The Marriage Bargain (23 page)

The next six months were not going to be pleasant ones. He’d find a way to conquer his affliction because, as bad as this was, being married to Madeleine would still be worse.

C
amille grabbed a pillow from the nearby chair and threw it at the door. She’d been wrong when she called him a jerk. He wasn’t just a jerk. Julian de Laurent was a complete jerk.

Imagine, someone wanting you to defend yourself when they had no intention of listening to a word you said. Camille wasn’t groveling at anybody’s feet, least of all his. It would come to nothing because it was only for his own amusement.

The envelope he’d left on the table seemed to be his bargaining chip. Well sure, it contained the means to a million dollars. Or so he said. Curiosity pushed her toward the table. She picked up the envelope with casual grace and hesitated a moment before easing the flap open. The agreement didn’t interest her as much as the bank transfer.

Seeing all those zeros next to her name made her heart skip a beat. In a matter of seconds, all her financial problems had disappeared. A million bucks might be chump change to a guy like Julian, but for a girl like Camille it could change her life.

But was the payment of five million worth six months of what she’d just endured? Could she stand six months of ridicule and rejection and dismissal from Julian. She’d have to if she wanted the money.

Wait. She’d decided to stick around because she needed the money. Not anymore. She was now in possession of a million dollars. Payment in full for a story she’d never intended to write. Why should she stick around and subject herself to Julian’s BS when it was no longer necessary?

There was no longer a reason. Not anymore. And she liked the idea of being paid for a story much better than being paid for a marriage—even if it was less money. But hell, a million bucks was plenty for Camille. It would set her up nicely.

Okay, so all she needed to do was find someone to help her start the divorce proceedings. Julian wasn’t the best bet. He’d try to talk her out of it since he had a little problem he liked to call Madeleine.

But Julian had—like Granny Mae used to say—made his bed and now he’d have to lay in it. He’d hurt her feelings and stung her ego and there was no going back from that. Why should she continue to help him? Not even five million dollars was worth sacrificing her dignity.

With that in mind, Camille knew she had to confide in at least one member of the de Laurent family. And there was only one who could come close to relating. Only one that might listen before judging. Only one that might agree to help Camille.

C
amille was thrilled when Claudette kept their lunch date that afternoon. It meant Maurice hadn’t gotten to her, hadn’t told Claudette what he knew. She hoped she was right, and her stepmother-in-law still remembered and understood what it was like to try to fit into this family of well-bred jackasses.

They opted for a little sidewalk café where the staff knew Claudette and were overly attentive to her every desire.

Camille had rehearsed what she’d say to Claudette a hundred times in her mind, but that hadn’t helped to calm her nerves. What if she was wrong about Claudette? What if she was just as judgmental as the rest of them? What if...pigs could fly!

She pushed the silly anxieties aside. Nobody could be as judgmental as those de Laurent men. Maurice and Julian in particular.

Strategically, Claudette’s induction into the family was the place to start. Take her back to what it felt like when she first arrived.

“Claudette...” Camille let her name amble off her tongue. “What was it like for you when you married Maurice?” she asked, playing with the food on her plate. “Did fitting in come easy for you?”

“Easy?” Claudette laughed, and rattled off a few words in French before returning to English. “I not only became the mother of two small children, but I had to follow in the footsteps of a woman who’d been put up on a pedestal and then devastated an entire family when she fell off.”

Camille hadn’t looked at it like that. She’d only seen Naoma’s life and death from Julian’s point of view. A broken-hearted son.

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” Sadness stabbed at Camille’s chest. “I know it devastated Julian.”

“Julian.” Claudette’s face softened. Clearly, she loved him like any mother would love her son. “He was such a dear, sweet boy. And so young, and broken-hearted over losing his mother.” Her expression was one of quiet dejection. “It took a very long time to get him to accept my love. He was afraid I was going to leave, too.”

“What about you and Maurice? Did he have trust issues?” Camille regretted it as soon as she asked.

Claudette snorted. “Still does.” She rolled her eyes and a muscle quivered at her jaw. “Sometimes, I think Maurice doesn’t even trust himself.”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.” Her words weren’t bitter, just logical. “You made it impossible for him to get the daughter-in-law he wants.”

Camille hadn’t looked at it like that. Still, it wasn’t her problem. “He has another son.”

“Ah, yes. And a specific wife picked out for him too.” A flicker of amusement flittered across her eyes. “And he’s not likely to get that one any more than he did the last.”

“Well, he shouldn’t give up hope on Madeleine just yet,” Camille said, with some remorse. “He’s still got a chance. If he can convince Julian.”

Claudette studied her with a scrutinizing eye. “Julian doesn’t love Madeleine.”

“He doesn’t love me either.”

Claudette’s expression skewed into a “thinking face” that evoked her thoughts to the surface. “I think he does.”

“I’m going to tell you something that is going to violate a contract.” Camille paused. It was better to just say it and get it over with. That way the contract would be broken and she could go home. “Our marriage is a business deal. A marriage of convenience.”

Claudette’s mouth fell open. Clearly, a notion she hadn’t suspected.

“Julian came to America looking for a temporary wife, so he could avoid being pressured into marriage with Madeleine.” She searched for the next set of words that would make some sense of her reasoning, and not make her look like a villain. “He placed an ad in the L.A. Trades for an actress.” There was something liberating about admitting the truth. “I, at the instruction of my boss, answered the ad. I was just supposed to see what Julian was up to. That’s it. But my boss at Disclosure Magazine wanted a story, with all the dirt, on Julian de Laurent.” She shook her head. Even she was starting to see herself as the bad guy.

Claudette didn’t say anything. She just listened.

“There was something about Julian from the get-go. He makes you want to help him.”

“He has that effect on most people.”

“I told my boss I wouldn’t write the story. She threatened to fire me. So I quit.” Camille had no regrets about standing up to her ex-boss at Disclosure Magazine, but right now her ethics weren’t making her feel any better.

“For a young girl, alone in the world, and having no job or viable job prospects...the world is a scary place.” Claudette’s expression softened. She did understand.

Camille sighed, relieved.

“I’m sure you were very afraid. And, the tiniest part of you probably wanted to help Julian.”

“That’s true. But it was more about me.” She admitted with a regrettable shrug. “I was afraid for myself. I was afraid of ending up homeless.”

“So you went to Julian and accepted his offer.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell him about your boss or that you’d quit your job because of him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And somewhere along the way, you fell in love with Julian.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” If she said it, that’d make it real. And it couldn’t be real because she’d end up heartbroken.

“So what happened?” she asked, studying Camille. “Did Julian find out about your job?”

Camille nodded. “Maurice made it a point to dig up the dirt on me.” She laughed at the irony.

“Of course!” She threw her hands into the air. “This has my husband written all over it. Jackass that he is.”

“Julian is so angry with me,” Camille said. “He thinks I’m here to get that story.”

“And he’s not going to believe otherwise. Unless you come up with a way to prove it to him.”

Camille hadn’t thought of that.

“That is the way of the de Laurent men,” her spirited voice pealed on, “Loveable as they are...they’re idiots when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“I’m going to divorce Julian.”

“It is the only thing to do,” she said. “Especially if you want him back.”

Camille came out of her despondence and looked at Claudette. “What makes you think he’d have me back?”

“Because he loves you.”

Camille had given up on that when Julian lost the spark in his eyes. “Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I just want this to be over.” The words shuddered through her. “I can’t stand the way he looks at me now.”

“He’s going to have to lose you before he can appreciate you.” Claudette leaned toward Camille. “But don’t be foolish. Don’t give him any ammunition to validate what he thinks is the truth. Take every piece of his so-called proof and ram it back at him before you leave.”

Camille tried to think of how she could make that happen.

“Don’t tell him you’re leaving either. He’ll talk you out of it,” she said. “And you’ll both lose if that happens.”

“You’re probably right.” Camille wasn’t willing to spend the next six months learning to hate Julian. She’d rather lose now, than have hatred attached later on down the line.

“I happen to know that Andre is planning a trip to the U.S.” Her tone was born in suggestive innocence. “To see your friend.”

Camille laughed inside. That would snap Maurice’s sanity.

“Do you know someone who can draw up divorce papers quickly?” Camille asked, walking a tightrope of hope.

A thought, an idea came to her. It was risky. She’d lost all hope for any kind of solid relationship with Julian, but if she had any hope of proving herself to him, she had to take that chance.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JULIAN’S LIMOUSINE ROLLED
to a stop in front of the house. The weather hadn’t bothered to cooperate for his return from a business trip to London. Rain continued in a torrential downpour and he jumped out of the car without a second thought and faced the brunt of the storm head-on.

While away, he’d had plenty of time to think things through. Perhaps he’d been a bit hard on Camille. Sure, she’d come to him under false pretenses, but when had that ever stopped him? Where was his sense of adventure? Who said he couldn’t change her mind, charm her out of her intentions? She’d come there for a story, but who’s to say it couldn’t turn into something more? Something meaningful. Something real.

He slinked out of his overcoat and shook the water off his hands and arms. Papa would want to see him, but Julian was more interested in talking to Camille and figuring out if there was a chance for them to salvage their amiable relationship or if he was just fooling himself.

There were only two places she would be. The gardens or their suite. And the rain cancelled out the first option. Julian headed up the stairs taking them two at a time.

“Chéri...?” he called out, entering their suite.

Nothing.

He moved from one room to the next, expecting to find her in each.

Again, nothing.

“Camille?” Anxiety knotted in his gut as he opened the door to the bedchamber, the only room left to examine inside the suite.

The bed was made, the room was empty and the bathroom door was open. Julian stopped, perched his hands on his hips and surveyed his surroundings. Where in the hell was Camille?

Maybe she was in town with Claudette and Lecie. They’d probably gone shopping and were likely to return in time for dinner. Along with a big hefty bill.

Julian laughed. He was beyond caring. He just wanted to see Camille.

He went back into the outer rooms of the suite and prepared to meet with Papa. He would’ve made it out the door too, if it hadn’t been for the document lying on the table along with Camille’s wedding rings and her necklace.

Curiosity pushed him to check it out. His heart rate increased as he reached for the folded document.

A Bill of Divorcement.

Her signature had been penned in black ink. All he had to do was sign it and he’d be a free man—free to get pushed in the direction of Madeleine.

The hell with that.

She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t throw him to the wolves. She couldn’t pretend they’d never happened.

Where was she?

He tossed the document back onto the table and the bank receipt fell out. Julian snatched it up and looked at the paper.

One million dollars had been transferred back into its originating account.

Joy over the notion that she’d chosen him was overshadowed by the fear that she’d gotten a better offer for her story.

Oh, shit.

Julian’s first instincts led him to the closet and her dressers. All her things—the things he’d bought her—were still there.

Good.

He stormed out into the hallway. She was here in the house somewhere, and Julian set out to find her. He ran into Andre coming up the stairs.

“Andre, have you seen my wife?” he asked, stopping just past his brother on the staircase.

Andre grabbed the banister and crooked halfway around and flashed Julian with a confused look. “Your wife?”

“Yes. Camille. Have you seen her?”

“You didn’t know?” Fear darkened Andre’s demeanor.

“Know what?” Julian asked, having little patience.

“I thought you knew.” Andre paused, slinking up the stairs, outside Julian’s reach.

Claudette appeared at the top and moved down between them. Julian didn’t pay much attention to her and he didn’t think Andre had either.

“I went to see Tasha while you were gone and Camille
hitched a ride
with me. Her words, not mine.” He chuckled, seemingly amused by the axiom.