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Paris pulled back, confused. No one knew her here but her family. Who would be here to see her? She inched toward the other end of the bar, confused, and deeply apprehensive about what might await her. Part of her was worried it was some sort of security guard, come all the way from Dalvana to reclaim the designer dress. She'd happily give it back, but she'd lived in it for almost two days, so she was pretty sure they wouldn't want it anyway.
She was halfway down the bar when a hand reached out and grabbed her.
“Yo! Can I get the Strawberry Basil Gimlet with a splash of organic grapefruit?”
Paris didn't appreciate being deterred from her mission, but the tourists from out of town didn't appreciate when they were kept waiting. Paris smiled politely and set about mixing his drink, and muddling the strawberry, basil, and grapefruit together.
She couldn't help but roll her eyes, wondering, Doesn't anyone just drink regular ole’ beer anymore?
She was just mixing the drink together in the glass when a voice from across the bar, a voice that filled her stomach with affection and fear, a voice with a very familiar accent that hit her across the chest like a snowball thrown by a errant child on a winter day, shouted out, “Does no one in this country just drink beer?”
Paris almost dropped the glass when she looked up and saw Alex smiling back at her, his eyes full of light and love. She knew her own pupils had gone wide in alarm, there was no hiding it, and her mouth fell open like a trout.
She walked like a zombie to the guy who had ordered the drink and slid it across the bar to his waiting hand. He handed her back a twenty dollar bill, which left Paris with a dollar tip. She turned up her face in a bitter half smile and muttered, “Thanks a lot.”
Knowing she couldn't avoid him forever, she walked over to where Alex had settled himself at the bar and found him reading the drink menu.
Her heart clenched, and her breath caught in her throat as she approached him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
The awkward silence between them was not alleviated by the cacophony of the bar. Alex spoke first, finding it hard to think of what to say.
“Did that man just pay nineteen dollars for a drink? Nineteen AMERICAN dollars? And more importantly, did he only tip you a dollar after all that clever work you did making it?”
Paris shrugged.
“It’s become a hipster bar. Out of towners come slumming it, “ironically.” It happens more than you'd think. We charge them a “pain in the ass” tax. The more they pay, the less they tip. Anyway, I'm guessing you weren't just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a drink?”
Alex set the menu down. His face got serious as he leaned across the bar.
“Is there somewhere we can go to talk? It's terribly loud in here.”
Paris nodded, and gestured to Scott that she was going outside. Then she pointed to the door, indicating to Alex to meet her in front of the bar. She grabbed her coat from underneath the register and made her way through the kitchen to the back door that led out to the parking lot. Once she was outside in the cold night air, she felt her defenses rising. Alex may have come all this way, but it didn't change what had happened in Dalvana. It didn't change the text messages to Whitney.
When Paris rounded the corner, she saw Alex leaning against the stone wall outside the bar. He seemed to be prepared for the cold mountain air; he had on jeans and heavy black boots, a silk black dress shirt paired with a black silk tie, and over his grey suit jacket was a black over-coat, with the collar turned up to protect his face from the biting wind. As his hair ruffled in the breeze and he blew into his hands to keep warm, he could have been any handsome North East transplant, new to the area to start up a business, or a visiting investor looking for new business ventures. Unless you really looked at him, you would never have known he was a prince, and next in line to be king of an entire country.
Paris walked up to Alex, pulling her brother’s over-sized ski jacket tighter around her, as if that were enough to keep out not the cold, but her feelings. As Alex looked up and smiled at her, she had to admit, the coat wasn't going to do anything.
“I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here. If you wanted the dress back, you could have just called. I sent it to the dry cleaners, but it’s probably never going to look new again. I’m sorry about that.”
Alex furrowed his brow.
“Dress? What dress?” He shook his head. “I don’t give a damn about any dress. That's not why I'm here, Paris. I'm here for you.”
Paris kicked at the dirt of the parking lot.
“Why? It seems perfectly clear that we had no future. I was dumb to let myself think—even for a few moments—that anything might be possible. I realize now that that I... threw myself at you. I was silly—I know that I mean nothing to you. It was—”
Her voice caught in her throat, and she raised the back of her hand to her mouth to muffle a sob that escaped.
Alex dropped his head and thought to himself, Damn you, Whitney. Damn you.
“Paris, whatever Whitney said to you, whatever Whitney convinced you of, it wasn't real. She’s a born liar. Paris, please believe me. You mean everything to me. Everything.”
Paris sniffled.
“They were text messages, Alex. I saw them. You said you loved her. That I was—that you were going to get rid of me. You have terrible spelling by the way.”
Alex hesitated and then let out a low chuckle, and then he laughed, deep and loud, so loud it echoed across the parking lot. “Is that what convince
d you? A few text messages?”
“Paris, I never once, in all the years I knew Whitney Bishop-St.Claire, told her I loved her. But more importantly, I was a Language and Literature major at University. My spelling is impeccable. Whitney, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to spell her own name if she hadn't had a tutor for that specific purpose. Her family has been inbreeding for so many generations, she is practically a poodle.”
Now it was Paris' turn to laugh through her tears. She choked back her words.
“I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”
“A beautiful, ravishing, tempting, delightful idiot that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Paris nodded, looking down at her feet, questioning herself—why had she really run away? She could have confronted Alex about the text messages on Dalvana. The truth was—the truth was that she had been scared. Scared of being happy, of losing herself and her goals—but most of all, scared that Whitney was right. She was a little nothing, nobody—it was silly for her to believe she could ever be anything else. And so, Whitney had only confirmed what she secretly believed.
“Well? How many more times do I have to ask you?”
Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, delicate box. He opened it and nestled inside was the diamond ring she’d given back to him. “Now, for what I hope will be the last time. Paris Martell, will you marry me?”
She didn't know why, if it were anyone else she never would have just taken his words at face value, but because it was Alex, she believed him. She saw the love shining in his eyes, and for once in her life she started to believe that fairy tales might just come true after all.
She believed him and she closed the distance between and jumped into Alex's arms. When he kissed her, she felt all of his love for her in the kiss, and she knew that whatever happened from this moment forward, they could weather any storm together.
Alex pulled away, and kissed her softly on the forehead.
