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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.
* * *
One 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.
* * *
As 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?
20
The 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.”
* * *
The 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 w
ere 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?”
