Paris and the Prince: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (Royal Weddings Book 1) (9 page)

K
ing Alexander paced back
and forth across the floor in his office, wringing his hands and looking at the clock on the wall every time he turned on his heel. Queen Catriona sat in a high-backed chair, watching the King pace, and becoming increasingly frustrated with his fidgeting.

“Alexander, would you please sit down? You're going to wear a hole in the floor, and all of this pacing isn't going to make the plane land any faster.”

The King stomped over to the ornate chair behind his mahogany desk and began tapping a pen on the sparkling wood. Cat shot him daggers, and he dropped the pen to the desk with a grumble.

“How could he have been so reckless, Cat? Doesn't he understand what he's done? How his behavior reflects on all of us? I'm quite sure the only reason we haven't heard from that bonehead and his shrieking wife is because they passed out when they saw the story!”

In spite of herself, Catriona chuckled.

“I can't argue with that. But if it's any conciliation, Augustine in the Press Department got back to Celia. This American tourist girl? She's a medical student. Her tour group has been frantic with worry and the gendarmerie has put out a search for her. Augustine said they couldn't find any information to indicate in this girl’s background that she is a pawn of one of our enemies. She seems to be a common, but honest, hard-working girl that our idiot son has dragged into a horrible situation. Would you like to hear something that will make you happy though?”

Alexander dropped his head to desk and sighed.

“I can't imagine anything could make me happy right now, my darling.”

Catriona covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh.

“I heard from Lady Morgan in Paris that Whitney's line was relegated to a dump in the middle of nowhere, and the runway collapsed under her models in the middle of the show.”

The King’s whole body erupted into peals of laughter, and Queen Cat finally allowed herself the much needed release of a good laugh as well.

A
s the wheels
of the plane touched down to the runway, Paris was jolted from a restless and miserable sleep. She pushed open the shade on the small window next to her seat, and was mesmerized by what she saw. The airport was surrounded on one side by towering green mountains, peppered at the top with the faintest wisps of white clouds. On the other side, she could just make out the ocean, sparkling crystal blue, like nothing Paris had ever seen in her life. Everything was so lovely, she almost forgot for a moment that she was essentially a prisoner on a private plane, landing in a country that, until six hours ago, she'd never even heard of.

Did she even have her passport? Could she get into a foreign country without one? Did that matter if one was with royalty from that country? She slumped back in her seat. Some questions she didn’t really want the answer to.

Alex was sitting across from Paris, watching her with concerned eyes. His face was pale and tired, his glasses only barely masking the trepidation he was feeling inside.

He wasn’t scared of his father.

He didn’t give a damn about Whitney or her parents.

But Paris—
Losing her was the one thing he was scared of.

And right now she was madder than all the furies of hell, and all of that anger was directed at him.

He stared at Paris as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, felt his heart ache as he saw tears roll down and stain her dark cheeks. He wanted to go over and comfort her, but Alex knew that the last thing Paris would want right now would be any sort of attention from him. As Alex fought with himself over how to make things right with Paris, Bernard came out of the cockpit and stiffened up his shoulders.

“Your Highness… The King and Queen tried to prevent the media from finding out about your arrival, but it seems they were unsuccessful. The plan is to take you off the plane first and distract them, then hopefully Julien can sneak Miss Martell out with the flight crew. We'll pick her up at the back of the hanger before we start for the palace. Are we clear?”

Alex nodded obediently, while Paris pulled her sunglasses from her purse and quickly slipped them on, trying to hide the tears that were now falling with reckless abandon. When the plane door opened, the sound of voices yelling her and Alex's names filled the cabin, causing Paris' heart to sink even deeper into her stomach. As Bernard took hold of Alex's arm to lead him off the plane, Alex reached out for Paris.

“Paris, I am so, so sorry. I promise, I will make it right, I will…”

Paris shook Alex's hand from her arm and turned back to the window.

“Don't make promises you can't keep, your majesty.”

Alex took one last look at Paris before Bernard dragged him off the plane and into the sea of shouting reporters waiting at the edge of the tarmac.

O
ne of the
flight attendants had wrapped her official jacket around Paris' shoulders, and gave them a gentle squeeze before they exited the cockpit. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with an accent similar to Alex's, but deeper, and slightly less refined. Her voice was like music.

“We shouldn't have any problem getting you out with the crew, Miss Martell. Just keep your head down, look straight ahead, and whatever you do, don't make eye contact with the press. The locals were... encouraged... to leave by security. But we can't do anything about the paparazzi who have arrived from outside the country. And they smell weakness. Just stick with me, and we'll get you to the limo.”

Paris managed to muster a small smile for the woman's kindness. She barely looked older than Paris, and there was something soothing about her huge warm brown eyes that was comforting. In a way, the pretty stewardess reminded Paris of her sister, with her black braids pulled back into a neat bun, and Paris felt a pang of homesickness.

“Thank you, so much... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

The woman smiled at Paris as she gathered her own bags from underneath one of the plane seats.

“I'm Genevieve. It's nice to meet you, Miss Martell.”

As the flight attendants rushed from the plane, with Paris safely hidden in the middle of the group, the antsy paparazzi seemed disinterested in the crew's movements. Only one paparazzo bothered to watch them as they hurried away, and unfortunately, it happened to be the same squat little photographer who had been following Paris and Alex in Paris. Out of the corner of his eye, he happened to notice the small woman in the middle of the crew, a woman with wild curly hair and big sunglasses, a woman who seemed just a little too focused on her own feet as she walked.

The photographer inched away from the group and tried to follow the flight attendants as they entered the hangar. He was just about to sneak inside when a huge security guard stepped out of the shadows and blocked his path.

“I don't think you belong here, friend.”

Despite the fact that the security guard's tone was anything but friendly, the photographer managed to croak out a fake laugh.

“Hey, ho there fella. I was just looking for the bathroom. No need to get worked up.”

The security guard scowled down at the photographer, and stared at him until he finally started to walk away. But the guard didn't see the paparazzo snap a picture with the camera near his hip, just managing to snag a shot of Paris as she slipped into a limo that was waiting outside the airport.

A
s the limo
sped through the streets of Kara's Vale, Paris couldn't bring herself to enjoy the beauty of the bucolic city. Thatched cottages, small shops surrounded by lovely pink and purple canna flowers, cobblestone streets, red geraniums, and small children racing around the carts of the farmer's market... It was all gorgeous, but Paris wasn't fully registering any of it.

All she was aware of was that she was in a foreign country, and someone had taken her cell phone while she was sleeping. Was any of this even legal??? All she wanted to do was call her brother for advice, call him and explain what had happened in case he had seen her face plastered on the local news. He was always good in a tight spot of trouble. But now, she wasn't only disconnected from any sort of reality, she was also disconnected from her family. And that scared the hell out of Paris.

After what felt like an eternity alone in the limo, the car approached a giant metal gate that was etched with the letters “L” and “D” in beautiful Edwardian script. The partition in the limo was closed, but Paris could see the driver pick up his phone and punch in a long series of numbers, which seemed to trigger the opening of the gate. As the limo drove through the gate, Paris felt like her stomach was going to jump right out of her mouth.

Where am I
, she thought to herself,
and more importantly, what the hell have I gotten myself into?

T
he sound
of breaking glass echoed through the royal palace in Estia, a country so minuscule, it didn't even have a capital city. If the sea birds were quiet, one end of the island could easily hear what was going on at the other end without much of a problem. So when Whitney began shrieking at her parents in a tone usually reserved for dog whistles, the man operating the light house looked up from his book, wondering aloud if someone had run over a cat.

“How could you let this happen?” Whitney screamed at her baffled and supremely hungover parents. “This is YOUR fault! I don't know how, but it is! You should have been keeping better tabs on him! You should have picked someone better!”

Leonard and Penelope just stared at their daughter with the blankest of eyes, Penelope's hand shaking, her Bloody Mary spilling out on to the carpet underneath her.

“Darling, how could we have known? And anyway, are you sure about any of it? Couldn't it just be tabloid nonsense?”

Whitney ripped the newspaper from the bag at her side and shoved it into her mother's lap. On the cover was a picture of Alex and Paris at the zoo in France, his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head as she beamed. Even in black and white, you could see the glow on both of their faces. Penelope's pasted on smile disappeared in a flash. Leonard motioned to his attendant that he needed another gin and tonic, oblivious to the fact that it was 9am. Still, no one spoke, as Whitney's rage filled the room like the thickest of fogs. When she finally spoke, her words were punctuated with thick venom.

“Do. SOMETHING. He’s humiliating me!”

With that, Whitney turned on her heel and fled from her parents' sitting room. Leonard and Penelope finally allowed themselves to look at one another, eyes glazed over with fear and alcohol. The attendant rushed back into the room with the gin and handed it to Leonard, who downed the whole frosted glass in one gulp. Once he was suitably buzzed, he took a deep breath and picked up the phone that was set on the table between him and his wife. Penelope scowled at her husband.

“Are you sure you should be bothering? I would wager that Alexander and Catriona are just as frustrated with this as we are.”

Leonard grumbled incoherently as he dialed the phone.

“Well, it's not their daughter in the crosshairs of this nonsense. Whitney may be a spoiled brat, but she's our spoiled brat. This treaty is bigger than both of our children. And they made a promise. They're going to keep it.”

T
he phone began ringing furiously
in King Alexander's office, with a persistence that seemed to be reserved exclusively for calls from Leonard. Alexander was laying flat out on the couch in his office, a cold washcloth placed over his forehead and a glass of bourbon sitting on his chest, rising up and down with the rhythm of his breathing. As the phone continued ringing, Alexander felt his blood pressure begin to rise until he couldn’t take it anymore. His angry bellow echoed off the office walls, and brought Mathias running from the kitchen with a slice of cheese still hanging out of his mouth.

“Dad! What the hell? I heard you from the other side of the house! Will you just tell me what is going on?”

Alexander took a deep breath as he lifted the glass of deep brown liquor off his chest, swallowing it down in an exasperated gulp. He hadn't intended on involving his younger sons in any of this mess, but they were going to find out one or another. Better it be inside the home than out.

Alexander opened one eye and took in the sight of his youngest son. Mathias looked exactly like his mother, blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, tall with long limbs, dimples and perfect teeth. But like his mother, he was also shy and quiet, full of adventure but unlikely to take a place in the spotlight. His reluctance to show off had earned him somewhat of a cult following in Dalvana and beyond as the “sensitive prince,” and more than his share of admirers. Unlike Joseph, however, Mathias had no idea he was attractive, or that anyone else thought of him as such, which meant he spent a lot of time being oblivious.

Alexander gestured for his son to sit in one of the wing chairs opposite the couch, and then pointed at newspapers spread out all over the floor. As Mathias picked them up and began reading, Alexander closed his eyes again and started contemplating how he was going to get his family out of this latest mess. The room was so quiet, that the sound of Mathias' breath catching in his lungs increased the silence exponentially.

After what felt like an hour of awkward silence as Mathias read through every story, he finally felt able to whisper, “What are you going to do?”

Alexander took another deep, long breath before he responded, “I honestly don't know, son. I honestly don't know.”

F
or the first
time since the plane landed, Paris allowed herself to be truly taken in by her surroundings. Never in her life had she seen anything like what was in front of her, not in real life anyway. Maybe in fairy tales. The road leading away from the gate was long, surrounded on both sides by huge, moss-covered trees that canopied over top of the perfectly cobblestoned roadway. In between each tree was a huge, flowering bush, covered in tiny purple blossoms. Even with the windows closed, the smell of flowers surrounded Paris, filling her senses and leaving her swooning. She almost forgot where she was for a second when the road and the trees opened up, revealing a home that took her breath away.

But calling it a “home” was too diminutive a term. It was a palace, a castle, so much more than even a mansion. Hundreds of windows, dozens of towers, a castle set in stone with perfect grey thatched roofs jumping up into the sunset like so many skyscrapers in Manhattan.

The palace was set on acres of perfect manicured emerald green lawn, and surrounded on three sides by a beautiful and pristine lake. The sky above was filled with purple and pink clouds, masking a slowly setting sun, and all of it gave Paris the feel of being in a movie. For the briefest of seconds, she forgot that she was a prisoner.

For a moment, she let her heart swell with the majesty of the sight before her. But just an instant later, that feeling was gone. It disappeared when she saw a stunningly elegant woman, standing in front of the castle door, staring at the limo with fire in her eyes.

C
atriona stood
on the front steps of the palace, impatiently waiting for Dennis, the driver, to let the young woman out of the car. She was trying to hide her frustration with her son, knowing that there was little chance any of this was the girl's fault. But she'd never been good at hiding her feelings, despite years of classes with a media consultant, and had often alienated herself to rude heads of state and their haughty wives.

She'd barely spoken two words to Penelope since their first meeting twenty-five years earlier, when she'd been unable to hide her giggles at a particularly ridiculous hat Penelope had insisted on wearing. But she didn't want Paris to feel overwhelmed.

Finally, Dennis opened the back door to the limo and motioned for Paris to get out of the car. Cat was taken aback when she finally got a good look at the woman who had driven her son to forget his place. She was dark-skinned and beautiful, with a sweet face, curvy figure, and big, lovely deep brown eyes which were framed by a riotous mane of black curls, and highlighted by dimpled cheeks, much like Catriona's own. If her son had been looking for Whitney's polar opposite, he'd most certainly found her.

In spite of herself, Cat found herself enchanted by the young woman almost immediately. She took a deep breath, and walked down the steps toward Paris, who seemed to be frozen in place, unable to move.

“Paris, welcome to our home. I'm deeply sorry it is under these circumstances. I am Queen Catriona Lennox of Dalvana, but I insist you call me Cat. Do you mind if I call you Paris?”

Cat reached out her hands and took one of Paris' shaking hands in her own. Paris knew she was staring at the Queen like a fool, but she couldn't believe how beautiful the woman was. She looked nothing like Alex; tall, thin, and blonde, with the sparkling blue eyes of an ice sculpture, so clear they were almost white.

Paris felt equal parts intimidated and in love, as if she had known Catriona for her entire life. Cat was as pale as an ice princess, but her hands were warm and calming around Paris'. Paris felt a stutter in her voice when she finally spoke.

“Paris is fine. Queen... Catri... Cat... I'm so, so sorry. I don’t know what I should say—do—I don’t—”

And with that, Paris broke down in sobs, unable to control the tears that poured from her eyes like a waterfall that had been held back for years, finally finding its freedom. Cat gathered Paris in her arms, holding her so tight against her chest that Paris could hear her beating heart. Cat gently patted down Paris' hair as she cried, and whispered in her ear, “Hush now, little one. Everything will be fine. Whatever happened, however bad it seems, we'll sort it out. Don't worry. Please don't worry.”

A
lex paced nervously up
and down the length of his room. Mathias was flopped down on Alex's bed, enjoying both the sight of his brother being a mess for once, as well as how much he looked like their father when he was stressed out. Joseph chomped lazily on an apple as he lounged across a chair in the corner, surreptitiously texting Genevieve, and trying to convince her he wasn't responsible for canceling their date.

After an hour, Mathias' neck was starting to get sore from watching Alex pace, so he finally spoke up. “Dude, can you sit down? You're making me nervous, and you're giving me a neck spasm.”

Alex stopped in his tracks and grumbled.

“Why isn't she here yet? She should be here by now. It doesn't take that long to get here from the damn airport.”

Joseph threw his finished apple core directly at Alex's head.

“She could be here already. Dennis would have brought her around the front of the house. It's not like we'd hear the car pull up from this side of the palace.”

Alex scowled at his brother, but he was right. Most people had no idea that the family only lived in a small corner of the Lennox Chateau, and rarely ventured to any other parts of the palace unless they had to. In fact, there were still parts of the family “home” that the boys hadn't even seen and which had been closed off for centuries.

Sometimes, they would explore when they were kids, feeling like rebels, but all they'd ever find were more empty ballrooms, more paintings of family they didn't recognize, and more dusty furniture, so it didn't take long for the rebelliousness to lose its charm. Eventually, Joseph stuck to the stables, Mathias would spend hours running the grounds, and Alex could always be found in his father's library with his nose in a book.

Alex was just about pick up the apple and throw it back at Joseph when the phone in his bedroom rang. Alex practically tripped over his own feet to get to it before it stopped ringing. When he answered, he sounded more breathless than was probably appropriate given how close to the phone he actually was.

“Yes? Hello? Paris?”

Alex felt his whole body slump when he heard his father's voice, stern, annoyed, and yet somehow totally void of affect.

“Miss Martell is here, Alexander, but you won't be speaking to her right away. She is with your mother in the guest quarters of the house, and there she will remain until we can be sure that no one knows she is here. You, and your brothers, will stay put until dinner, and then you may join us in the dining room. Celia is going to tend to Miss Martell for the time being. I am going to say this once, and only once. You are not to go chasing after her. Do you understand me? You stay with your brothers, and when you are not with your brothers, you are with your mother and me. Have I made myself clear?”

Alex scowled even further, drawing himself straight until his shoulders were practically in line with his hips. He refrained from saying what he really wanted to say. One did not contradict a King, after all—even if the King happened to be his father.

“Yes, sir.”

Mathias and Joseph both looked up, shocked. They were often on the receiving end of a stern lecture from their father, but it was rare that Alex was the one forced into the position of misbehaving child. When Alex hung up the phone and turned around to face his startled brothers, he was barely able to hide the flashing anger in his eyes. Joseph, ever the clown, was the first to speak up, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“So... fancy a hand of poker?”