“Well, Vegas ain’t exactly London,” she said in lighthearted quips. “But okay, I’ll take it.”
The three of them stood and went back inside the hotel lobby where Julian made sure the staff knew Tasha would be staying on through the end of the week—four days away. They were to see to her every need and desire.
Camille was surprised to learn that while they were lunching, her belongings inside the suite had been packed into brand new designer luggage. A notion that made Tasha swoon.
The girls said their goodbyes. Tasha went upstairs and Camille climbed into a limo with Julian, Soren, and Heinz, Julian’s pilot. During the drive to the airport, uneasiness crept over Camille and left her with a troubled feeling. Leaving the country with three men she’d known for less than a week might not be construed as prudent.
She knew her qualms were crazy. Julian and Soren were honorable men; even though they came from two separate classes of society, their morals and principals were the same. Maybe that’s why each was able to put so much faith and trust in the other. They got as good as they gave.
At the airport, Julian showed Camille the stateroom on the plane. “Once we’re in the air,” he said, “you can rest in here if you’d like.”
He wondered about Camille’s friend. She was loud and flashy. The exact opposite of Camille. How had they become friends? But no matter, if Camille wanted her to come to France, he’d bring her there. Better yet, he’d send Andre to get her. That’d serve him right.
“So, we’re going to London and then on to Marseilles?” she asked, as if she was just trying to fill the silence.
“We will spend a day or two in London where you can do a little more shopping.” He felt an eager attraction coming from her and it pleased him. “Then we’ll head to Paris where you’ll meet with a designer or two.”
“Designer? Why?”
“To make you the wedding dress of your dreams.” One way or another, Julian was going to charm his way into his new wife’s good graces. And at the end of six months, when he’d grown tired of her and she of him, they’d go their separate ways and he’d be free. Free from the bonds of matrimony his father was so sure he needed.
Her mouth opened in dismay, but she remained silent.
“What is it, Chéri?” Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, a flash of loneliness stabbed at him. “A dress designed specifically for you does not please you?”
Her faint smile held a touch of sadness. “Julian, that’s very generous of you.” Camille’s face went grim. Something was on her mind, and judging by the demure smile, she wasn’t talking.
“But...”
“I guess dressing properly comes with playing the part, huh?”
“Well, you might as well enjoy it.” Her lack of enthusiasm surprised Julian and somehow pleased him at the same time. Not that he didn’t want his wife attired in the finest designs, but her indifference was appealing. There was something comforting in the notion that Camille was unmoved by designer fashions.
Julian wanted to see her smile though. “Someday, when you do it for real, you can just think of this as a...how do you Americans say it? A dry run?”
Camille’s smile fell into laughter.
He thought he knew her problem. Camille was about to have the wedding of her dreams for a marriage that wasn’t real. Women got that way about weddings. All mushy. Julian knew he should have considered the ramifications of their ‘pretend marriage’. “Well, at least I can make you laugh.”
She squared her shoulders and plastered on an overzealous smile. “From here on out I will play the part with complete enthusiasm and absolutely zero regret.”
Julian wasn’t sure if she believed what she’d told him. But it didn’t matter. He trusted his instincts and they assured him Camille was the solution to his troubles. She held a certain appeal with her sentimental mind-set over a real dress for a faux wedding. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, Julian sensed her disappointment.
A soft knock in the hallway accompanied Soren’s serene voice. “Sir, we’re next in line for takeoff. We should take our seats.”
Julian gave Camille a carefree shrug. “Shall we?”
She followed him into the lounge and they sat together on the couch.
“Did you tell your friend the truth?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt.
“No.” Camille didn’t bother looking his way until her belt was fastened. “I thought it was best to let her think it’s real. Besides, wasn’t that part of the deal?” she said in a peculiar searching way. “Everybody’s supposed to think we’re married in more than name only?”
She had a point. The fewer people aware of the scheme, the better their chances of success. So far, only three people knew. Julian, Camille, and Soren. If word did get out, it wouldn’t be hard to unearth the culprit.
Julian fiddled with the jewelry box inside his jacket pocket. Camille was looking a bit disenchanted, but this might raise her spirits.
“Speaking of believability.” He paused and pulled out the trinket box. “I thought you should have these,” he added, offering her the gift.
Her eyes radiated joy. She accepted Julian’s present and opened it as if it was made of fragile glass. She gasped and one hand flew to her chest. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the diamond-studded rings inside.
Julian slipped the box away from her and put the marriage symbol onto her ring finger. “Every beautiful bride deserves beautiful rings.” He backed up his statement with a wink and a smile. “No matter the circumstances.”
Her face softened into a desirous I-want-to-believe-you look.
She was caving; he could see it happening. In no time, Julian would win her over with his charms.
“Why me?” she finally said. “I know you said ‘I’m perfect for the part’. But why?” she asked, as if she thought she was a speck of nothing. “What makes me perfect? And say, not my friend Tasha?”
“I’m sure your friend Tasha is a nice girl.” He paused to stifle the derisive laughter charging up his throat.
A glint of understanding sparked in her eyes. He could see, deep down inside, she knew why even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. Tasha was, in a word, unrefined.
“But...”
“She is, how do you say...?” He hesitated, searching tactfully for the right words. “A trophy wife.”