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She let out a soft, genuine laugh. "That's your arrangement?"
"That's only the first half."
The smile on her face widened. "Go on."
Marvin gestured toward the manuscript. "Diana gets the book."
Then he pointed toward himself.
He lowered his hand, his gaze darkening as it settled back on her. "And you get dinner with me."
The surrounding tables erupted into laughter and whistles.
Paris blinked, caught off guard for perhaps the first time all evening.
"A dinner date?" she asked.
Marvin shrugged. "You clearly have excellent taste in books. I feel obligated to reward that."
And what exactly would we talk about?" Paris asked softly, her icy blue eyes searching his.
"Whatever you want." He held her gaze, offering a silent, undeniable promise. You don't have to fight in the dark anymore. "Harry Potter. Hollywood. Why you are trying to bankrupt a princess at a charity event."
The room laughed again.
Marvin shrugged. "Seems like a fair trade."
"Fair for who?"
"For charity."
More laughter followed.
Paris looked around the ballroom. Every eye was on her. Exactly the kind of moment she enjoyed.
She looked back at Marvin. "And what if I say no?"
"Then Sister raises her paddle again, and the two of you terrify everyone else into bankruptcy."
Even Diana laughed at that.
Paris studied him for a few seconds.
Paris looked around. Every camera lens in the room was pointed at her. Every studio head was watching. She was in the dead center of the spotlight, perfectly safe, in halo of the boy standing in front of her.
The knot in her chest finally dissolved. A real, mischievous smile broke across her face—sharp, brilliant, and entirely her own.
Slowly, she laid the wooden paddle face-down on the pristine tablecloth.
The ballroom erupted into deafening applause.
"Fine," Paris said, pointing a manicured finger at his chest over the noise. "I accept. But if you cancel, I'm bidding against you next time."
More cheers followed.
Marvin placed a hand over his heart in mock horror. "A terrifying threat."
"It was meant to be," she whispered.
Still smiling, Marvin offered her a small, aristocratic bow before turning back toward Diana's table, leaving Paris Hilton sitting in the glittering light, finally able to breathe.
Diana lifted her champagne flute, shaking her head with a smile.
"You really do have a remarkable way with people, don't you?"
There was a mixture of amusement and genuine admiration in her voice.
Marvin settled back into his chair. "I prefer solutions that leave everyone smiling."
Diana laughed softly. "Everyone?"
Her eyes sparkled. "From where I was sitting, it looked very much as though you saved me a bidding war and managed to arrange a dinner date for yourself at the same time."
A few guests seated nearby chuckled.
Marvin reached for his water glass. "An unfortunate coincidence."
"Of course." Diana's tone made it abundantly clear she didn't believe him for a second.
"Poor Mr. Meyers. Forced to sacrifice an evening of his time for the sake of charity."
Marvin placed a hand over his heart. "The burdens I bear are truly unimaginable."
Diana laughed again, the sound bright and genuine.
"You know," she said, glancing toward the manuscript that would soon belong to her, "I suspect you could have convinced half this room to hand over their paddles if you'd spoken to them for five minutes."
"Only half?"
"The other half would've wanted dinner invitations too."
That earned another laugh from both of them.
Diana's smile softened. "Well, however you managed it, I'm grateful. The manuscript stays close, the charity benefits, and nobody had to leave with hurt feelings."
She reached over and briefly squeezed his hand. "That's rather my favorite sort of victory."
Marvin looked at her for a moment before nodding. "Mine too."
Diana wasn't entirely convinced by that answer.
The amused look she gave him suggested she suspected the dinner with Paris Hilton ranked higher on his list than he was willing to admit.
Satisfaction settled over Marvin. The manuscript found the perfect home, and he turned a potential blond bombshell into an opportunity...
....
...
..
.
The charity auction became the centerpiece of the Fox gala. The rivalry between the former Princess of Wales and the young Paris Hilton captivated the ballroom. Tension hung heavy in the air as both women bid for the bound stack of parchment.
Guests murmured and leaned across their tables. Two distinct eras of high-society royalty fought for a single treasure.
As the competition reached its peak, Marvin moved. He stood, approached Paris Hilton, and leaned in to whisper in her ear.
The offer delighted the hotel heiress. She set her paddle down with a mischievous smile on her glossed lips.
Marvin returned to his table, adjusted his jacket, and gestured for Diana to raise her paddle one final time.
"Eight hundred thousand dollars," Diana announced. Her calm voice carried over the quiet room.
Jim Carrey struck the wooden gavel against the podium.
"Sold! Congratulations, Ms. Diana! This exquisite manuscript is yours."
The room erupted in applause. At the surrounding tables, older executives whispered behind their hands about the wisdom of paying such a price for a modern author's working draft.
The bankers and the agents saw a different angle. If Marvin's cultural footprint continued to expand at half its current speed, he would cross the legendary orbit of Michael Jackson.
The value of this single, handwritten manuscript would rival the masterworks housed in modern museums. He was thirteen. He had decades to ensure its value compounded.
Right now, the stack of paper fell short of the vintage diamond necklaces or the luxury sports cars presented by the other guests. But as time went by, the value comparison between the assets would reverse. The metal would tarnish; the myth would grow.
If Marvin died young— Amen let's put that dangerous idea aside.
Marvin settled back into his seat. Diana turned to him and traced the rim of her champagne flute.
"I was fully prepared to keep going." Diana spoke, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Marvin lifted his water glass. "A private dinner."
Diana arched an eyebrow. "Just dinner?"
"And a spirited discussion about the literary merits of the book."
That earned a warm laugh from her.
She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice as the noise of the ballroom swelled around them. "Oh, Marvin, she wasn't bidding for the manuscript."
Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "The poor girl got exactly what she wanted."
Marvin smiled into his glass.
Diana shook her head fondly. "Honestly, I paid eight hundred thousand dollars while she walked away with a private dinner. If anything, I think she came out ahead."
Marvin turned toward her.
"Do you really think so?"
The question carried a quiet weight beneath its teasing tone.
Diana met his gaze.
For a brief moment, the laughter and conversation filling the ballroom seemed to fade into the background.
Then Marvin smiled. "I don't believe she's the only one leaving with something valuable tonight."
The meaning behind the words was impossible to miss.
Diana's composure faltered for an instant. A faint warmth rose to her cheeks.
She looked away first, a shy smile touching her lips despite herself.
"You're impossible," she murmured.
Marvin looked entirely pleased with that assessment.
Diana took a small sip of champagne and turned her attention back toward the stage, though the lingering smile on her face remained long after the conversation had ended.
….
…
..
.
The finale featured a pair of vintage sapphire and emerald earrings donated from a private estate. The swift and aggressive bidding closed at $800,000. It tied Marvin's manuscript as the highest-valued item of the evening.
The event concluded. As the ballroom emptied, Marvin and Diana left through a private VIP exit. They stepped into the cool Los Angeles night and climbed into the back of her waiting car.
The doors shut and sealed them in a quiet, isolated space. The raised privacy partition separated the driver's cabin from the rear seats and created a secure bubble. The stereo filtered the melancholic, atmospheric track
*Blurry* from Marvin's EP through the high-end speakers.
The car glided through the winding roads of the Hollywood Hills. Beyond the tinted windows, Los Angeles shimmered beneath the night sky.
Marvin reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a small velvet-covered box.
"I have something for you."
Diana looked up from the city lights. "Oh dear."
The familiar expression of amused suspicion appeared on her face. "Whenever you start a sentence like that, I become nervous."
She set her clutch on the seat beside her.
Marvin held out the box.
"Open it."
Diana accepted it and lifted the lid.
Her breath caught.
Resting on the satin cushion was the pair of vintage emerald earrings from the final lot of the auction.
She stared at them for a moment before looking back at him.
"Marvin..." Genuine surprise filled her voice.
"How on earth did you manage this?" Her eyes returned to the earrings. "I thought Steve won them."
Marvin looked entirely too pleased with himself. "Steve won them."
Diana blinked.
"That isn't helping."
He laughed. "I asked him to bid for me."
Realization dawned.
Diana looked at him in disbelief. "You planned this?"
"Naturally."
She shook her head, laughing softly. "You are really out of control."
Her fingers brushed the emeralds.
"They're beautiful."
Then she looked at him again. "And completely unnecessary."
"That's never stopped me before."
Diana couldn't argue with that.
The smile that followed was warm and fond. "No, it hasn't."
Marvin carefully removed one of the earrings from the box. "May I?"
Diana's gaze lingered on him for a moment.
Then her expression softened.
"Such a polite young man." The teasing note in her voice made it clear she knew exactly what he was doing.
Diana hesitated, the refined protocol of her former life screaming at her to maintain distance. She was a woman of experience, elegance, and hard-won boundaries.
Nevertheless, she swept her hair back from one side of her neck and turned slightly toward him. "Go on, then."
There was only Trust.
The city lights flickered across the interior of the car as she tilted her head, allowing him access to her ear while the emerald caught a flash of passing gold light from the street outside.
She tilted her head slightly, offering her ear.
The leather seat creaked softly beneath her as Diana shifted, the sound impossibly loud in her ears despite the low thrum of the engine and the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards.
A flush crept up her neck—starting from the delicate hollow of her throat where her sapphire pendant rested, climbing past the elegant line of her jaw, spreading across her cheekbones like wildfire. She tilted her head slightly, offering him the delicate curve of her ear, the gesture feeling simultaneously like surrender and invitation.
The jasmine of her perfume—expensive, English, the scent she'd worn for decades—mingled with his warm scent, something darkly masculine and intoxicating, and something else, something *other*, that made her head spin and her thoughts cloud with inappropriate hunger.
Marvin leaned across the center console, the movement bringing his body heat radiating toward her in waves. His breath brushed her skin like a physical caress—hot, damp, controlled. His fingers, warm and sure and young, guided the post of the earring through her earlobe with exquisite, maddening care.
The brush of his fingertips against the sensitive shell of her ear sent a sharp, electric jolt straight down her spine, bypassing rational thought, pooling hot and liquid between her thighs with shocking immediacy. She inhaled sharply, a soft, involuntary sound—"*Ah*—"—escaping her lips before she could catch it, her hand flying to her mouth too late.
The stereo shifted seamlessly, as if commanded by his will. A slow, throbbing track filled the cabin— *I Need Your Happiness* —its deep bassline pulsing like a second heartbeat, heavy and sensual, syncing with the growing tension in her chest, the throbbing ache building low in her belly. The partition was up, thank God, but it wasn't soundproof. She kept reminding herself of this fact even as her body betrayed every principle she'd ever held.
He secured the backing with maddening slowness and moved to the second earring.
This time, his knuckles deliberately grazed the elegant line of her jaw, lingering a fraction longer than necessary, tracing the bone structure that photographers had made iconic, that the world had scrutinized for decades. The contact ignited sparks across her skin—actual gooseflesh rising in the warm cabin air, her nipples tightening against the silk bodice of her white gown.
"Marvin…" she whispered, her voice husky, barely rising above the music, carrying that clipped, aristocratic intonation that had been trained into her since childhood. It was meant as a warning, a plea for restraint, a reminder of who she was—Diana, Princess of Wales, thirty-eight years old, mother of two, humanitarian, icon. Instead, it sounded like an invitation, like begging, like *need*.
****
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