.

  She was almost at the door when she realized that she was still wearing the diamond shoes, so she rushed back into the room and slipped off the shoes, putting them back and scrawling a note quickly on some paper she found in her bag.

  Once the note was on top of the box, and her sneakers were on, she carefully opened the door and peeked out, making sure no one else was coming down the hall.

  Paris could hear the sounds of the party from the other side of the house, but luckily, no one seemed to be anywhere near the guest quarters... yet. She tip-toed down the hall and inched her way to the stairs, watching her back and front the whole way to make sure no one was watching her.

  When she got to the stairs, she leaned gently over the long banister to see if anyone would catch sight of her running for the exit. A few of the royal guards were standing at the entrance to the foyer, dressed in their official uniforms, but they were on duty, and wouldn't budge unless something was wrong.

  Once the few guests that were milling in the foyer emptied out into the ballroom, Paris ran down the steps and out the open front to door to the courtyard, where several limos were idling, waiting for their owners to return. She scanned the drivers for Dennis, and when she saw him leaning against a sleek Mercedes smoking a cigarette, she ducked down and ran his way. When his attention was drawn away by another car pulling up, Paris snuck up behind him and tugged on his jacket. He was so startled, he dropped his cigarette on the ground, and had to scramble to put it out before it lit his pants leg on fire.

  “Miss Martell! What are you... why are you... what are you doing out here, Miss? You should be inside at the party. You should be..
. why are you wearing those shoes?”

  Paris smiled sadly, looking down at her feet, because she was afraid to look at Dennis, afraid she might start crying again.

  “Dennis, I need you to take me to the airport, the commercial airport. And I need to borrow a phone on the way.”

  Dennis immediately began stuttering, his words slurring together in a flurry of panic.

  “Miss, I... I can't. We can't. I'm not authorized. You're not. You're supposed to be. The King didn't. Prince Alexander. I don't even know...”

  Paris finally looked up at him, and when he saw the tears filling her eyes, his heart began to melt. He'd seen that look more than once in all of his five daughters at one time or another. That was the look of a broken heart.

  “Yes, Miss. To the airport, right away. My phone is in the car. I'll give it to you once we're inside.”

  Paris threw her arms around the man she barely knew, so grateful for this bit of kindness. Then she rushed to the back of the car and jumped in before anyone could spot her. Once the car was moving, Dennis opened the partition and handed the phone back to her.

  “Call whoever you need. Just make sure you dial a country code first.”

  Paris nodded, and Dennis smiled back at her in the rearview mirror before he closed the partition again.

  Paris dialed the phone, and before the person on the other end could even start speaking, Paris started sobbing.

  “Mama… I'm coming home.”

  * * *

  Alex knocked excitedly on Paris' door, anxious to see the dress she'd picked out shopping with his mother, but even more delighted to walk into Matthias' birthday party with Paris on his arm. When Paris didn't answer, he knocked again. But still... nothing.

  Finally, Alex turned the knob, surprised to find that it clicked right open to a dark room. He clicked on the light and scanned the room for any sign of Paris, but she wasn't there. He ran into the bathroom to see if she was still getting ready, but it was dark there too.