Paris and the Prince (Royal Weddings 1)

Paris nodded, still dumbstruck by her surroundings, and more than a little confused by the snippets of conversation she had heard.

Hand in hand, heads still turned in their direction, Paris and Alex began walking toward the back of the hotel. When they reached the elevator, Paris almost collapsed from fright when the elevator door opened and a man was waiting inside to take them to their floor.

She whispered to Alex, “There is an elevator operator? Are you sure I'm allowed in here? I feel like they scanned me to check my credit when I walked in and I will be found wanting...”

Alex chuckled quietly, and leaned down to kiss her softly on the cheek.

“No one will think twice about it, I promise.”

Once they were inside the elevator, Alex mumbled something to the elevator operator that Paris couldn't quite make out, and shook his hand, something clearly passing between them, but when the elderly man pushed the button to take them to their floor, she figured out what he had said.

Penthouse.

Paris choked out, “You're staying in the penthouse?!”

Alex shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I got a really good deal. Insane really.”

The elevator operator turned around from his stoic forward-facing position and stared at Alex as if he were the insane one. The look on Paris' face wasn't much better, mostly because she was becoming increasingly stressed out and suspicious about whatever Alex was hiding from her.

“Listen, Alex, if there is something...”

But before she could ask her question, the elevator man announced,

“45th floor! Penthouse! Have a wonderful evening...”

And before the elevator operator could finish his sentence, Alex had Paris by both arms and was shoving her out of the elevator and into the grandest hotel room she had ever seen in her entire life.

9

Whitney ran her fingers seductively over the bar in her suite in the hotel where her family had booked her a room for the week. It wasn't nearly as posh as the place Alexander was staying, and she'd expressed her disapproval with a glass thrown squarely at her father's head, but she was just happy that she wasn't staying with Alexander. If she had been, she wouldn't be here now, with this gorgeous bartender that she'd picked up earlier in the evening. Try as she might, Alexander had never agreed to a three-way, and his uptight attitudes about sex were really starting to get to her. So if she had to sneak some cock on the side, so be it.

The bartender, whose name she couldn't remotely remember, was smiling coyly at her from the bed, his pants around his ankles and his boxer-briefs slowly rising to attention. Whitney couldn't help but laugh at the stupid grin on his face; they were both drunk, but it was obvious that Whitney was holding her liquor much better than he was.

Well, seems like the perfect excuse to have another whiskey, she thought to herself as she poured a small bottle of alcohol into a glass from the bathroom. As she downed the sweet brown liquor in one long gulp, she looked up to see the bartender had passed out on the bed, and was already snoring away.

“Well, how is that for some shit luck?” Whitney mumbled as she stumbled over to her computer to play on the internet for a while. Through blurry eyes, she saw her email blinking that she had a new message. After a few awkward clicks in the wrong windows, she finally managed to get the right message open.

W—,

Looking like I might be tied up with some last minute meetings for a few days. Have to cancel dinner tomorrow night. Please give my apologies to your parents. If anything changes, I'll let you know. Otherwise, don't plan on seeing me for the rest of the trip.

Sorry again. The trials of being on a diplomatic trip & not a vacation.

Best,

Alex

Whitney scoffed and slammed her computer shut. Whatever, she thought. More time to get this bartender up off his ass and onto mine.

She took another mini-bottle out of the fridge and swallowed the whole thing down as she made her way to the passed-out bartender on the bed.

10

Paris was completely dumbfounded by the “hotel room,” which was actually about 20 times bigger than her apartment back home. The foyer alone had its own chandelier identical to the one in the lobby, hanging above a marble table decorated by a crystal vase filled with beautiful peach tulips. The scent of fresh flowers filled the entire room, and Paris felt her head swimming with the loveliness of it. She almost didn't want to go further into the hotel room, afraid to touch anything, and also afraid nothing could match her feelings in this moment. She didn't even realize that Alex was smiling at her, expectantly.

“Would you like me to bring you a chair? You look so happy in here.”

Paris laughed, realizing how ridiculous she must look. She looked down in embarrassment.

“No, no. I'm sorry. The flowers, the lighting... it's just so... overwhelming. I got kind-of lost there for a minute.” She raised a hand to her cheek. “I’m a total bumpkin for saying that, aren’t I?”

Alex laughed. “I don’t know what a ‘bumpkin’ is, but I doubt you are that.”

Alex reached out his hand, and Paris took hold of it, relishing the tingling she felt in her fingers when they intertwined. As they walked further into the room, she couldn't believe how overwhelmingly lush the room was, and she couldn't even see the bedroom yet, which was set off from the main room by a set of huge double doors. The sitting area had massive plush couches, all surrounding the biggest flat screen TV Paris had ever seen in her life. Taking up the entire right side of the wall was a bar, filled floor to ceiling with full-size bottles of liquor, glowing greens and blues on top of lit shelves. Paris fought to keep her jaw from dropping open, which was proving to be a challenge.

“Alex... this is insane. What do you do for a living? That you can afford to stay here? This is not a normal hotel room.”

As he expertly shook a martini shaker, Alex looked off into the distance sheepishly.

“Oh, a bit of this and that. You know how it is, many irons in the fire, as they say.”

He was avoiding giving her a straight answer. Suddenly she was aware of how foolish she was—in a strange city, with a strange man, and no one knew where she was. And the strange man—as charming and generous as he had been—was not telling her the truth. Of that much she was certain.

Paris suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and all her survival instincts kicked in. She wrapped the handles of her bag around her arm and eyed the fastest exit back to the elevator in case she had to run.

“Alex... are you a drug dealer?”

Alex laughed so hard he almost dropped the martini shaker. Paris’ shoulders relaxed slightly.

“No, Paris. I am most assuredly not a drug dealer. Nor do I do anything illegal. I just do a bit of work for the government here and there, and it provides me with a comfortable lifestyle. Let’s just say the company I work for covers the cost of my travel arrangements, and they spare no expense. Now, would you like to try this amazing adult concoction I've whipped up for you, or would you like to see my bank accounts?”

Paris felt her whole body relax. It still wasn't an actual answer, but it was obviously as close to an answer as she was going to get tonight. And if Alex was a spy or some super-secret government operative, as she was starting to suspect, Paris d

idn't really want to know about it anyway.

Spending a night with a James Bond doppelganger wouldn’t be so bad, now would it? Paris’ mind was racing. Uptight, straight-laced, goody-two shoes. That’s what she had always been—always too careful to do something reckless and impulsive. Well, there was no time like the present to get started. One last hurrah before she had to settle down to her studies once more.

She took the frosted glass from Alex's strong hand and sipped a taste of the first alcoholic beverage she'd had in longer than she would have cared to admit. It was sweet, with a hint of fresh honey, but the flavor of jasmine and ginger lingered behind, and Paris had to stop herself from gulping the whole thing down at once. It was truly the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

So lost was Paris in the drink that she hadn't noticed Alex plop down on the couch, kicking his shoes off and a long, warm sweater replacing the t-shirt and leather jacket he'd had on when they came in.

“Do you mind if I put on the telly? I so rarely get to just sit down and watch a film these days.” His accent was so charming and he shot her a boyish grin. He nodded to a spot on the couch near him, and Paris smiled and sank down beside him.

Paris kept sipping away at her drink, totally lost in the sheer elegance of it all, and finding herself staring at Alex's perfect face. Men were not supposed to have faces as elegant and strong as his; it took all of her rapidly dwindling will to tear her gaze from him and look up at the television.