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.”