“I don’t know about the rules in America, but in France a divorce takes two signatures.”
“I signed.” She looked away.
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I didn’t sign. I couldn’t.”
“Oh, I get it.” She sighed, disappointed. “You don’t want to be divorced because then you’ll be free to be pushed into marriage with Madeleine.”
“No. That’s not why I didn’t sign.” His tone took on a quality of mockery before it was overshadowed by remorse. “When it came down to it, I couldn’t break our connection. Yours and mine.”
He was good, she’d give him that. A passionate fluttering popped up in her chest. It was wise to ignore her heart and all it desired. Camille had trusted him before and look how that turned out. But he was looking at her with that look of his, the one that made her heart go pitter-patter.
She sighed, fighting that sinking, losing feeling.
“Please come home?”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head.
“Please, Camille. I realized something when you left.” His voice drifted into a hushed whisper. “I love you. I need you to come home. Forever.”
Love? Was he serious? She chewed on her lower lip and stole a look at him.
Julian shot her a mischievous grin before releasing her hands. He backed into the nearest booth and dropped her wedding rings onto the table.
“What are you doing?” she asked, his actions sending her pulses spinning.
“I’m sitting down.”
“Why?”
“It looks like I’m going to be here a while.”
She hesitated, blinking with bafflement.
“I’m not leaving until you agree to come home.” There was something genuine and truthful and determined in his manner. Julian was serious.
Camille slid into the opposite side of the booth and laid her hand on the table. “Well, you’ve got a long wait ahead of you.” She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help herself.
“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He reached across the table and grabbed at her fingers.
Camille ignored the blush burning her cheeks. She could hold out about ten minutes. Fifteen, if she tried really hard. When Julian turned on the charm, he had no trouble getting whatever he wanted.
Including Camille.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
THE NAOMA LOUISE crept out of the marina, gliding toward the waters of the Mediterranean as the last, faint colors of day faded away.
Julian waited on deck for Camille. She’d said she wanted to slip into something more comfortable. He hoped that meant sexy.
They’d made a quick get-away right after the ceremony; she hadn’t even taken the time to change out of her dress. They’d done the whole wedding-circus act last time. This time, it’d been just for them.
It seemed like the logical step after Soren had found her wedding dress in that little second-hand shop in Marseilles last week. It’d been a stroke of luck, actually, when Soren saw it in the shop’s window while driving past.
After Julian reacquired the gown—and learning Madeleine had sold it to the shop—it only seemed fitting that he and Camille should renewed their vows so she could wear the dress that’d been made specifically for her.
They had done that today, and now, he was taking her on a cruise of the Greek Islands—a desire she had expressed right after he’d brought her to France the first time.
Julian looked at his watch, and back to the double doors leading below deck. What’s taking so long?
Just when he was ready to go look for her, Camille emerged wearing a sheer black negligee over a bikini of the same color.
Desire swelled inside him, as quickly as a summer storm brews. Drinking in the sight of her, he stood slowly. “You look absolutely stunning.”
A rush of pink stained her cheeks. Julian swept her into his arms. She sank into his embrace, saying, “Thank you for bringing my dress home.”
“Anything to see you smile.” He kissed her, savoring every second. “As far as weddings go, I think this one was by far our best.”
“Well, you know what they say...” She looked at him with eyes that said she was ready to embark on the voyage of love. “Third time’s a charm.”
Julian laughed, and latched onto her hands. “I have something for you.” He led her down to the chaise lounge chair and pulled her into his lap.
She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck. “You really don’t have to give me presents.”
“Well,” he said, reaching for a folded document on the table beside them. “This is a special one.”
He offered it to her; she took it and sat up, then unfolded the document and perused it. As she read, her mouth dropped open. She looked up at him, shaking her head. “Julian...?”
“You now own half of everything that is mine.”
She glanced away, and remained silent for a time. It felt like forever before she sucked in a breath, and said, “Julian...I don’t want your money.” She shrugged. “Just your love.”
“And that, Chéri, you have.” He snuggled her closer. “No one will ever tear us apart again.”
“You promise?” she whispered.
“I promise.” He caressed her soft curves and she molded into the contours of his body. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Once or twice, my love. Once or twice.” Her soft, whispering breath tickled his neck.
Holding Camille in his arms, Julian was the happiest of men. Their marriage had started as a business arrangement, but somewhere along the way they’d fallen in love.
Destiny had certainly smiled upon Julian when she paired him with Camille—his perfect match.