Paris and the Prince: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (Royal Weddings Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

was having. One minute she was terrified, lost, alone, being robbed and possibly seconds from getting murdered in an alley in Paris. Now, she was standing inside a restaurant so posh, so awe-inspiringly grand, that she was kind-of surprised they'd even let her in. She was still in her tourist clothes: jeans, a plain gray t-shirt, and her Converse sneakers. Alex, however, looked positively magnificent. It wasn't until they were out of the darkness of the alley that Paris truly saw how exquisite he looked.
    Even in what he probably considered dress-down clothes (a leather jacket, a soft cotton t-shirt, and slacks), he looked like a model. Before they'd walked up to the host podium, Alex had slipped on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and flipped up his collar, half hiding his face, which rather than making him appear pretentious or like he was trying to “Clark Kent” someone, gave him a further air of sophistication. Paris almost felt silly standing next to him, like she would be found out at any moment as a fraud. But even as she questioned her right to be anywhere near the vision that was her knight in shining armor, she realized she still knew nothing about him, had no idea what is was that made him so... self-assured.
    Paris stood back as Alex approached the host and began speaking to him in fluent French. There were dozens of people standing around, all obviously waiting for a table at the elegant little eatery. Paris was ready to bolt, already uncomfortable with all of the dirty looks they were getting from those who had been there a while, when Alex motioned to her to join him at the podium. With an awkward smile, Paris pushed her way through the crowd until she was at Alex's side.
    “Bernard, I'd like you to meet my dear friend, Mademoiselle Paris Martell. She's visiting from America, and this is her first night in the City of Lights. She had a bit of a rough start, so I'd be most appreciative if you could make sure the rest of her night goes a little more smoothly?”
    Bernard, the host, smiled so widely you could see every tooth in his mouth. With a quick clap of his hands, two waiters in blue tuxedos rushed the podium and took Alex and Paris' coats, then Paris' bag; for a second she was convinced they were going to pick her up and carry her to the table.
    Bernard began speaking to Alex in French again, but this time, Alex looked annoyed, and he began gesturing to Bernard furiously, speaking in low whispers. Paris tried to make out what they were saying to each other, but between the French and the hushed tones, she had no idea what was going on. She was able to make out the word discretion, and she saw Alex reach into his pocket and then palm something that looked like cash to Bernard. Alex turned to her, finding her eyes, and gave her a huge, warm smile.
    Before Paris had time to question him, Alex swooped in and led her to a private table in the very back of the restaurant. Paris could see the jealous and angry faces of all of the people waiting in the lobby, but for once, she didn’t allow herself to worry about what other people were thinking.
    She caught one older couple in fancy dress and recognized their particular type of sneer as they looked back and forth between her and Alex. She knew that she and Alex looked mismatched—and it wasn’t only because of their outfits. Paris looked down to where their gaze rested and realized her hand was still in Alex’s—she hadn’t let it go from the time he had rescued her. She shook off their disapproving glare, and followed Bernard to their table.
    The couple had barely even sat down before trays of delicious hors d'oeuvres were brought to their table: fresh oysters on a bed of fleur de sel, smoked trout topped with crème fraîche and dill, grilled scallops atop honey carrots, brie and white peaches drizzled with sweet balsamic vinegar. Paris couldn't stop eating. It was as if every new dish they brought to the table was more delicious than the last, and her