✺✺✺
WHEN THE PHONE RANG THE MORNING AFTER CHRISTMAS, Paris reached over Rory's end of the bed to pick it up.
"Doctor Young?"
"One moment," Paris said, slipping out of bed so she wouldn't disturb Rory. Once she had pulled her robe more tightly around herself, she closed the balcony doors behind her and leaned out against the railing. "Is everything okay, Nurse Connie?"
"The blood results for Tasha Tribeca came back."
Paris glanced back through the glass doors. Where Rory was sleeping.
"Did you cross-examine them with Rory Preston's?" Paris asked.
"I did."
"And mine?"
Nurse Connie said, "Positive. For both. A twenty-five percent heritage for both of you."
This was a personal decision, Doctor Young, and one day I hope you'll understand why.
It had been on purpose. All of it—it had been on purpose.
From the day she had first met Paris and known who she was instantly.
My name is Evelyn Tribeca, and my daughter is dying.
And hadn't Paris thought there was a chord inside of Tasha that struck her so familiarly? So deeply? It hadn't been just her story. It hadn't just been her words.
But Paris still didn't understand.
They had died—they had both died.
"Thank you, Nurse Connie," Paris whispered, and she hung up.
✺✺✺
"I NEED TO SEE THE KING," PARIS TOLD THE GUARD.
"Nobody sees the king without an appointment."
"It's important," Paris said desperately. "I need to speak with him."
"I don't care," the guard said stiffly, his mustache twitching. "Nobody sees him or I lose my—"
Paris shoved the doors to the throne room open.
When the king saw her, his eyes flared with anger.
In a deep, commanding voice, he said, "You can't—"
"I need to talk about my sister," Paris said, lifting her chin.
The guard, who had latched his meaty fingers around her arm, let go at the nod of the king. Once the grand doors had slammed shut, the king regarded her coolly.
"London," Paris spit out. "Did you even know her name?"
"Your sister," the king said coldly.
With tears in her eyes, Paris said, "My sister had a baby."
"The baby died."
"I know the truth!" Paris shouted. "I know your precious secret. The baby's not dead. You gave her up for adoption, didn't you? My sister died in childbirth, and you lied about the baby. You lied."
The king didn't flinch. Didn't even flicker.
"A bastard daughter," he said. "Declan was too young for that."
"She was my sister's daughter, too!" Paris cried out. "I could have taken care of her. My parents could have raised her—"
"But they'd be aware of her heritage to Declan. That put the throne at risk. I'm afraid, dear Paris Young, you have no leverage here."
"I have a blood test—"
"Anything," King William whispered, "can disappear with enough money."
Paris heard the grand doors opening behind her, but she didn't dare look back. She knew it must have been the guards, coming to carry her away for causing a disruption. But she clenched her fists.
London's baby. London's beautiful baby girl.
"You had no right to give that child up for adoption!" Paris seethed. "Maybe you didn't want her, but we did."
"I already made you an offer," said the king.
There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
Why?
It must have been because there were guards behind Paris, ready to drag her away. Paris braced herself, waiting for the moment they would grip her.
But they must have been waiting at the door—for his final order.
"Take back your stupid offer," Paris said with tears in her eyes. "Your money is cursed. You're a sick, twisted bastard!"
"Why would I take back the offer?" said the king, and was that . . . delight in his eyes? "You've already done your end of the bargain."
"What do you mean, I've already done my end? I haven't—"
The king wasn't even looking at her.
He was looking behind her.
Rory turned around.
There were no guards. No soldiers in stiff red uniforms. There were no men getting ready to drag her out of the throne room.
There was only a girl.
A girl in a white robe, with sleep-disheveled hair and a pale face bright with realization. With knowledge. With devastation.
Rory.
Rory had heard about the offer.
Before Paris could call her name, she was already gone.
✺✺✺
"CAT!" PARIS SAID, TAPPING THE SCREEN to make her face bigger. "There you are! I've missed you so much. Merry Christmas."
"Thanks," Cat said. "You look creepy, Paris."
I'm trying not to cry.
Paris relaxed the wattage on her forced smile. "Where's Gloria and Tasha?"
"They're playing poker in the rec room."
Paris decided to ignore that. "Where's Dhonielle?"
Cat hiccupped. "She's not feeling too good today."
Paris's blood froze. "Have the doctors run any tests on her?"
"Yeah," Cat said. "They came back clear. It's fine. But she wants to know if you got married yet, because she's waiting for her six million dollars."
"Wasn't it five?"
"Economical inflation," Cat said wisely.
"I don't think that's how that works," Paris said. "But let her know I'll be back soon, alright? I missed you guys."
✺✺✺
AS SOON AS THE AIRPLANE TOOK OFF, SIMON SAT next to Paris.
Gently, he said, "The princess would like you to know that she'll be transferring back under the care of the royal physician as soon as you give her the all-clear."
"Oh," was all Paris could manage.
His gaze on her was knowing. "I'm sure it'll be okay."
But Paris's eyes drifted to Rory, who was staring out of the window on the opposite end of the plane.
It wouldn't be okay—not if she didn't do something.
Paris had to try.
This was her wrong. She had to make it right.
Slowly, Paris stood up and made way towards the princess. Sitting down across from her. "Rory?" she tried.
"Yes, Paris?"
"I . . . I wanted to apologize."
"For which part?" said Rory coldly. "For breaking my heart, or getting paid to do it?"
"I didn't mean to—"
"No, you know what? Forget it. As you once told me, Leave it in the past."
Paris swallowed. "Rory—"
"I trusted you," Rory said harshly, finally looking away from the window. Her eyes, burnt sienna, bored into Paris like flame. "I trusted you. And . . . what, Paris? This whole time, you pretended to fall in love with me because my father told you he wanted a tame princess?"
"No, that's not true—"
"I'm happy you got your money," Rory said. "I hope it was worth it."
"Rory, please."
Rory shook her head, turning away from Paris. Looking back out the window again.
She said, "It's princess to you."
Coldly. As though . . . as though they were strangers.
Paris's breath caught in her chest. "Don't say that," she said angrily, feeling the warmth spread through her body. "Don't you dare say that, or we're done. We're over."
Rory didn't even look at her. "I can't lose something I never had, Doctor Young."
✺✺✺
Hey, guys.
I know I wanted to finish this by Christmas, but this will be my last chapter for a little while.
From the moon and back,
Sarai