Forbidden Desire (Maid for the Billionaire Prince #2)(12)
Author: Artemis Hunt

The Merc does not stop at any of these stores. Instead, the chauffeur drives us into the underground car park of a lovely little boutique hotel on Rue Chabon itself called ‘La Palais’.

“I thought we were going shopping,” I say.

“We are,” Claire replies.

The Merc lets us alight at a pair of elevators where a woman in a two-piece suit awaits us.

“Good morning, your highness,” the woman says. She has large gold hoop earrings and her copper hair is neatly done up in a stylish chignon. Her makeup is impeccable in the way of cosmetic salesgirls.

“Good morning, Eva. Eva, this is Elizabeth. She’s going to need a lot of help. Elizabeth, this is my personal shopper, Eva.”

Personal shopper? I’ve only heard of those, though I’ve never had a personal shopper in my entire life (and never dreamed I would need one). And a personal shopper who waits for us at a hotel? This has got to be a first. And yes, I get the dig Claire made at me – loud and clear.

“Right this way, Miss.”

If Eva knows who I am, she makes no indication of it.

Claire turns to Jasper. “She’ll be all right with me. You stay down here. I’ll call you when we’re finished.”

Jasper glowers, but does not take a step towards the open elevator doors. Even he has to reckon with the orders of a princess. His baleful eyes lock with mine as the elevator doors ping shut.

We zoom up to the top floor. When the doors slide open, we step out to a plush, quiet corridor. Eva leads us to a large area called ‘The Horizon Club’.

The moment I enter it, I’m floored.

The whole room is not only filled with the usual hotel club sofas and armchairs and piped instrumental music but there are racks and racks of hanging clothes, just like in a store. Half mannequins sporting gorgeous daywear and nightwear rub shoulders with smartly dressed live shop girls. All the big labels are there in bold letters on top of the racks – Versace, Dior, Chanel, Givenchy.

And the shoes . . . pairs and pairs in all colors stacked up on boxes. I recognize their labels: Jimmy Choo, Stuart Weitzman, Manolo Blahnik. There are jackets and dresses and silk pajamas and frilly nightgowns and suits and brassieres and piles of soft lacy panties on tables.

I don’t know where to turn.

Against one wall is a smorgasbord of pastries, breads, cheeses, platters of bacon, creamed eggs and tomatoes. There are jars of orange juice and milk next to bowls of cereal and butter curls on a bed of ice.

Is all that food for just the two of us, or is everyone invited as well?

“Oh goody, breakfast!” Claire makes a beeline for the pastries. She crams one delicate creampuff into her mouth. “They never serve us stuff like this at boarding school.”

The women are all smiling patiently. No one else seems to be eating, although a couple of the girls dart longing glances at the spread.

“I, uh, just ate,” I say, feeling self-conscious. I can never eat when there are that many eyes upon me.

“Suit yourself.” Claire forks several pieces of bacon on a plate and flings herself into an armchair. Then she leans over to me. “Say, you don’t mind if I put anything I like on Alex’s tab, do you? You needn’t tell him. It will just be between you and me.”

Oh, is it what this is about? I recall the conversation at the dinner table and her mother not giving her clothing allowance.

So she’s using me.

“I don’t think that’s right,” I reply.

“Oh come on, don’t be a fuddy duddy. You’d want at least one person in the family to be on your side.” She smiles innocently as she forks a rasher of bacon into her mouth.

This is making me uncomfortable. Is she trying to bribe me? No wonder she didn’t want Jasper here. I’m aware that I shouldn’t embarrass her by saying no in front of all the shop girls, and yet I’m aware that this may be a test – she might want to gauge if I would deceive Alex in any way.

Oh, my head hurts!

I grip my fists and take a deep breath. Any move I make will probably be construed wrongly anyway, so I might as well be true to myself.

I try to make my voice as impartial as I can. “Claire, this is your family’s money and you can do what you like with it. I’m not going to go out of my way to say anything to your brother, but if he or your mother asks me, I would probably have to tell them the truth.”

There. She’s going to hate me forever now. But she already hates me, so what the heck.

Claire’s face is like a rock. She appears stunned, at least momentarily. I take it that no one aside from her mother has ever said no to her before. Anyway, I didn’t really say no. I just put the ball back on her court and maintained my position.

Her eyes narrow. She puts her fork down on the side table.

“I see. So that’s your stance.” Her mouth compresses in a flat, ugly line.

I nod. My heart is thudding hard against my ribs. Confrontation is always so hard for me.

“I won’t lie to your family, Claire. Not for anyone. Not even for your brother if he asked me to, and I don’t think he ever will.”

Silence. The women in the room exchange uncomfortable glances with each other and shift on their feet.

“Fine then.” Claire gets up. She stalks off and heads for the exit. She turns. “But don’t count on me to get your back next time.”

I don’t say anything.

As soon as she vanishes, a palpable cloud lifts from the room. The atmosphere lightens considerably.

Eve says in a low voice, “She’s not a good enemy to make, ma cherie.”

I sigh. “None of them are, but they already hate my guts anyway.”

She seems to ponder this, and then she brightens. “Come, let’s pick out something for you. A whole new trousseau, shall we? What do you say we begin with some suitable clothes to be photographed in?”

This is a cheery prospect. I can’t help smiling again despite everything.

“OK. But I insist on only one thing.”

“What is it?”

I wave my hand at the food spread. “Seeing as I’m not going to be eating all this alone, why don’t we all have a little bit of breakfast?”

The girls all eye each other in delight. I think they must have been up since five preparing all this for me.

“Are you sure?” Eva asks me, creasing her brow. “It has never been . . . done.”

“I’m pretty sure. There’s no one to spy on us anyway.”

A sprinkling of laughter and chatter now permeates the solemn room. I smile as the girls make a line for the buffet.