“You and I are on the third floor. Technically, the entryway is on the second.” He wrapped his arm around her midriff and her body tingled from the contact. She wondered what it would be like getting locked in Julian’s embrace, but she didn’t dare voice the thought out loud.
He led her around a corner and swung a door open, gesturing her inside. From out of nowhere, Lecie appeared behind them.
Camille put forth extra effort to push her doubts aside. She needed a friend in this place. The next six months might be unbearable without one. She stepped into the room, surprised to find her recent purchases and her luggage already inside the suite.
Julian stopped in the doorway, blocking his sister’s entry. “We will see you in a little while,” he said, and closed the door between them.
The most sorrowful look crossed his face when he turned to Camille. “I am sorry, Chéri. The thought of where or how we met never crossed my mind,” he said, extending his arms.
Outstretched arms. Too tempting.
She rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. Doubts over the mess wobbled her head. There were too many holes. Their story hadn’t been thought out clearly.
“How are we ever going to make anyone believe you came to America last week, we fell in love and now we’re getting married?” Camille flung her hands into the air. “France would have to be full of a bunch of idiots for us to pull that off.”
“Your friend believed it.” Julian beamed at her with a look that was as soft as a caress. A dizzying current raced through her. She had to get a hold of that emotion, and quick.
“Well, not exactly. I didn’t tell her we just met.”
“And I didn’t tell anybody we’d just met either.”
Camille dropped onto a couch by a massive wall of windows overlooking an infinity pool that appeared to spill into the gardens below. Off in the distance, coastal mountains gave way to the Mediterranean.
Now she understood why Granny Mae called them picture windows. This one, in her room, held the grandest view of all—especially when Julian stepped into the scene.
“What did you tell your father?” Camille wanted to minimize the impact his presence was having over her, but she wasn’t having much luck. “You said he wanted you to marry Madeleine. What’d you do? Tell him you had a girl stashed away in the States?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of that notion.
“Something like that.”
“What?”
“Last year, I spent some time, several months in New York City on business.” He showed no signs of relenting to his father’s wishes. “I told him that I couldn’t marry Madeleine because I was in love with someone else, a girl I’d met while in America.”
Talk about lame.
“And he bought that?”
Julian’s smugness escaped in his complacent shrug. “I’m told he has a soft spot where I’m concerned. He wants to believe the best about me.” He tightened his lips to hold back the laughter and sat beside her. “I’ll admit, I have used that to my advantage more than once.”
“You’d better remember that when you become a father.”
Her laughter crawled up Julian’s leg and smacked him in the gut. When I have children. Julian wasn’t going to have children. But if he did, he could see Camille as their mother.
Suddenly, the topic wasn’t funny anymore. This girl, an actress, was supposed to be a means to an end—not somebody that started him thinking about children. Realizing he was sitting too close for comfort, he backed away from her.
Her eyes grew openly amused. “Uncomfortable talking about kids?”
“It’s a little scary,” he admitted.
She pushed aside the fleeting thought to wonder why. Adding to his anxiety wasn’t conducive. “So, you and I met when you were in New York last year.”
“Yes.”
“Where’d we meet?”
“Hm....”
“We can say I worked for one of your associate firms, writing technical reports.”
Julian was surprised at the validity of her suggestion. Nobody would ask her about a job like that. “Perfect.”
“But I need to say that I’m from L.A., because I don’t really know anything about New York.”
“How would you like to abstain from tonight’s party?” he asked, hopeful. First, they’d ditch the millions of questions they weren’t prepared for. And second, he wouldn’t mind some alone time with his new wife.
Her whole face spread into an energetic smile. “Could we?”
“You bet we can.” He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. Her skin was so soft, intoxicating. “We’ll sneak out a couple of hours before dinner.” Devilish laughter rose in Julian’s throat, allowing him to regain his senses. Disappointment rolled over him at the thought of not being around to see Papa’s face when he realized they were gone.
The possibilities of where to take her, where to woo her, filled his mind and chased away his fleeting regret. Wherever they went, it had to be special because it would take more than ordinary wining and dining to charm her into his bed.
Julian slipped quietly through the chateau’s hidden passageways. He knew all the routes and intersections well, as he’d played in them as a child. The tunnels hadn’t changed. They were still dark, damp and daunting.
He slipped into the east salon. It was empty. Thank god. Julian poured Scotch into a chilled glass and strolled to the window overlooking the east pool and rose gardens.
Camille had caught him off guard when she said something about him having children. That’d never crossed his mind, much less the notion to settle down with just one woman. Least of all Madeleine.
What was wrong with Madeleine? She was pretty enough. She’d been conditioned for the part since childhood. She was educated, polished, and personable. But Julian felt nothing when he looked at her. No spark.
That’s why his decision to formulate this orchestrated marriage was the right thing to do. It’d save Madeleine some grief, his sanity, and a ton of money in the long run.
Julian drained his glass and moved back to the bar. He poured another drink as a passageway door opened. A different one than he’d used.
Andre. Julian found it ironic that his younger brother by three years had outgrown him by a couple of inches.
Approaching Julian, Andre laughed. “Well, big brother,” he said, reaching for a bottle of bourbon and a glass. “You do have the market cornered on the shock factor.”