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"You know..." She gave a tiny shrug. "Because of... you know... Everything."
Marvin frowned gently. "Why would I care about that?"
Paris searched his face. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.
"I'm exactly where I want to be." His voice was calm, warm, and certain. His voice dropping to that register that made her knees weak, that made the July heat feel like a cool breeze.
"And for the record…" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You remembered. I said it. So I meant it."
Her eyes lit up. She understood what he meant.
Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his.
"I was seriously nervous you'd change your mind."
Marvin gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Paris… If I didn't want to come...I wouldn't be standing here."
The worry she'd been carrying all evening finally melted away.
She laughed under her breath and leaned against his shoulder. "Okay… That makes me feel like ...a million times better."
"You're daddy's girl, remember? I'm proud to be seen with you."
The reference to their private dynamic—the dominant reassurance that she was his, marked and claimed—sent a visible shiver through Paris's frame. She smiled to herself and unconsciously moved even closer, fitting naturally against his side. Even in her three-inch heels, with several inches on him, it somehow still felt like he was the one keeping her steady.
"Now," Marvin said, his hands sliding down to her hips, giving her a gentle spin. The ivory skirt flared out, showing off her toned legs. "Why don't you show me that sexy dress of yours?"
Paris let out a tiny laugh and stepped back.
"Okay... but don't laugh."
Paris separated from him, her cheeks flushing pink that had nothing to do with the heat. She did a slow twirl, her arms outstretched, the modest cut somehow more alluring than any cleavage-baring gown she'd ever worn.
"You like it?" she asked, her voice small, uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I bought, like, a whole new closet. After you said... you know. Don't show off." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I wanted to be good. For you. That's hot, right? Being a good girl?"
"So?" she asked, suddenly sounding far less confident than usual. "Do you like it?"
She glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric with her palms.
She shrugged, almost embarrassed. "I wanted to try something different."
A shy smile crept onto her lips.
"I wanted you to see me first... not just the dress."
Marvin's eyes traveled over her—the high neck, the covered arms, the elegant line of her legs, the way the fabric clung to her hips without screaming for attention. Marvin took his time looking at her—not with hunger, but with quiet appreciation. "You look perfect," he said simply. "You look like mine."
The words sent a visible thrill through her, a shudder that started at her shoulders and traveled down to her manicured toes.
"It looks beautiful," he said.
Then he smiled. "No… You look beautiful."
Paris's breath caught. A smile spread across her face before she could stop it. "Really?"
"Really."
She laughed softly, looking down for a second before meeting his eyes again. "Good. Because I seriously changed, like... five times."
"I believe it."
"You should." She grinned. "Nicky almost killed me."
Marvin chuckled. "I have no trouble believing that, either."
Paris slipped her hand around his arm again. Her hand wrapped around muscle that felt like steel under his shirt, and pulled him toward the door. "Come on." Her excitement came rushing back. "They're all inside." Her voice rising to its usual pitch. "And they're going to totally lose it when they see you. And they're going to, like, totally die when they see you. I can't wait to see their faces."
She laughed. "Oh my God... Nicky's face is going to be priceless."
They started toward the entrance together.
Even in heels she stood noticeably taller, but she stayed tucked against his side anyway, her shoulder brushing his with every step. Her fingers remained looped comfortably around his arm, unwilling to let go now that he'd arrived.
She walked close, pressed against his side, her hip bumping his thigh with every step, her fingers digging into his arm possessively. She could smell him—soap and something darker, something that made her dizzy. She clung to him, her body language screaming *mine, mine, mine* to anyone watching.
For the first time all evening, she wasn't thinking about the guest list, the music, or whether the party was impressive enough.
She was simply happy he was there.
"Evening, Miss Hilton," the bouncer said, giving her a polite nod.
His eyes shifted to the young man beside her, lingering for a beat as recognition set in. It was hard to miss the face that had been plastered across magazine covers and entertainment shows for months.
"Hey, Marcus," Paris said brightly, her familiar breathy Valley Girl cadence slipping out. She gave Marvin's arm a little squeeze. "He's with me."
Marcus nodded immediately and stepped aside, pulling the heavy steel door open. "Of course, Miss Hilton."
His gaze flicked back to Marvin with a respectful smile. "Good to have you here."
"Thanks," Marvin replied with an easy nod.
Marcus held the door open for them. "Enjoy your evening."
Paris beamed. "Oh, trust me..."
She glanced at Marvin with a grin. "...I totally plan to."
The bar occupied a renovated warehouse tucked between older brick buildings. Exposed walls still carried the warmth of the summer evening, while slow-moving industrial fans pushed the humid air around beneath the high ceiling. Edison bulbs cast a soft amber glow across the long mahogany bar, where a bartender polished glasses and a waitress arranged trays of hors d'oeuvres.
Aside from the staff, the place belonged entirely to Paris's circle.
A group of young women lounged around the velvet booths and near an old cigarette machine, talking over cocktails as music drifted in from the club next door.
The conversation died the instant Paris walked in.
Every head turned.
Then every pair of eyes landed on Marvin.
Silence.
For a few long seconds, nobody said a word.
Twelve heads turned in unison. Twelve mouths formed perfect O's of shock. The silence was absolute, broken only by the whir of the fans and the distant thump of bass from the club next door.
Paris felt every stare in the room and couldn't hide the smile spreading across her face.
She slipped her hand a little farther around Marvin's arm and guided him into the middle of the room, enjoying every second of the dramatic entrance.
"Okay..." she said, drawing the word out with a grin. "Judging by everyone's totally shocked faces..."
She looked around the room. "...I'm guessing nobody expected this."
A few stunned laughs broke the silence. Paris beamed. "I know. I've literally been waiting all week for this."
She looked from face to face—Nicky trying not to smile, Nicole Richie staring over the top of her sunglasses, Casey Johnson openly gawking with a martini in hand, Bijou Phillips slouched comfortably against the booth with an expression that landed somewhere between impressed and unimpressed, while Kim and Kourtney Kardashian had already started whispering to each other.
Paris laughed under her breath. "So..."
She gave Marvin's arm a little squeeze. "For anyone who's somehow been living under a rock..." She gestured toward him with obvious pride. This is multi-award-winning."
"The actor."
"The musician."
She smiled. "And basically the most ridiculously talented person you'll ever met. This is Marvin Meyers."
Turning toward Marvin, she added with a playful shrug, "And everyone...these are my favorite people."
"Well..." She looked around the room with a teasing grin. "...most of the time, anyway."
The room exploded.
"Oh my God!" Nicky blurted, laughing as she shot to her feet. "Paris! You actually did it!"
Nicky Hilton shrieked, clapping her hands like a child at Christmas, her composure cracking completely. She jumped up from her seat, her dark hair—freshly cut in a bob that she would later regret—bouncing. "Paris, you didn't! You actually didn't!"
She looked from Paris to Marvin and back again. "I seriously thought you were making it up."
Nicole Richie pulled her sunglasses down just enough to peek over the top. "No way..."
"That's hot," Nicole Richie breathed, she stared, her tiny frame radiating energy. A grin spread across her face. "Okay, that's actually kind of iconic."
Casey Johnson let out a loud laugh from the booth, martini still in hand. "Holy hell."
She pointed her glass toward Paris. "You've completely lost your mind." A beat. "...I love it."
Bijou Phillips didn't stand, but she uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter, her cigarette held mid-air, forgotten. "Well," she drawled, her voice carrying the jaded cadence of someone who'd grown up in Laurel Canyon watching rock stars overdose. "Well, well, Well… I'll be damned. So the mystery guy actually exists."
Kim Kardashian stood a little straighter, smoothing her dress almost automatically. Beside her, Kourtney leaned in and murmured something under her breath.
Kim smiled knowingly. "I told you she wasn't bluffing."
Paris absolutely glowed. She tightened her grip around Marvin's arm, enjoying every second of the attention. "I told all of you. None of you believed me."
Nicky laughed. "Because you lie all the time!"
"I embellish."
"You exaggerate."
"I make stories prettier."
Nicole snorted. "Same thing."
The room laughed.
Marvin waited for the excitement to settle before smiling at the group.
Marvin offered a warm smile, letting his charm bleed out just enough to fill the room without overwhelming it. He looked at each of them in turn—Nicky's aristocratic features now flushed with excitement, Nicole's sharp bird-like curiosity behind her designer shades, Casey's boldness verging on aggression, Bijou's practiced jadedness cracking slightly, the Kardashian sisters' calculating minds, Kimberly's blonde perfection now directed fully at him.
"Hi girls. Thanks for looking after Paris. I know she can be..." He glanced sideways at her. "...a handful."
Paris gasped dramatically. "Excuse me! I'm adorable."
Casey raised her glass. "She's definitely a handful."
"She's also impossible."
"Facts," Nicole added.
Paris rolled her eyes. "You guys are so rude."
Marvin laughed. "See? I wasn't exaggerating."
That earned another round of laughter.
"Thanks for having such great friendship with Paris. Thanks for taking care of her when I couldn't be here."
The words landed perfectly. Nicky's eyes widened, the warmth in his voice hitting her like a physical force—deep, resonant, and impossibly confident for someone so young.
She took in his strong jawline, the deep eyes that held galaxies of knowledge, the way he held himself with the centered gravity of a man three times her age.
Nicky walked over first, unable to contain herself anymore. "HI. I'm Nicky."
"Oh my God," Nicky breathed, stepping forward, her hand outstretched. "I'm Nicky. Paris's sister. Like her younger sister. I'm sixteen. I go to Dwight too. Well, I will. In September. Oh my God, I loved you in *The Sixth Sense*. My friends made me watch it twice…..Okay, three times. I cried every time"
"Of course," Marvin said, taking her hand. His grip was firm, warm, brief—respectful but confident. "The sensible one. I've heard about you from Paris."
Nicky blushed—actually blushed, a Hilton blush that started at her collarbone and rose to her hairline.
Nicky looked at her sister. "...Hopefully only good things."
Paris grinned. "I told him you're the responsible one."
Nicky blinked. "You actually said that?
"I give compliments occasionally. When they deserve it."
A laugh escaped Nicky before she could stop it. "Well… I'll take it."
"I'm Nicole." Nicole Richie slipped between Nicky and Casey as if she'd owned the space since birth—which, in Paris's world, she practically had. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing bright, mischievous eyes that immediately began sizing Marvin up.
"So you're him." She pointed at him accusingly. "Do you have any idea how many times I've had to hear your name? It's been, like, 'Marvin this... Marvin that...' for months." She rolled her eyes dramatically toward Paris. "Honestly, it was getting embarrassing. Like listening to someone describe their favorite Barbie doll."
Paris gasped. "It was not!"
"It totally was," Nicole shot back. "I swear, I know more about you than some people I actually date."
"I hope in a good way," Marvin said, his eyes crinkling.
Nicole tilted her head, studying him from head to toe. "I haven't decided yet." Without asking permission, she poked him lightly in the chest.
"Huh."
"What?"
"You're... tiny." The room laughed.
"I mean, seriously." She circled him once with exaggerated curiosity. "You're actually fourteen. You're younger than I thought. Like, actually young. Not Hollywood young where everyone lies. Actually young. Hollywood keeps saying you're some genius who runs studios and writes scripts, so I kinda expected..." She gestured higher. "...I don't know. Somebody who looked older."
Marvin chuckled. "I disappoint?"
"Nah." Nicole grinned. "You just don't match the trailer."
****
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