25. Paris Young

                                    

                                          


                          
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               ONCE THEY WERE ON THE AIRPLANE TO VALERIA, PARIS couldn't help but think of her final goodbye to Tasha.
                          
                After returning back to the hospital so Paris could see her kids one last time before they left for Christmas—it would be her first holiday without them in years—Paris had said goodbye to each of her patients.
                          
               Dhonielle had said, Remember the plan! Get married. Become a rich window. Give me all your money. And if you need help, I have a shovel.
                          
               Gloria had said, I'm going to miss you so, so much, Doctor Young. Thank you for being there for me. I love you so much.
                          
               Tasha had said, You'll come back, won't you? 
                          
               And Cat, although she wasn't exactly a patient, had said, You should have a Christmas wedding. 
                          
              It was safe to say Paris had been sobbing by the time she left.
                          
              Rory had to pry her away from the hospital and even now, tucked against the plush red window seat of a private airplane, Paris was still thinking of her children.
                          
              Christmas wouldn't be the same without them.
                          
              There were three days until December 25th. Tomorrow night was the Charity Gala event that she would be attending with Rory.
                          
              Valeria—they were going to Valeria.
                          
              They were going to a kingdom. 
                          
              Paris was going to be staying in the palace where Rory had grown up. She was going to be staying in a land Rory would one day inherit.
                          
              Break her heart. 
                          
              Her six-week deadline was almost up.
                          
              The king would be expecting his perfect heir.
                          
              And Paris . . . what was Paris going to do?
                          
              She couldn't break Rory's heart. She was sure of that now. But she couldn't refuse a donation, especially not when it could save the lives of her children.
                          
             "Are you okay?" Rory said softly, holding her hand. 
                          
              Her crutches were propped up on the side of the plane.
                          
              "I forgot to tell you," Paris said. "I'm so proud of you for making so much progress. You've worked really hard to be able to walk again and I . . . I'm really impressed."
                          
              "You're impressed?" Rory said, grinning. "Thank goodness. My entire goal in life is to impress pretty girls."
                          
              "You consider me a pretty girl?"
                          
              "I consider you the most beautiful girl in the world," Rory said, and there was no hint of laughing in her voice. "But I thought I should take it slow. I wouldn't want to scare you."
                          
               "You're an idiot," Paris said, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling.
                          
               "A royal idiot," Rory said. "Your royal idiot."