H.R.H.

by Danielle Steel

  One of the managers of the Ritz had already checked her in when she arrived, and she was taken to a beautiful suite looking out on the Place Vendôme. She stood impatiently, looking out at the beauty of the square, hung up a few things, ordered tea, paced nervously around the room, and then, almost like in a movie, there was a knock on her door. She opened it, and there he was, more beautiful than ever. Parker, in a blazer and slacks, open-necked blue shirt, and before she could even take a good look at him, she was in his arms. They kissed so passionately that the air nearly went out of both of them. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. They hadn't seen each other in two months. It was the end of September, and he had left at the beginning of August. She felt like a drowning person gasping for air. She was speechless with joy, when he finally pulled away a little to look at her.

  “My God, you look so beautiful,” he said, overwhelmed himself. He was used to seeing her the way she looked in Senafe, with her hair in a braid, in shorts and hiking boots, without makeup or elegance. Now she was wearing a pale blue wool dress the same color as her eyes, and pearls at her neck and ears. And even high heels, she pointed out. And they didn't have to worry about snakes, he teased.

  Everything about seeing each other was perfect. She had planned to go for a walk with him, or stop at a small café on the Left Bank. He had had the same idea, and instead they were in bed, tightly in each other's arms within minutes. They were like starving people who needed to be fed before they could do anything else. And their passion for each other had only increased in the two months they hadn't seen each other.

  Afterward they lay sated and comfortable on the impeccably pressed sheets of her bed at the Ritz, looking up at the splendid details of the ceiling, and then back into each other's eyes. She couldn't stop kissing him, and he couldn't keep himself from holding her close. It was late afternoon before they finally got up, and shared a bath in the suite's huge bathtub. Being together was almost like a drug to which they had both become addicted, and now could not live without.

  They finally made it out of the room, and walked first around the Place Vendôme and then around the Left Bank. Sam and Max had been stunned and delighted when they saw him, and then realized what the weekend was about. They kept a discreet distance and followed the young lovers as they walked and talked for hours. It was as though they had never been apart. They talked about the same topics they used to, he told her about his research project, she told him what she'd been doing in Vaduz. They talked about their time in Senafe, the people they had come to love there, their concerns for the laughing, generous Eritrean people. Neither of them mentioned Fiona, because it was just too sad. This was meant to be a happy time for them, and it was.

  They had coffee at the Deux Magots, talked some more, and then went across the street to the church of St. Germain des Prés, lit candles, and prayed. Christianna lit her candles for the people of Eritrea and Senafe, for Fiona, and one for them as well, hoping that somehow they would find a solution to their problem, that maybe by some miracle her father would be reasonable and allow them to pursue their love. She knew it would take a miracle for that to happen. She was relieved to know that Parker was also Catholic, because that would have been a stumbling block to her father, and a big one, probably insurmountable. At least that was one obstacle they didn't have to deal with. They had so many others to worry about, fortunately religion wasn't one of them. The throne of Liechtenstein had been Catholic since the sixteenth century, and her father was profoundly devout about their faith.

  They went back to the hotel afterward, and had to delay dinner when they made love again. It was ninethirty by the time Christianna was dressed in a white pantsuit and sweater she had bought the year before at Dior. She looked like a little angel, as she left the hotel again on his arm. Sam and Max were waiting outside with the car.

  They drove until they found a bistro, and then sat there for hours, talking some more. They were tireless in their interest in each other, their passion for each other's projects, their concern for each other's well-being. It was a constant exchange of information between them, of laughter, jokes, and topics that fascinated them both. She particularly liked hearing about his AIDS project, since she had become knowledgeable about it in Senafe, and now it was dear to her heart, just as he was, and everything he touched.

  “And what about you, sweetheart? How's the ribbon business going?” They had come to call it that once she explained to him what it was.

  “I'm doing a lot of it these days. It makes my father happy, and the people I do it for. It makes them feel important if I open their buildings for them, or whatever they want.” It was strange even to her to realize that it made a difference to them, that her presence cutting a ribbon, or saying a few words, shaking a hand, or gently touching a head, could make them feel as though they had shared in her grace and magic for a minute, and were somehow different as a result. It was something she had talked to him about at length by e-mail, the strangeness of being a person who was admired and sought out, without their truly knowing her, or if she was in fact worthy of the respect and admiration they gave her, simply because of who she had been born. It seemed magical to him as well, the fairy princess who blesses the people with her magic wand, casting a happy spell on them. She laughed when he said that to her, wishing she could do as much for herself and Parker. But in many ways, life had. Seeing him again was an enormous blessing in which they both shared. And sharing that blessing gave them more to share with others. In the warmth of Parker's love, Christianna felt she could do anything, and he said he felt the same way about her. The only problem they had, and it was an enormous one, was that they were living on stolen moments.

  They fell asleep in each other's arms that night, like sleeping children, after they made love again. They couldn't get enough of each other, their thirst for each other's bodies and souls was bottomless and never quenched, or at least not for long. They had two months to catch up on, and the next morning Christianna teased him that they couldn't make up for all of it in one weekend.

  “Then give me a lifetime,” Parker said, looking serious, as she lay in bed beside him.

  “I wish I could,” she said, looking sad again. She hated thinking about how hopeless their situation was. Unless she was willing to walk away from her responsibilities and break her father's heart, she simply had no choice. “If it were in my power to say so, I would be yours. I am yours, in all the ways that matter.” Save one. She could not agree to marry him, and probably never could because she knew without a doubt that her father wouldn't give his consent, and she didn't want to marry Parker without that. Breaking every belief and tradition she'd been brought up to respect seemed the wrong way to start. And Parker wanted to marry her more than anything in life. He had been in love with her for seven months, and it already seemed like a lifetime to him. He wanted more now, and so did she. They promised each other to try not to think about it that day, and enjoy the time they had. He was going back to Boston, and she was flying back to Zurich on Monday night.

  They spent Saturday walking along the Seine, looking at the bookstalls, playing with the puppies in the pet shops, taking a Bâteau Mouche for the fun of it, and having lunch at the Café Flore. She felt as though they had walked all over the Left Bank, into antique shops and galleries, before they let Sam and Max drive them back to the Right Bank across the Pont Alexandre III. They drove past the Louvre in all its splendor and talked about what it must have been like when it was a palace. She smiled and said that her mother had been both a Bourbon and descended from the house of Orléans. She was a Royal Highness, not a Serene one, on both sides. She explained to Parker that in order to be a “Royal” Highness, one must be directly descended from kings, which her mother was. Her father's lineage descended from princes, so he was Serene. For Parker, unfamiliar with all the royal traditions she had grown up with, it was heady stuff, in fact, a little dizzying, and so was she for him. It was the first time he had ever seen her passport, w
ith only her Christian name.

  “And that's it? No last name?” It seemed funny to him, and she smiled.

  “That's it. Just Christianna of Liechtenstein. All royals have passports like that, with no surname at all. Even the queen of England, her passport just says ‘Elizabeth,’ and in her case it is followed by an R, for Regina, because she is the queen.”

  “I guess Princess Christianna Williams would sound a little strange,” he said apologetically with a rueful grin.

  “Not to me,” she said softly, as he kissed her again.

  On their way into the hotel, they stopped at the Bar du Ritz for a drink. They were both thirsty and tired, but had had a wonderful day. Parker ordered a glass of wine, and Christianna a cup of tea. He had learned in Senafe that she almost never drank. She didn't like it, and only did so at state occasions, when she felt obliged to toast someone with champagne. Otherwise she had no great fondness for alcohol. And Parker always told her she ate like a bird. She was tiny, and had a slim but womanly figure, which he found irresistibly sexy, as he had proven often.

  There was a man playing the piano at the bar of the Ritz, and as they sat there enjoying it, Christianna laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” Parker asked her with a happy smile. All he wanted was for their weekend in Paris to last forever, and so did she. They were totally in agreement on that concept.

  “I was just thinking how civilized this is compared to Senafe. Imagine if we'd had a piano in the dining tent.” It was after all where their romance began.

  “It might have been a very nice touch,” he laughed along with her.

  “God, I miss it. Don't you?” she said longingly, with her love for Africa in her eyes.

  “I do, but also because I could wake up every morning and see you, and end the day seeing you. But I have to admit that other than that, my work has been really interesting at Harvard,” more so than it had been in Senafe, although he had loved the patients he saw there. In Boston he saw no patients, but was only coordinating research. He mentioned that he had had a letter from the Dutchman who was the head of the team he'd traveled with from Doctors Without Borders. Christianna said that she admired their work tremendously, and so did Parker.

  “If I were a doctor, I would do that,” she said, and he smiled at her.

  “I know you would.”

  “I wish I could dedicate my life to helping people, as you do. The things I do for my father seem so stupid. The ribbon business. It means nothing, to anyone,” least of all to her.

  “I'm sure it means something to them,” he said gently.

  “It shouldn't. I'm nothing more than a hospitality committee. My father does the real work, he makes economic decisions that affect the country positively, or negatively if he makes the wrong decision, although usually he makes the right ones.” She smiled loyally. “He makes humanitarian efforts, he makes things better for people. He takes his responsibilities so seriously.”

  “So do you.” Parker was extremely impressed by that about her.

  “It makes no difference. Cutting a ribbon will never change anyone's life.” She wanted to start working at the foundation that winter, but hadn't had time yet. Her father was keeping her too busy making state appearances for him, many of which were things Freddy should have been doing, but never did. In some instances, Christianna was carrying the ball for all three of them. At least if she started work at the foundation, she would feel she was doing something useful. But going to state dinners, and all her other minor duties seemed meaningless to her. And for that, she was having to give Parker up. It seemed inordinately cruel to her, just so she could be a princess, obey her father, and serve the people of Liechtenstein.

  “Does your brother do anything?” Parker asked cautiously. He knew it was a sore subject with her.

  “Not if he can help it. He says he will wait to grow up until he is the reigning prince, and that could be a long time from now. I hope it will be.” Parker nodded. Her brother sounded like a scoundrel and a black sheep, but he didn't say it to her.

  Eventually, they went upstairs to change for dinner, but never made it out the door of their room. They wound up making love again, sitting in the bathtub together afterward, and ordering room service. And they fell asleep in each other's arms again. It was the perfect weekend.

  The next day they went to mass at Sacre Coeur, and listened to a choir of nuns sing. It was a beautiful day, and they walked in the Bois de Boulogne, and smiled at people kissing and walking their babies and dogs. It was a perfect day. They went for ice cream, stopped for coffee, and finally, relaxed and happy, they drove back to the Place Vendôme, and walked into the Ritz. She had asked the concierge to make dinner reservations at Le Voltaire, which was her favorite small, chic restaurant in Paris. They had few tables, a cozy atmosphere, great service, and fabulous food.

  At nine o'clock they left the hotel, dressed for dinner and in high spirits. Christianna was wearing a very pretty pale blue Chanel suit, with high heels and diamond earrings. She loved dressing up for him, although it was certainly different than when they had been in Senafe. And he loved how elegant she was now.

  As they walked out of the lobby, he put his arm around her as soon as they came out of the revolving door. The air was balmy, and she was smiling at him lovingly—when suddenly like a rocket explosion there was a flash of lights in her face. She didn't even have time to register what it was and they ran to the waiting car, followed by a trail of paparazzi. Parker looked stunned, and Christianna instantly unhappy when Max whisked them away.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Max told the driver, as Sam hopped in next to them in back, and within seconds they sped off but not before two more photographers got them.

  “Damn!” Christianna said, looking at Max in the front seat. “How did that happen? Do you suppose someone called them?”

  “I think it was an accident,” he said apologetically. “I almost warned you, but you came out too fast. Madonna walked out of the hotel just before you did. She's staying at the hotel, too, and they were waiting for her. I think you were just a bonus.” But they had obviously recognized her the moment she came out of the hotel, and they had caught her smiling adoringly up at Parker, with his arm around her. There was no mistaking what this was, or that it was a romance. “We'll go in the back way later.”

  “It's a little late for that,” she said tersely, and looked at Parker, who was still stunned. He hadn't even had time to react yet, and his eyes still had spots in front of them from the strobes. There was no doubt in Christianna's mind that the photographs would turn up somewhere. They always did. At an inopportune time when it was embarrassing, or at the very least awkward. And if her father saw them, which he would if they came out, he was not going to like it. Particularly her lying that this was a shopping trip. And he didn't like her making a spectacle of herself in the press. They had enough of that with Freddy.

  Christianna was quiet on the way to the restaurant, and Parker was sorry to see her upset. He tried to console her, and she was a good sport about it, but it was obvious that she was worried. “I'm sorry, baby.”

  “Me, too. We didn't need that headache. It was so nice while no one knew.” And essential.

  “Maybe they won't use them,” he said, trying to sound hopeful.

  “They will. They always do,” she said sadly. “My brother makes such an ass of himself all the time that they always try to tar me with the same brush. The shocking Liechtenstein prince and princess. They love saying things about royals. And I'm so careful to stay out of the press that they always get excited when they see me.”

  “It was rotten luck that they were waiting for Madonna.” She agreed with Max that he should have warned her, but he explained that she must have already left the room when he saw them, because she was out the door within seconds, and Madonna had just sped off in a limousine with her children.

  She tried not to let it spoil dinner for them, but Parker could see that she was distracted and worried. They e
njoyed it anyway, but it put a damper on the evening. She was worried sick about what her father would say when he saw the press, and once he saw Parker. It opened a whole can of worms she didn't want to have to deal with yet, and had taken the timing right out of her hands. But she was helpless to change it.

  They went in through the service entrance of the Ritz, on the rue Cambon. It was the same entrance Princess Diana had used when she stayed at the hotel. Many celebrities and royals came in the back entrance, and rode up in the tiny elevator, to avoid the paparazzi waiting for them out front. And then finally they were back in the safety of her room, and she relaxed again in his arms. They made love again that night, and there was a bittersweet feeling to it. She was so afraid that the photographs that had been taken would be used to force her hand with Parker. Once her father knew, she would be entirely at his mercy, which was the last thing she wanted.

  Still worrying about it, she slept fitfully that night, and woke up several times with nightmares. Parker comforted her as best he could, and they were both quiet over breakfast the next morning, as the roomservice waiter poured their coffee. They waited until he left the room to discuss it further. Christianna trusted no one now. She had been shaken by the paparazzi attack the night before. She dreaded discussing it with her father, if it actually hit the press.

  “Sweetheart, there's nothing you can do about it,” Parker said sensibly. “It happened. It's over. We'll deal with it if it comes out,” he said calmly, sipping the hot coffee.

  “No, we won't deal with it, if it comes out,” she said, sounding strained and unhappy. She was tired after sleeping badly the night before, and obviously worried. “If it happens, I'll deal with it. And so will my father. I'll be dealing with him alone. I didn't want that to happen to us, until we were ready. Because I'll get one shot at this, to convince my father about us. He won't let me discuss it with him twice. And the way to start that conversation wasn't with a lie. I lied to him about coming to Paris.” But as always, she'd had no other choice. Her range of options was always narrow, and limited at best. “I just don't like it. Being exposed in the press is so tacky and unpleasant.” She had an aversion to that, unlike her brother, or perhaps because of him, and his frequent scandals, she was even more sensitive about it.