The Marriage Bargain (12 page)

“Oh, Julian.” Her voice blasted Camille with its impatient tone. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic...?” Julian rumbled like a volcano. “Papa brought Madeleine here. Why would he do that, knowing I’m coming home with the woman I’m about to marry?”

Camille leaned against the wall separating her room from Julian’s. A touch of the old childhood fear washed over her, leaving her with feelings of abandonment. Again.

“Tell me, Julian...” The woman’s voice softened. By now, Camille knew it was Claudette. “Who are you more upset for? Madeleine’s feelings or your new bride’s?”

Yeah, Julian
? He’d kissed Camille last night like nobody’s business. But she wanted to know right now if she was getting dumped.

His response came through in low, barely audible, muttering. He had an opinion but damned if Camille heard what it was. She sighed and wandered to a plush chair facing the window.

God, this place was beautiful. It was impossible for the view
not
to calm her insecurities—at least it overshadowed them for a moment or two. Camille understood why Madeleine wanted to be mistress of Pacifique de Lumière. Between the house, the grounds, and Julian’s to-die-for kisses...a girl could get swept off her feet.

Under ordinary circumstances. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Camille could never let herself forget that. The world was not her oyster. Maybe somebody like Madeleine’s, sure. But not Camille. She’d had one painful reminder after another since birth that she had not been smiled upon by fate.

Oh well. She did have a contract with Julian. One that’d make her a multi-millionaire. She might never be truly content, but she’d bet she’d be a lot happier with five million bucks than without it. Money might not buy happiness, but she wagered it’d soften the blow.

A strong knock at the door between her room and Julian’s invaded her thoughts. Camille straightened in her chair. “Yes?”

“Chéri...” His voice was strong, but calm. “May I come in?”

“Sure, Julian.” Her voice rattled and she checked herself, staring down at the knee-length Mickey Mouse jersey-type nightgown. Not the sexiest garment she could’ve been sporting. She made the most of it, leaned back in the chair, pulled her stomach in and crossed her legs.

He strolled in like he owned the place, wearing a pair of dark trousers and a dark blue pullover tee. The tailor-made clothing looked like it’d been molded over his body. Perfection. The man was aesthetically faultless and his manners weren’t too far behind.

Julian smiled and closed the door behind him. “Good morning, Chéri. I trust you slept well?”

His smile touched some untapped portion of her psyche. He was always concerned about her comfort. At least, that’s the way it appeared.

“I slept fine, thanks.” She lied. She hadn’t slept well. She’d tossed and turned all night. Ridden by dreams of him—maybe desires was more like it—because his kiss had affected her, a virgin. A virgin who was quickly turning into a wannabe sex kitten.

“I hope my disagreement with my step-mother didn’t alarm you.”

Step-mother
? Camille wondered how to tackle that one delicately. Of course it bothered her, the argument and the revelation that Claudette was his
step
-mother. But did she want to say so? No. “Well, I’m not really used to family arguments.” For one awful moment she let the past consume her. “There was always just me and Granny Mae. Arguments can only go so far when there’s just two people in the mix.”

A relieved look crossed his face and he stepped toward the door leading to the hallway. “Then you’re going to think it’s pretty noisy around here. But don’t let it get to you. We’re mostly harmless.”

“All talk and no action, huh?” She tried to lighten the mood, but the possible repercussions wouldn’t leave her alone.

Julian chuckled and reached for the door. “If there’s anything special you’d like to do today, talk to Soren. I’ve got business to attend to.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “I’m sure Claudette and Lecie will commandeer your time regarding the wedding.”

With a pert smile, he was gone. No mention of last night. No regrets. No promises.

The kiss meant nothing to Julian. It wasn’t worth talking about.

There’s nothing like a little dose of eye-opening reality to put things into prospective. Camille gave herself an imaginary kick in the pants. She couldn’t fall for Julian. It wasn’t smart. Even if he was her husband.

J
ulian made his way down the hallway. He’d wanted to say something about the kiss, but Camille was already uncomfortable as it was. She’d blamed it on her inexperience with a large family, but Julian suspected she was trying to be polite. Clearly, she didn’t feel the same way about the kiss.

There was plenty of time to change her mind, if Papa and Madeleine didn’t run her off. He’d nip that in the bud, though, starting with Papa.

Julian jogged down the stairs, dashed through the first floor hallway and didn’t stop until he reached his father’s study. He hesitated, holding his fist in the air before knocking.

After a triple tap, his father’s voice filtered through the door. “Come.”

Julian readjusted his posture and entered the lion’s den. He doubted Papa was happy about last night, but he hoped the charm he possessed over his father hadn’t diminished.

Papa groaned as Julian crossed the spacious room and settled into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Groaning couldn’t be good. Julian forced himself to raise his gaze.

The senior de Laurent’s icy glare sliced through Julian and hung on the silence between them. Papa’s attention dropped to the desk and he leaned over. A rattling told Julian he was unlocking
the
drawer, the one he always went for when faced with a situation he couldn’t control.

Three. Two. One.

Papa withdrew a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The bar had been removed from his father’s office five years ago, on Claudette’s orders, after he’d suffered a heart attack and the doctors advised him to stop drinking. Sometimes, Julian thought Claudette knew about
the drawer
, but if she did, she wasn’t talking.

The liquor bottle clinked as he set it on the desk, the sound resonating in Julian’s head. This undoubtedly meant an argument was about to ensue. He didn’t see why skipping last night’s dinner party was such a big deal.

Papa cleared his throat and poured the amber liquid into each glass. He remained silent on purpose, knowing it unnerved Julian.

“None for me, thanks,” Julian said, in that same old weakened tone his father had a way of commanding.

Papa bellowed and sat the bottle down with a thud. “Your restraint is ill-timed.”

He was making jokes. That was a good sign.

“What did I restrain at the wrong time?” Julian struggled to regain his composure, but Papa had a way of making him feel like a wounded lion. “And when exactly was that?”

“This is not funny, Julian.” Papa’s glare cut through him as he raised the glass and dumped the liquor into his mouth.

Julian’s shoulders jumped as he tried to come up with witty words that didn’t leave him looking like a fool. He couldn’t find any, so he shook his head.

“What’s that?” His father asked, mocking him. The senior de Laurent stared at Julian for a moment and then admonished him with quiet laughter.

“Is this about dinner last night?” he said.

“Don’t minimize it, boy.” Papa pointed his finger at him.

Julian hated it when Papa called him “boy”. It made him feel helpless and useless. Just like he’d felt when he found his mother’s cold, lifeless body. Julian shifted in his chair. “What’s the big deal?”

“Is this what America has done to you? Turned you into an insolent cad?” Papa’s gaze traveled up to meet Julian’s. Intolerance darkened his eyes. He was blaming it on America, but Julian knew it went much deeper than that. Papa was looking at it like he’d lost because Julian had chosen a woman who wasn’t Madeleine.

Julian’s helpless laughter wrapped him in doubt. “I hardly think this is America’s fault, Papa.”

“Then your American fiancée.” He threw his hands in the air. “You would never have run out on a dinner party before.”

“Before what?” Julian’s temper flared and fueled him with confidence. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone badmouthing Camille. Not even Papa. “Before I became bewitched by the seductive American? Before I passed on Madeleine? Before I grew up?”

Papa’s nostrils flared.

But it didn’t stop Julian. “Which is it father?”

Julian knew Papa didn’t like it when he used that cold tone and called him
father
, any more than Julian liked being called
boy
.

“Which is it that’s really got you so upset, Papa?” Julian dared to make demands upon his father.

Papa stared at him with those typically vacant brown eyes filling with the resentment of defeat.

Seeing concession in Papa’s eyes bolstered Julian’s poise. “How could you bring Madeleine here, knowing I was bringing home my fiancée?” he asked. “She’ll be my wife by the end of the week.”

“End of the week, huh?” His eyes traveled a slow journey to meet Julian’s gaze, and suggested he knew Julian’s secret.

“End of the week.” Julian reiterated. It was true. Technically. She would be his wife by the end of the week, according to French law.

“You’re losing your touch, boy.” Papa’s sneering laughter fractured Julian’s composure.

There he goes again. Julian bit back the frustration. “All you need to know, Papa, is that Camille and I will have a traditional French ceremony at the end of the week. And until then, we will refrain from living together as husband and wife.”

Papa’s face lit with hope. “Does this mean your American marriage was not consummated?”

Julian knew what Papa was thinking and he couldn’t let that happen. “No, father. Our American marriage is quite legal.”

He challenged his father by standing first. This was usually Papa’s step. It indicated the conversation was over. Julian turned his back on his father and moved toward the door, not waiting for Papa’s customary dismissal.

“Where are you going?” Papa bellowed, his eleventh-hour attempt at re-seizing control.

Julian wrapped his hand around the doorknob and paused, looking over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Andre, Papa.” He opened the door. “I’m sending him to America to get Camille’s friend.”

“Are her parents coming to the wedding?” Suspicion raided Papa’s words.

“Camille was raised by her grandmother, who’s no longer with us.” Remorse crept around Julian and threatened to suffocate him. “She never had the opportunity to meet her parents...that she can remember.” He bowed his head and moved into the hallway and shut the door.

Julian was always careful in his choice of words when talking to his father. He made it a point never to tell the man out-and-out lies. This time was no exception.

He passed Monique in the hallway. Claudette had assigned the housekeeping assistant as Camille’s attendant. Julian agreed. It was a good choice.

“Have you seen my brother?” he asked, moving past her.

“Yes, sir. He’s in the smaller, east dining room.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

The unplanned pleasantry surprised Julian as much as it must have shocked the maid. He didn’t show graciousness to the servants. Why thank them for doing their job? They were duly compensated. Wasn’t a monetary gain thanks enough? Julian had always thought so. But he’d gotten so used to Camille offering thanks to virtually everyone during the last couple of days that it seemed to come naturally. She had a kind word for anyone who was remotely nice to her, no matter the circumstances.

Camille was definitely having an effect over him. Whether or not it was good remained to be seen.

Julian stopped at the dining room’s entryway and found Andre, Lecie, Claudette, and Camille having breakfast. No one seemed to notice him. Either that, or he was being ignored.

Andre was laughing, Claudette was gushing, and Lecie was declaring Camille’s sentiments as, “the most romantic thing ever.”

Good lord, what had she been telling them? Julian cleared the fear out of his throat.

Everyone glanced up and stopped.

“Julian.” Lecie was the brave one, rising and coming to his side. She laced her arm around his and led him to Camille’s side at the table. “Camille was just explaining why you two missed the dinner party last night.”

She pushed him into the empty chair beside Camille.

“I guess you really can’t fault a man when he’s that romantic.” Claudette smiled and flashed Julian her ‘
you’re forgiven
’ face.

Julian looked at Camille, smiled and winked. Whatever she’d said to get him back into his step-mother’s good graces—he could kiss her. Again.

“Julian,” Lecie smiled, returning to her seat at the table, “Mother and I are going to take Camille into town to arrange some wedding details.”

He glanced at Camille, hoping that was okay.

“It’s going to be fun.” Camille assured him with confidence.

“All right.” He checked his watch. 8:30 am. “Could you please have her back by three?” he said to no one in particular before turning to Camille. “We have plans this evening.”

She inspected him with a questioning look. He leaned in and kissed her cheek and then whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’m looking out for you.” Julian paused beside her ear, brushed his lips over her cheek again and moved away.

A weak smile turned the corners of her lips. “I’ll be here.”

Julian focused on Andre. “I need you to take the jet to California.”

“California?” Andre grunted. “I don’t want to go to California.” The behavior reminded Julian of Andre during his toddler years.

“It’s not up for discussion, Andre.”

“Why am I going to America?” Andre did nothing to temper his dissatisfaction.

“You’re going to pick up Camille’s friend, Tasha.”