“I want her back here. Back home, where she belongs.”
“Darling…” Claudette’s tone softened. When her husband got like this, there was no stopping him. This called for a newer, gentler approach. “She’ll come home when she’s ready. Until then, all we can do is send Gerard over to make sure she’s safe.”
“Gerard will report back to us.” Maurice said sternly. “If I hear one thing—” His glare hardened as he raised his forefinger. “Just one. That I don’t like. She will return home.” Maurice gave Claudette a dismissive nod. “One way or another.”
Okay. Claudette had tried reasoning with her husband. Deep down, she’d known it wouldn’t do any good but she had to try so that, in the end, she didn’t end up blaming herself for her husband’s meddling ways.
She would talk to Julian to see if he had any ideas for discouraging his father. If Maurice pushed Lecie too far, Claudette knew she would end up retaliating in true de Laurent fashion.
After all, she was her father’s daughter.
Maurice de Laurent didn’t like being wrong. In fact, he loathed it. He didn’t like it that he’d lost control of his daughter either. As long as she remained in America, his control would diminish daily. And though he wasn’t willing to admit it, not openly anyway, he had precious little left.
The door to his study sprang open. His three-year-old granddaughter Juliana skipped across the room. Shoulder-length blonde curls bounced in perfect rhythm with her frolicking.
“Poppy!” she squealed, arms outstretched.
Maurice’s heart lit up like a Christmas tree. “Juliana. How are you, my darling?” He scooped her into his arms.
“Fine, Poppy.” She kissed his cheek. “How are you?” she asked with hints of an American accent, which Maurice found completely charming.
“Lovely.” He tapped the tip of her nose and gave her a smile. “Tell me…what is your grandma-ma doing?” He didn’t doubt that Claudette had sent Juliana in to sway him from the temptation of sneaking a drink while he thought everybody was too busy to notice.
“She’s picking flowers.”
Of course she was. Claudette loved the roses. And if that preoccupied her while Maurice devised a plan to get Lecie home, so much the better.
Juliana paused, a thoughtful look overcoming her face. “Poppy?” Her blue eyes lifted up to look at him.
“Yes…” He gave her a smile.
“When is Aunt Lecie coming home?”
Maurice’s heart sank into his gut. “Soon, my dear. Soon.” If Poppy has anything to say about it. Maurice sat Juliana on the desk. “That reminds me…” He opened the top right drawer. “Poppy has something for you.”
Juliana clapped.
He brought out a blue velvet jewelry box and opened it. “I thought you’d like something pretty to wear when Aunt Lecie does come home.”
Juliana’s eyes sparkled, almost as much as the diamonds set in the heart pendant hanging on the dainty golden chain.
“Pretty…” Juliana whispered amidst a sigh.
Maurice fixed the necklace around her neck and then helped her down. He stood and clasped her tiny hand in his. “Let’s go find your grandma-ma.” He wanted to know when Gerard was to arrive in California.
The sooner the better.
CHAPTER FIVE
LECIE AND DEIDRA HAD DRAGGED a couple of lawn chairs out to the hillside patio beyond the back lawn. It sat perched on a cliff, just a few steps down on a wooden walkway that twisted and turned and eventually made its way down to the Pacific.
They’d pushed the patio furniture aside, as the lawn chairs were better suited to sunbathing—the girls’ current activity.
Deidra turned over onto her stomach and folded her hands under her chin. “So what happened when your mom called? Should we expect a visit from one, or both, of the brothers de Laurent?” She capped off her inquiry with a hint of laughter.
“Bite your tongue.” Lecie went up on her elbows. “We’re getting a valet.”
“A valet?”
“Yep.”
“Valets help you dress. A guy’s not helping me dress.”
Lecie shrugged. “Well, actually, he’s going to be more like a butler.”
“A spy is more like it.”
“No, I’m taking care of that. He’s going to be employed by me, not Papa.”
“Uh huh…” Deidra’s tone held as much certainty as Lecie’s.
“No, I’m serious.”
Deidra blew out an exhaustive sigh. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”
“Mama says that Papa wants to have me deported.” Lecie let the fear clawing at her gut escape in her words.
“Can he do that?”
“That’s what I keep wondering.”
“Well, if we’ve learned anything from your father’s dealings with your brothers—”
Lecie cut her off, “Then the only conclusion we can draw is that Papa is capable of doing anything to get what he wants.”
“If you get deported…” Deidra’s words trailed off.
If she got deported. Just thinking the words made Lecie shudder. Even though Nick Matthews was getting married in a matter of hours, she wasn’t ready to go home.
In the passenger seat of Dean’s vintage Mustang, Nick fiddled with the strap of his seatbelt. If only he could’ve spoken to Ginny this morning, but she wasn’t answering her phone. If not for her text message this morning, urging him not to be late, he’d be a ball of nerves right now.
Oh, who was he kidding? He was a ball of nerves.
Nick looked out the car window. House after house and their well-manicured lawns streamed by. The redundancy lulled him into an almost hypnotic state. He was glad he wasn’t driving. A knot had cemented in his gut and was getting heavier by the minute.
When they arrived at the church, people were already milling around out front. Dean drove around to the back entrance and Nick glanced at his watch. 2:30. The ceremony was in an hour. Surely Ginny was at the church by now. He glanced around the back lot, where two limos waited in the wings. He felt confident that one of them had brought Ginny to the church.
Dean parked his car by the back door. As soon as he shifted into park, Nick unlatched his seatbelt and opened the car door. Dean cut the engine and was right behind Nick as he opened the door leading into the church.
“Now remember…” Dean coached him. “Don’t go looking for Ginny. She’ll have a cow if you see her before the wedding.”