The Marriage Bargain (13 page)

His face brightened. “Is she married?”

“No,” Camille said.

“Is she cute?”

“She’s very cute.” Camille paused, a bit of pity for Andre washing over her. Especially if Tasha saw him as entertainment while she was visiting. “You have no idea just how cute.”

“Guard your heart, little brother.” Julian stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “She will steal it.”

“She didn’t steal yours.” Andre noted.

Julian looked at Camille. “My heart was already spoken for.” He grabbed her hand and prompted her to stand. Tangling his fingers around hers, Julian kissed her sweetly. Not passionately. Just sweetly.

Everyone stopped talking abruptly.

Julian froze, his lips just a breath away from Camille’s. He cut his eyes toward the table. Andre, Lecie, and Claudette were fixated on the dining room’s entryway.

Madeleine.

CHAPTER NINE

MADELEINE THIBAULT
was beyond gorgeous. The kind of woman that made Camille shrink into a cocoon of doubt and insecurity in the shadows of her basking beauty. But the look in her eyes—heartbroken devastation—had the opposite effect over Camille.

It was clear Madeleine was far more envious of her than Camille could ever feel in return. Still, the two could end up having far more in common than either imagined. But right now, Camille was on top and she had to be the bigger person.

She sucked it up and stepped toward Madeleine, extending her hand. “Hello. I’m Camille Chandler.”

“de Laurent. Camille Chandler de Laurent.” Julian corrected her.

Madeleine’s face tightened. If Julian meant to discourage her, he was succeeding. Her cold hand gripped Camille’s with the effectiveness of a wet noodle. “Madeleine Thibault,” she said, her voice cracking around her queen’s-English accent.

“Have you had breakfast?” Camille gestured at the table. “Would you like to join us?”

Madeleine’s sad smile looked bereft and bleak. “Yes.” She surveyed the table and moved toward the buffet table. “I think I might.”

Julian, who moments before was excusing himself, sat back down. Camille eased into her chair, her spirits sinking to the floor. She was just about ready to throw a pity party for her competition.

Madeleine approached the table and snagged the empty seat between Andre and Lecie. She avoided looking at Julian.

Who could blame her? “So, Madeleine.” Camille was not going to be the mean-spirited, so-called winner. Far as she could see, there were no winners. Not where Julian de Laurent was concerned. “Have you lived in Marseilles all your life?”

“No. I was born in Paris.” Madeleine’s words came slowly and reluctantly, like she didn’t trust Camille’s sincerity. “I spent much of my school years in England—” That explained the British accent. “—It wasn’t until I’d met Julian in Nice a few years back, that I began spending time in Marseilles. I have a small apartment there.” Madeleine held her head high, keeping her pride intact.

So why was she here? Why wasn’t she at her small
apartment in Marseilles?

But who was Camille to question the de Laurent family? She’d just have to make the best of an awkward situation. She made a mental note...when the time came to get married for real, she’d discourage an invasion of her bridegroom’s old flings.

But this wasn’t real. She couldn’t forget that.

“I envy you.” Camille admitted.

“Envy me? Whatever for?” Madeleine doused her with an annoying glare, as if she thought she was being mocked.

“You’re so traveled.” Camille remained calm. “I envy your firsthand experience of having visited so many places.”

“I doubt that’ll last long.” Madeleine’s wall of dignity began to crumble. She avoided any further eye contact with both Camille and Julian. Instead, she focused on Claudette. “Maurice said you were going shopping today. Might I perhaps tag along?”

Claudette’s attention darted around the table and settled on Julian. “To tell the truth, Madeleine...Lecie and I are taking Camille into town to settle wedding arrangements.”

“Ah...” Madeleine’s voice tapered off. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I guess nobody wants me to tag along for that.”

Why would you want to
? Camille didn’t have the guts to say that out loud, but it didn’t stop her curiosity. Why would anybody want to stick around and watch somebody they loved get hitched to someone else? Camille would be on the first plane, train, bus, or whatever.

“If Madeleine wants to go shopping with us,” Camille said to no one in particular. “I have no objections.”

Julian cleared his throat and rose from the table. “I’m sure you ladies will work it out. I must be going.” He glanced at Camille and stretched out his hand. “Walk me out?”

Long, extended fingers drew her like a magnet. Their touch bathed her in an appealing gentleness. She hurried after Julian as he rushed into the hallway like a speed walker.

“What’s going on?” Camille whispered. “Is she for real?”

Julian stopped just outside the door. “Madeleine Thibault has never been that considerate in her whole life.”

“Well, she is heartbroken.” Camille reminded him. “Thanks to you.”

“Heartbroken?” His abruptness shook Camille, awakening her senses. “She’s up to something. You be careful.”

Budding fear swept through Camille. “Once again, I don’t have to be worried about my physical safety, do I?”

“Madeline’s not the physical kind.” Julian dashed down the stairs. “She’s more devious,” he said, with Camille following him. “More backstabbing than that. She’s more apt to discredit you. Make you appear unworthy, incapable of fulfilling the position my wife would assume in European society.”

Geez, he made being his wife sound so hard. What had she gotten herself into?

At the front door, Julian brushed his lips against her cheek, and Camille forgot all about her insecurities. “Remember—” His tone held a mixture of order and suggestion. “—If the excursion gets to be too overwhelming, just call Soren and he’ll bring you back to the house.”

“Where are you going?” She wasn’t being nosey. Just curious.

“I have an empire to run.” He opened the door and headed outside.

“I thought that was your father’s job.”

“He leads the family. I run the business.”

“Oh.” Her response flittered off her tongue. His revelation surprised Camille, maybe even impressed her a little.

He moved toward the car and Sebastian opened the door. Julian stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back around six,” he said before disappearing into the limo.

Six? Didn’t he say something about four at breakfast?

Camille had a lot to learn about the interworkings of a multi-billion dollar family and its very enigmatic, but oh so sexy, second-in-command.

Clouds sprinkled the morning sky like wisps of cotton balls. She was getting married in a couple of days; was this a bad sign?

Hell no. There aren’t any signs, good or bad, for arranged marriages.

The car drove away and Andre appeared from inside the house, as if he’d been waiting for Julian to leave. He looked at her and smiled, slipping his hands inside his pockets.

“Camille. Is it all right if I call you Camille?” he asked, a little too friendly-like.

“Yes.” She hesitated, unsure of his motives, and erected a sober reserve. “Do you work with Julian? He’s left already.”

“I work
for
Julian. And we rarely ride in together. He’s always got me off running errands.” His tone was free of animosity. Not only did Andre appear to know his place, he seemed content with the position.

“And you like that just fine.” She realized out loud.

“Hell yes.” He grinned, openly amused. “He’s always stuck inside the office, making business deals and whatnot.” Andre’s tone illustrated his distaste for his brother’s post. “I, on the other hand, am always off globetrotting. Visiting new and exciting places. Wining and dining clients...and friends,” he said, with a wink. “He can keep his job. I like mine just fine.”

“Well, then...” A covetous feeling of contentment swept over Camille. “I envy you. To love what you do for a living is a godsend. A luxury not many people can afford.”

“Speaking of my job...” He chuckled. “It’s my job to retrieve your friend in America. You might want to contact her. I’ll send a car for her.”

“She can meet you at the airport.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.”

What a gentlemanly thing to say. It reminded her of Julian. Always thinking of someone else’s comfort and ease. Maurice and Claudette had taught them well the art of courteous behavior.

“It’s no trouble at all.” Camille raised her tone with insistence. “There’s no need for you to go traipsing all over L.A., just to bring Tasha to the airport.”

Andre’s laughter cascaded across the wind whipping past. “Ah, yes, Americans...so independent.”

She glanced at him through narrowed eyes and then looked away. “Which airport?”

Andre studied her with raised eyebrows.

“Which airport do you want her to meet you?”

“Which is more convenient for her?”

“Let’s ask her.” Camille pulled out her cell phone and began texting Tasha. Within seconds, she had an answer.
LAX
.
Where 2 meet
?

Camille showed Andre the cell phone screen and waited for his response.

Andre snatched up her phone and began pressing buttons. When he was done, a satisfied look warmed his face and he returned the device to Camille.

She studied the phone a moment, half-curious to know what he’d texted to Tasha.

“Ooh...” Andre smacked her arm lightly with the back of his hand. “Tell her to send a photo,” he said, a flicker of amusement lighting his face.

Camille’s phone chimed. “Hang on.” She raised a finger at Andre and took the call. “Yeah.”

“Chéri,” Julian’s voice, anxious yet comforting, poured over the phone. “Has Andre talked to you about bringing your friend over?”

“As a matter of fact, we’re just discussing that right now.” She glanced at Andre. “He wants her to text him a photograph...so he can recognize her at the airport, I suppose.”

“Let me speak with my brother, please.” Julian’s tone, short and to the point, reached across the airwaves and wrapped Camille in an icy chill.

She shoved the phone at Julian’s brother. “He wants to talk to you.”

Andre drew a heavy breath and rolled his eyes before laying the phone against his ear. Even so, she still heard Julian’s higher-pitched voice loud and clear. “No, Andre. There will be no pictures of Camille’s friend. You’re not going to get her for your own amusement, so get that out of your head.” Hope fell from Andre’s face as he listened to Julian’s orders. “Just bring her here and be on your best behavior.”

Andre disconnected the call and handed the phone to Camille. “Spoil sport.”

“He’s your brother.”

“And your husband. I had no choice in the matter.” An easy smile played at the corners of Andre’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, could have and should have run far, far away.” He nodded and slipped into the backseat of the car.

Oh, I know I should run
. But Camille didn’t have the desire.

She laced her fingers together behind her back and waited until Andre’s car disappeared down the long, winding driveway. Hands still clasped behind her, Camille was ready to return to the house when another limo rolled up in front of the house.

As if right on cue, Claudette, Lecie, and Madeleine exited the house. The three women looked like an expensive fashion ad for Europe’s finest designers. She glanced down at her own attire, a casual ensemble of white capri pants and a matching print blouse. Camille’s clothes cost more than two weeks her normal pay, and she felt ill-qualified to wear them. She didn’t do the outfit justice, especially up against her companions in their trendy styles.

“Are we ready?” Claudette asked, not giving the same attention Camille had to her attire.

Sure. Why not
? Camille shrugged her misgivings aside and climbed into the limo.

The morning passed quickly as a high profile wedding planner led them around the city, stopping at places like the florist and the caterers. Claudette was more than willing to weigh in on every aspect, but ultimately and respectfully left the final decision to Camille. Lecie gave no arguments to anyone. Loving everything, she only looked for the romance. Madeleine remained quiet but observant.

At lunchtime, they stopped at a sidewalk café and dined on a buffet. Lecie had excused herself and gone to the restroom. Claudette had gone back for seconds, saying, “I try to watch my figure, but one or two meals a week, I just let loose.”

Camille watched her sashaying away, contemplating Claudette’s age. She had to be at least forty-five. Damn, she carried it well.

“Camille,” Madeleine drew her attention away from Claudette and back to the awkwardness of the situation. “May I call you Camille?”

“Sure.” What else would she call her?

“I hope that despite the circumstances...you and I can remain civil to one another.”

“I don’t see why we can’t, Madeleine.”

“Well, that’s very big of you.” The kind words were there, but so was the nettling insolence. “Most wives aren’t so accommodating.”

“Accommodating?” Camille wasn’t quite sure what Madeleine was insinuating, and she wanted clarification.

“Well...” She looked away scandalously, then back at Camille. “He’s put you
by
his side, but did he tell you about his plans to keep me
on
the side.”

Camille tried to keep her jaw from falling, and failed. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“I can understand your reaction.” Madeleine said, as if they were discussing a business deal. “A month ago, I thought I might fill your shoes. But then, I find out Julian’s been swept off his feet by some bitch in America...pardon my English.” She smirked, shrugged and perched her hands in the air. “And now I’m relegated to mistress.”

“Guess I have a lot to learn about French culture.” She paused and nodded absently. “Where I come from, we call that a demotion.”