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.
Julian 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.