Page 39 of Royal Charmer
He goes on. “We’ll be there during the musical fountain show this afternoon, and tonight we’ll attend the ball held there exactly as they would have during the Baroque era. It’s my way of thanking you for your support on the business side. I hope it will inspire your story.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I didn’t even know they had musical fountain shows or a ball there.”
He grins. “They do in the summer.”
“And the fountains are, like, the original seventeenth-century fountains?”
“The very same with Baroque music in the background.”
I blink. It’s history nerd nirvana.
He leans close. “The ball is in the Hall of Mirrors.”
“Get out!” I shove his shoulder with both hands, and he laughs. I clap a hand over my mouth. I’ve seen pictures of the Hall of Mirrors. It’s so much more than a hall. It’s an outrageously gilded vaulted room that can take your breath away, even in pictures. The ceiling is hand-painted with numerous military and political victories. Large windows run along one side, and on the other side, arches feature hundreds of gilded mirrors (a luxury at the time). Crystal chandeliers, gold trim, marble statues, inlaid hardwood floor, gold, so much glittery shiny gold. “We’re going to a ballthere?”
“Yes,” he says on a laugh. “A good surprise, then?”
I look down at my pajamas and meet his eyes. “I don’t have a formal dress.”
“We’ll shop for one today. I heard they may have a few women’s clothing shops in Paris.”
I’m speechless. A prince is buying me a formal dress in Paris and taking me to a ball in a historic famous hall. It’s ringing all of my bells—I’m talking orgasmic levels—princely gesture, fashion, a ball set in a historical time in a historical place. I’m beside myself.
He takes my hand, admiring the ruby engagement ring he gave me, his voice husky. “Maybe a dress to go with your ring.”
“Yes. You’re so…amazing.” I stare at his large hand holding mine, and then lift my gaze to his. My breath stalls at the heat in his eyes, my lips parting as desire unfurls within me. The urge to close the distance overwhelms me, and I shift the tiniest bit closer, unable to resist.
He slowly pulls away and releases my hand. “I’m glad I chose well.” Does he mean today’s outing or me? Do I want it to be me?
He walks over to the window, looking out at the view. I join him with my coffee, admiring the city from up so high. It’s a gorgeous sunny day shining down on lots of cute houses and a cathedral in the distance. I’m in the City of Lights, the most romantic place on Earth, with a gorgeous prince who hits all my buttons.
My certainty of the friendly path with Lucas wavers. Do I dare risk it?
What would a badass do?
Chapter Eleven
Alice
By the time I’m ready for our day, dressed in a cute light blue short-sleeved tunic with white leggings and my favorite black glitter Keds sneakers, Lucas is back to the game, all charm and gallant behavior. It’s so fun pretending I have a besotted fiancé. My own real-life fiancé admittedly never came close to my romance-hero dreams. Probably Lucas wouldn’t either if I hadn’t specifically asked him to. It helps that he basically read my playbook by readingThe Duke’s Dare. That story was my fantasy played out during a very unsatisfying college dating period. Imagine if my ex had made that kind of effort!
Our first order of business is finding me a formal dress for the ball tonight. He opens the door for me to a boutique with an enchanting collection of cocktail dresses and gowns. Lucas and the guards stand off to one side, looking impossibly manly and out of place in the feminine shop. I’ve never shopped with three men before. The saleswoman, a blonde in her fifties with severely sharp cheekbones, wearing a green A-line dress, greets us in French and leaves me to browse.
Within minutes, I’ve come to the embarrassing conclusion that women in Paris must be much smaller than me, because the sizes stop at ten.
I glance at Lucas waiting patiently for me to choose something, and then at the saleswoman. I’m about to tell Lucas I can make do with the dress I have when the saleswoman says pointedly to me in heavily accented English, “Perhaps try another shop for women like you.”
I nod jerkily, my cheeks burning.
Lucas fires back in French, and the clerk says something in a disdainful tone, waving her hand dismissively at me.
My gut churns. I’m so embarrassed I can’t think straight. All I know is I need to get out of here. I give Lucas’s arm a tug. “Let’s just go.”
“Yes, we’ll try a better shop,” he says. “This one has gone downhill.” He adds something in French that sounds likekiss off.
The moment we step outside, I blurt, “We can skip shopping. I can make do.”
“Too late,” he says, guiding me to a shop two doors down. “You wanted to go to a ball, so you need a gown.”
