Paris and the Prince: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (Royal Weddings Book 1) (13 page)

“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.”

P
aris 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.”

A
lex 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.

Alex walked back in to the bedroom, confused, and opened the closet to see that Paris' backpack was gone. All of the clothes he had gotten for her were still there, but her backpack was gone. He was just about to rush for his phone when he saw a shoe box sitting on the bed. Alex gently lifted the top off to find a pair of high heels studded with hundreds of perfect diamonds. On top was a note in Paris' handwriting, and a glittering diamond engagement ring.

Thanks for the memories. We’ll always have Paris. -P

Alex dropped the note on the floor and ran for the front door of the house, grabbing his car keys from the box next to the door as he made his way for the garage...

T
he fireplace
in Orlando’s cabin crackled and burned, lighting up the otherwise dark living room of the small house. Orlando had built the cabin from the ground up two years earlier when he'd gotten tired of being on the road all the time and living out of a suitcase. It had taken him almost a year to build, but it had been worth it to have a home that was all his. Virginia was a nice little state, and with a job in a small restaurant behind the bar and playing shows on weekends, Orlando had settled into a comfortable routine that fit his moods. What didn't make him happy was seeing his sister, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in his armchair and staring through the fire like it wasn't there, like she wasn't there.

Orlando brought Paris a cup of tea and set it down in front of her, fully expecting that she wouldn't touch it, just as she hadn't touched the other five cups of tea he'd brought her.

“Paris, honey, you need to eat, drink... something. At the very least, get out of that dress. You can borrow a shirt and some sweats. You're just, a little over-dressed for the occasion.”

Paris didn't even crack a smile. She just curled up into a tighter ball and pulled the blanket up over her head.

“Paris, listen. I don't know what happened, beyond what I've seen on TV. Thank God I live in the middle of nowhere, or I’m sure I’d have reporters stacked up on my porch two feet high, just like Atlanta did. I don't know what you're feeling right now, but I'm here for you. I'll help you any way I can, you know that. But don't shut me out. I know you’d rather talk to Mama, but she’s got to finish out her contract and the shows she’s gotta do. She’ll be here as soon as she can, I swear.”

Paris pulled the blanket back down from her head and looked at her brother with eyes full of sadness. He always tried to protect her.

“I made such a mess of things, ‘Lando. I made such a huge mistake.”

Orlando sat on the couch and reached over to the chair, taking his sister’s hand in his.

“Falling in love is never a mistake, P. You followed your heart. Whatever happens now, you just have to remember that you never did anything wrong.”

Paris reached over and picked up the cup of tea off the coffee table, taking a long slow slip before she smiled up at her brother.

“It doesn't feel that way, but I do appreciate you saying it.”

W
hen Alex had bolted
from the party, he headed straight for the airport, knowing in his heart that whatever had happened had sent Paris back to America. He'd run up to the ticket agent's desk, begging for information, but it was late, there was only one agent on duty, and she didn't recognize him. She assumed he was some sort of crazy stalker, and having had a few of those herself, refused to give Alex any sort of passenger information.

Frustrated, Alex tried to call the palace, but no one, not even the assistants, were answering their phones. All he could do was go back to the castle and hope one of the people in security could help him.

Alex arrived back at the palace, miserable, his tux jacket thrown in the back of his car, his bow tie hanging dejectedly from his neck. The party was still in full swing, and Alex rushed in to the ballroom to find his mother and father, intending to find out what had driven Paris away. But as soon as he walked through the ballroom doors, he saw exactly what must have sent Paris running from him.

Whitney was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by people, as she laughed and flirted with anyone who was willing to be still and listen to her droning on and on about herself. When she saw Alex in the doorway, she waved with an exaggerated toothy grin plastered on her face and blew him a kiss, a kiss that made Alex's stomach churn. He saw the satisfaction lurking behind her eyes, and he felt in his gut that his suspicions were right.

When he broke eye contact with Whitney to find his parents, he caught his mother's uncomfortable grimace, which was followed by a shrug, to indicate she had no idea what was going on either. Alex's first instinct was to bolt, but before he could leave the room, Whitney was by his side, holding his hands, pulling him into the middle of the dance floor.

Even the feel of his hands on Whitney's waist made him feel nauseous, but she was leading and spinning them around the dance floor like a couple in love. Only when he was sure that no one could hear him over the music, he whispered through gritted teeth, “What did you do to Paris, you witch?”

Whitney threw her head back and laughed as if Alex had just told the most brilliant joke.

“I simply told her that this was no place for little American nobodies, and that you would do your duty in the end.”

Alex twirled Whitney so hard, she almost spun away into the crowd, but she laughed it off and rushed back into his arms.

“You know full well that the only thing I feel for you is contempt. Why would you do such a horrible thing? We don't care about each other. Your life could be your own again. Why do you even care?”

Whitney leaned forward and kissed Alex on the cheek, causing him to visibly recoil. He knew it would be a reaction obvious to onlookers, but he couldn't control himself. When Whitney spoke, she hissed every word like a snake.

“Because, Alexander. She took what's mine. And whether or not I want it, it's mine. And it shall stay mine, no matter what little games you play with your American tramp.”

With that, Alex shoved Whitney away from him. The band stopped playing in shock and the room went silent, as no one had ever seen the Prince engage in such an overtly dramatic display. His face was as calm and cool as ever, but his eyes were flaming with a rage that had been building up for some time. When Alex reached down and grabbed Whitney's hand, she honestly had no idea what he was going to do.

She was shocked when all he did was drag her up to the Royal table, pick up a glass of champagne, and clink it gently with one of the silver knives. As he started to speak, every citizen of Kara's Vale that was in attendance was on the edge of their seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, loyal subjects, my dearest family, I hate to draw attention away from my brother on this most wonderful of occasions. But my fiancée Whitney and I have an announcement, and we'd like you all to be the first to know.”

Whitney smiled out into the crowd like the cat that got the cream, well and truly convinced she'd managed to sway Alex to her side, and that he would finally agree to set a date. The King's head dropped down into his hands as he prepared himself for a scene, what kind of scene was the question, but a scene nonetheless. Joseph and Matthias were both already laughing behind their coats, as their mother smacked at them to stop.

“I couldn't even begin to imagine being happier to announce that Whitney Bishop-St.Claire of Estia and I are… calling off our engagement. For good, forever, and without even the slightest chance of reconciliation. I have met a woman so good, so kind, and so wonderful, that she has made me realize how truly unpleasant the Princess standing next to me actually is, and as such I choose to take my chances with snubbing centuries of royal tradition, and I will marry for love. While Whitney has attempted to drive away the woman that I love with lies and deceit of the most immature kind, nothing can stop me from finding her, bringing her back here, and making her my wife. So if you'll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”

The whole room erupted into shocked murmurs and gasps as Alex bolted from the room. Whitney continued to stand there, dumbstruck, with a fake plastic smile on her face. Joseph, unable to control himself even in the most awkward of situations, jumped over the table and sidled up to Whitney, to whom he loudly asked,

“So... should I go ahead and call you a car to take your royal arse elsewhere?”