✺✺✺

PARIS WOKE WITH A HAND ON HER BREAST.

Rory's hand. Tracing gentle circles over her nipple.

Paris arched back into Rory's chest. Cold morning light sharpened across the basement floor.

Morning.

It was morning.

"We've been down here all day," Paris gasped.

Rory didn't stop her lazy, idle circling.

Paris shivered from the flush of heat.

And the king's voice in her mind said, Break her heart.

Tame the princess.

I want her to be the perfect heir.

"We have to go," Paris said suddenly. "We have to—"

"Have you forgotten we're trapped down here?"

Paris turned over in Rory's arm, leveling her a withering glare. "I'm not kidding. There has to be a way we can—"

And then Rory gasped suddenly—realization.

"What is it?" Paris demanded.

From within her pocket, Rory pulled out a small black device with a button.

"Simon told me to press this if I ever need help," Rory said. "Just in case."

"You've had this the whole time?"

"I forgot," Rory said, with an irritatingly charming grin.

"You just happened to forget the one thing that could have saved us?"

"Oh, look," said Rory. And in the light of day, her smile was nothing short of breathtaking to Paris. "A rat."

Paris's answering scream was ungodly.

✺✺✺

IT WAS LESS THAN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER when Paris heard the sound of a crash.

A rusted door was rammed open.

The stairwell.

Rory's fingers danced through Paris's ringlets, idly threading through the golden-brown curls. She was saying, "I'm telling you. Spiders are more—"

But the moment the door was thrown open, Paris stumbled to her feet.

A doctor—she was a doctor. And this was her patient—

"Simon," Rory said, and she winced as she tried to stand.

Once Paris had helped her back into the wheelchair, Simon leveled a glare at Rory.

"Everyone has been looking for you," said Simon. "Both of you."

Only Rory's right dimple pierced her cheek—a fake smile. "I've always been popular, haven't I?"

Worry—there was real worry in the flex of her jaw.

"Your father wants to speak with you," Simon said.

At that, Rory swallowed. "Good. Then I can tell him I'm bringing someone home for the holidays."

Paris blushed at that, and Simon's scrutinizing eyes fell on her.

"The power will be back on in two hours," he said. "I recommend cleaning your office, Doctor Young. It's been decorated in posters of Alice Cullen's face."

Rory shot her a guilty smile.

"And you, Princess," Simon growled. "We need to have a talk."

✺✺✺

"HEY, PARIS," DHONIELLE SAID. "DID YOU have fun?"

"What do you mean, did I have fun?" Paris said suspiciously. "How do you know where I was?"

Cat rolled out from underneath the hospital bed.

"We know everything," she said.

"Great, guys," Paris said. "That's not creepy at all. Thanks."

"Oh, and guess what we have planned for this weekend?" Cat said.

"We can only tell her for five million dollars!" Dhonielle snapped.

"Right," Cat squeaked.

Paris raised an eyebrow as she checked Dhonielle's vitals. There was something off in the corner—a hitch in her nervous system.

"I'm going to run some minor tests on you," Paris promised. "In the meantime, tone down the pranks?"

"The price is six million dollars. for that."

Exasperated, Paris said, "Where do you think I can get that kind of money?"

"Well, once you marry Princess Rory, you can divorce her and then get half of her riches," Dhonielle said. "Or you can become a widow, and Princess Rory can die a tragical, mysterious death, leaving you a wealthy heiress with lots of money to give to poor, sweet children like me."

Paris's mouth opened. Closed.

"You know what?" Paris said. "Okay. Sure. I'm going to pretend like I didn't hear you advising me to murder my wife."

"Are you married already? Because that's already half the—"

Paris blushed deeply. "No!" she said. "We're not married."

"Then when is the wedding?"

"There is no wedding."

Dhonielle fanned her face. "I'm not invited, am I?"

"What about me?" Cat chirped.

"We're not married! Nobody is getting married. Nobody is having any weddings."

"Well, why not?"

"Because . . . because . . ."

Dhonielle nodded wisely to Cat. "They need to be locked in a room together so they can make babies."

"Make babies?" Paris choked.

"Don't worry, Paris, I have a plan," Dhonielle said. "Once you're pregnant with her child, Rory will have to do the honorable thing and marry you."

"The honorable thing and—I'm not forcing Rory to marry me!"

"Why not?" Cat said curiously. "That's how they do it in all the movies. This young couple that gets married because the girl is pregnant but then it ends badly when they're middle-aged and then they're divorced and the husband is a hostile old man with a gun."

"What kind of movies have you been watching? Actually . . . forget it. I'm going to go check up on Michael. You two . . . be good."

Cat nodded her head furiously. "We're always good!"

Dhonielle said, "My mom says I'm her little angel."

✺✺✺

"ARE YOU READY TO GO, MICHAEL?"

Michael nodded eagerly, the tube beneath his nose crinkling.

"Then let's go," Paris said with a smile, and the boy slid out of bed.

Michael hesitated.

"Paris?"

She looked back from the doorway. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"I'm nervous."

The quiet confession made Paris's heart ache.

"What do you need, Michael?" Paris said softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

Michael looked down to his feet. "Do you mind . . . could you hold my hand?"

Paris's heart softened. "Of course."

With his small hand in hers, Paris led him towards the foyer of the hospital. But even as Michael grew more and more excited, telling her about Hanukkah, she could only think of the king's offer.

Break her heart.

Break her heart, and make her the perfect heir.

It was stupid and ridiculous and ludicrous and it . . . might actually just work.

Paris had the power to completely shatter Rory's heart now. And if she did . . . if she did, wouldn't that make Rory the docile princess the king wanted?

It would make her a shell of herself. Hollow.

And that was exactly what King William wanted.

But Paris thought of the way Rory's hand arms had wrapped around her protectively. How her lips had grazed Paris's jaw.

And the way she looked at Paris.

Like she had never seen something so beautiful.

I can't break her heart.

But what choice did Paris have? What choice?

The hand of the little boy in hers was a reminder of that. Michael needed her. Dhonielle needed her. Gloria and Tasha and Izzy and every single one of her patients needed her.

That money—that was real.

That would go into research.

It would help scientists find the cure to these disease. To these illnesses. And if there came a day when Paris didn't have to watch even one of her children suffer because of it, then how could she say no?

Break her heart.

It was still echoing in her ears even after Michael let go of her and leaped into the arms of his parents.

"Thank you so much," said his mother gratefully. "Hanukkah is his favourite holiday. I don't think we could have stood one more celebration, one more year, without him."

It drew a real smile out of Paris.

"I'm happy Michael can go," she said softly. "Take care of him, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Young," said his father.

She watched them go with a wistful expression. A beautiful family, a happy celebration—Michael deserved that. He was only six.

They had predicted that he had less than five years left to live.

✺✺✺

BREAK HER HEART.

Paris still couldn't stop thinking of it.

"You're going to have fun, I promise," Alec said, kissing her cheek. "And in the meantime . . . we'll be tailing your car."

In exchange for Rory coming home with Paris, Simon had said that he would follow them all the way there. And then, once they arrived, he would park in front of her mother's house.

"It'll probably look like we have a stalker," Rory said.

"Or a crazy fan," Simon offered unhelpfully.

"Or two horny men making out in the backseat of a car," Alec said.

Rory groaned. "Thanks for the visual."

Alec tossed Paris the car keys and winked at Rory. "It's not like you won't be doing the same thing in Paris's childhood bedroom. We're not the freaky ones here."

"Oh, yeah?" Paris said lightly. "Tuck your shirt in, Alec. The handcuffs in your pocket are sticking out."

At that, Rory's bodyguard blushed. Stammering something about leaving.

"We'll be right behind you," Paris promised.

As Alec and Simon disappeared through the glass doors, making their way towards the hospital parking lot in the thick snow, Paris turned to Rory.

"I need to do something really quick," she said. "Wait here?"

"For you?" Rory said, and her grin was the one Paris thought of as the heartbreaker. "Anything."

✺✺✺

SOMETHING ABOUT EVELYN TRIBECA'S NOTE wasn't adding up.

The way she had mentioned Paris.

I am entrusting Doctor Paris Young to take care of you. This is a personal decision. One day, she will understand why.

A personal decision.

It made Paris think of their first encounter.

Just after four in the morning.

The chill of night air soaking into her chest.

The moment Paris had walked through those doors, Evelyn Tribeca had known she was. How?

Evelyn had been asking for her.

Why?

A personal decision.

One day, she will understand why.

"Nurse Connie," said Paris breathlessly as she turned the corner of the hallway. "Could you do me a favour? I need a blood test done."

"Of course, Doctor Young. For which patient?"

Paris's fingers tightened over her car keys.

"Tasha Tribeca," she said.

✺✺✺

PARIS STARTED THE CAR, AND WHEN RORY'S HAND moved towards the radio, Paris slapped it away.

"What do you think you're doing?" Paris said.

"Changing the music," Rory answered. "Clearly you didn't mean to be listening to this atrocious radio station."

"You did not just call Country Road Music 4 Ever atrocious."

As Paris steered the car back through the thick layer of snow, the remnants of the storm, Rory turned to her.

"You're not serious."

Paris turned the music louder. "What is there to be serious about?"

"You don't like country music," Rory stated confidently. "Right?"

Paris gave her an innocent look. As if to say, Why wouldn't I?

"I love country music," Paris said. "This is the only music I listen to."

She heard Rory swallow audibly.

"The only thing you listen to?" said Rory, faltering. "But when you say that, you mean you listen to indie and alternative and pop and rock, too. Right?"

Paris met Rory's stare through the rearview mirror.

"You seem a little skittish," Paris said. "What's wrong with my taste in country?"

She raised the volume. Rhinestone Cowboy was playing—one of her absolute favourites. And as the song became louder, Rory looked like she was ready to have a heart attack.

Paris was enjoying this a little too much.

"But you don't actually like country," Rory insisted. "When it sounds like this?"

Like a rhinestone cowboy
Riding out on a horse in a star-spangled rodeo

"This is my favourite part," Paris said breezily.

Rory slunk down into the passenger seat.

Paris kept a straight face. "I take it you're not a country fan?"

"A country fan? I wouldn't be caught dead listening to country."

✺✺✺

"I DUG MY KEY INTO THE SIDE of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive
Carved my name into his leather seats
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights
I slashed a hole in all four tires
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats."

BY THE END OF THE THREE HOUR DRIVE TO PARIS'S home town, Rory was singing along to Carrie Underwood's Before He Cheats like she had been born and bred on country music.

Through the rearview mirror, Paris stole a glance at her.

This cocky, conceited royal pain the ass . . . had a soft spot for her.

Break her heart, said King William's voice.

But Paris couldn't—wouldn't, not right then.

Not yet.

✺✺✺

I think I'm breaking my own heart, but whatever.

I've getting quite a few threats from you guys to not break your hearts. And I would just like to say that I know exactly how this ends. I'm sure you'll be fine. Or not.

This suspense is killing me, actually.

This chapter is for lost-in-the_feels.
I love you, Luke.

From the moon and back,
Sarai