Page 134 of The Heart You Kept

A day in Paris heals all wounds, it’s true what they say.

The warmth of the late-afternoon sun kisses my skin as I amble through the Parisian markets. I sip my hot chocolate as I look at all the stalls. I always drink hot chocolate when I’m here, but I never seem to drink it anywhere else.

Bizarre.

“Alora.” I hear a voice and turn.

“Pascal,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the weekend. Came to see some friends, I’m staying at the Zavier.”

“You’re staying at the Zavier?” I frown. “That’s where I’m staying.”

“Really?” He smiles. “What a coincidence.”

“It is. How have you been?” I ask.

“I’m okay, you?”

“Getting there.” He falls in to walk along beside me.

Shit.

EDWARD

The Rolls-Royce comes to a stop and my driver opens the car door; cameras click as I climb out. “Mr. Prescott, you must be so proud of this event,” someone calls.

“I am.” I nod. My phone beeps with a text in my pocket and I quickly glance at it, a message from Philippe.

Philippe

Look who’s here.

An image of Alora talking to someone comes through and I frown as I stare at it.

Pascal.

The fuck is he doing in Paris?

“A photo, sir?”

“Of course.” I glance up and do up my black suit jacket and straighten my bow tie and stop on the bottom stair so they can get their shot.

“Thank you, sir.”

I nod and make my way into the foyer.

“Late to your own party, I see,” a familiar voice says. I smile and turn to see Theo standing by the door.

“Wish I wasn’t even here,” I mutter as I shake his hand. “The worst host in history.” He smiles. “Always so accommodating.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.

Theodore Chapelle, also known as the Crown Prince of Monaco, who moonlights as one of my best friends.

“Where’s Sinclair?”

“Already inside.”