The Marriage Bargain (21 page)

Granny Mae had said, more than once, that Camille’s father was an alcoholic and it was a blessing in disguise when he’d run out on Camille and her mother. Camille didn’t want to end up like that. Deserted and pregnant.

But if it did happen, she’d like to think she’d have enough wherewithal to stick by the child she’d created and not dump him or her off on the nearest relative. Not that Camille had that luxury.

The door opened and Julian entered. She glanced at him and sat up. He didn’t look happy. Uh oh, what was this about. She hoped it had nothing to do with Madeleine.

He began pacing the length of the room. His head jerked away from her and then back to her every couple of steps.

Nerves pushed Camille out of the chair. “Julian?” She moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”

His hands shot into the air, as if warning her not to touch him. He gave her a frown fraught with desperation. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Thoughts swarmed her brain and mingled chaotically to uncover his meaning. What had he discovered? Did he see right through her? Did he know of her secret desires now that they’d consummated their marriage? Did he not want to go there?

Julian elbowed his blazer back and perched his hands on his hips. “Are you or are you not an actress?” Every word came out of his mouth articulate and accusing.

That was not what she was expecting, and in fact, was the worst thing he could’ve asked. But did it really matter? Did he really care that much about her employment status?

She wanted to say what he wanted to hear, but she wasn’t sure what that was. She hesitated and sighed.

“That’s what I thought.” He paused and glared at her.

He looked at her with such hatred it killed any confidence she’d built up during the course of the morning. Her pride and a fear of rejection wouldn’t let her crumble. This was going to turn out just like every other time in her life when she’d been deserted. Julian had found a reason to erect an impenetrable wall between them. Okay, so she hadn’t been completely honest but her intentions hadn’t been malicious.

It wouldn’t matter what she said. Julian had found his
out
, and she had to protect her heart from getting stomped on, once again.

“Just what exactly is your occupation?” His hatred lashed out at her.

Camille shoved the desire to sob back down her throat. “I am currently unemployed.” That wasn’t a lie. She had no job prospects, but she wasn’t about to tell him why. No way was she going to make herself look like an even bigger fool.

Julian’s accusing laughter raked her. “Does this mean it’s for sale to the highest bidder?”

Huh
? She fought the cobwebs of angst-filled confusion.
What’s for sale
? She wasn’t about to let Julian get the better of her, or make her look like an idiot. “Sure.” She folded her arms and tapped red-tipped fingernails against her skin. “But there’s a reserve on it.” She paused, trying to read him. Trying to figure out what he thought she had for sale. “I’m not giving it away for free.”

For a second he almost looked pleased, but that was quickly overshadowed by his hatred. “How much?”

Her pride concealed her inner turmoil. “How much for what?” Frustration poured out in her broken voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are a writer.” His nose flared and his eyes bulged. “Are you not?”

He knew? Reality shuddered through her. Defeat escaped in her sharp sigh.

His lips tightened as if he was biting back the words of disapproval. He shook his fist and then pointed an accusing finger at her. His cold, hard stare froze her in place like a statue and left her quivering with fear. She wasn’t afraid of him physically. Just emotionally.

Nobody else was going to desert her. She’d break this bond before he had the chance. “It really doesn’t matter what I say,” she said. “You won’t believe me.”

She wanted him to dispute that. She wanted him to say he wanted to hear her explanation. But he didn’t.

“What do you say we dispense with the pleasantries?” It sounded like a question, but she knew it was an order. An order for something she couldn’t define. She wished she knew what he was talking about.

“How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much will it take for the exclusive?”

“Exclusive?” She was starting to sound like a parrot.

“You’re insulting my intelligence.” He glowered and turned away.

“Look,” she said, through the mounting pressure of tears. “Just tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Do you deny that you answered my ad as a staff member of Disclosure Magazine?”

Oh, that exclusive
. No, she didn’t deny it. “Why do you ask?” She bit back the hurt. “You’ve obviously got it all figured out.”

“How much for the exclusive?” he repeated his question.

Camille stiffened, momentarily abashed. He’d never believe her story. She felt ice spreading through her heart. “What’s it worth to you?” she asked, suddenly wanting him to share in her pain.

And damned if she was leaving. The way she saw it, he owed her five million bucks. She was staying until he paid up.

“How about one million dollars?” he offered.

She hesitated, torn by his audacious belief that everybody had a price.

He’d obviously read her silence as a bargaining tactic because he went into full negotiating mode. “I doubt that rag you were working for would pay that much. You Americans really don’t care that much about what the crazy French are doing.” He rolled his eyes and showered her with stinging laughter.

The accusation broke Camille’s heart, but she held the hurt inside. How could he think so little of her? There were a ton of things she could say to defend herself, but none of them moved her stoned lips. Finally, a single word escaped. “Deal.”

Julian’s cold glare bored through her for what seemed an eternity before he stuck his hand out. She accepted it reluctantly. His firm grasp was cold and unfeeling, and elicited no fire, no compassion, no desire.

“There will be more papers to sign.”

“I figured.”

“I’ll pay for the exclusive once I have your signature.”

“That’ll be fine.” Her voice cracked but she held the pain inside. She swallowed the overwhelming urge to cry, holding her lips together tightly to keep the tears from escaping.

The glittering necklace, Julian’s gift, sparkled, reminding her that his genuineness was not nearly as solid as the jewels clarity. She reached for it, clasped it in her fist for a moment before unfolding her fingers and offering it to him. “Here. I’m sure you’ll want this back,” she said over her aching inner pain.

Julian’s cold stare squeezed her heart. He pivoted on one heel and walked away. The slamming door echoed through her.

Camille folded her fingers around the pendant and sighed heavily. She’d done it this time. Gotten herself into a real mess. One she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to squirm her way out of. Damn.

J
ulian slowed his pace once in the corridor leading to the main wing. An odd twinge of disappointment filled the empty cavity that used to contain his heart. He’d been deserted—again.

He should’ve known better. The minute he put his faith and trust in a woman, she turned out to be a liar and a cheat. Camille had deceived him, just like his mother had when she told him she’d always take care of him. How was checking out fulfilling that promise?

Stunned and furious, he fisted his hands at his sides. He struggled to hold his temper.
God, I’m so stupid
.

Julian took the stairs, two at a time, and headed for the side service door, preferring not to run into any of the family. He had to think.

“Julian!” Papa’s voice assaulted him from behind.

Damn it
. He thought about not stopping. But that was a bad idea. He slid his hands into his pockets, stalled a moment and then turned to face the criticism.

All sorts of things ran through Julian’s head, none of them good. Not the kind of things you say to your father. He wished Papa hadn’t been so hell-bent on destroying his marriage, as faux as it was, to Camille. This was one time Julian would’ve much rather been left in the dark. At least, until they were closer to the end of the six months. If Papa wanted to destroy it then, more power to him. But why’d he have to do it now, especially now that Julian and Camille had come to an understanding.

“Did you take care of our problem?” Papa asked.

“
We
don’t have a problem.”

“That’s not the way I see it.”

“How do you see it, Papa?” Julian dared to raise his voice to his father. “She’s my wife and has no bearing on anyone else in this family.”

“I might buy that if she weren’t a reporter after a story about this family.” His voice matched Julian’s.

“What’s the matter, Papa?” Julian’s animosity escaped in his words. “Are you afraid some of your skeletons are going to come out of the closet?”

“You’d better worry about your own skeletons, boy.” Papa looked ready to explode. “There is such a thing as bad publicity. And we don’t want ours to start in some American trash magazine.”

“I’ve taken care of that,” Julian said, his tone calming. “From here on out you will say nothing, and I do mean nothing, about this to anyone.”

“You presume to tell me what to do?”

“Papa...you wanted me to fix it. I did.” Julian sucked in a deep breath. “Now, I’m asking you to drop it.”

Papa studied him for a long moment, his way of bullying. It wasn’t working. Julian was way beyond intimidation. Allowing the coercion would ruin his plan. He walked away.

“Where are you going?” Papa called after him. “Madeleine—”

Julian flung around and pitched his finger in the air at his father. “She’d better be gone.”

“Julian...” Papa chastised him with laughter. “You can’t really expect me to turn out an old family friend?”

“Fine.” Julian paused, preparing to call his bluff. “Camille and I will leave.”

“All right.” Papa waved his hands in the air. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Julian continued on, walking away. “When you figure it out—” He glanced over his shoulder. “—You can reach me at the Beauvau.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CAMILLE SAT ON
one side of the limousine, next to one door and Julian against the other. He’d made it clear, he wanted nothing more to do with her. She was there for a purpose, to help him avoid a ‘real’ marriage to Madeleine. And at the end of six months, he’d gladly release her.

Well, if he could walk away without so much as a second thought, she could reciprocate—even if she had to force herself.

She turned toward him but avoided looking into his eyes. “Is it too much to ask—where we’re going?” Her tone carried no pleasantries. Camille rotated her gaze back toward the window and glued it on the quick-passing scenery.

“The Beauvau,” he said in a flat monotone voice.

“The Beauvau?” She repeated his words and let her gaze take the slow journey to look at him. “Why are we going there?” she asked, overcome by guilt. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

“You give yourself too much credit, Chéri.” He sneered. “This is a war between my father and me. It has nothing to do with you.” He looked disgusted by the sight of her and directed his attention back out the window.

Julian rested his hand on his thigh. Long bronzed fingers that had caressed her so lovingly yesterday tapped out today’s irritation. There would be no gentle touches, no sweet caresses, no words of love.

If that’s the way he wanted to play it, she’d be more than accommodating. Camille crowded herself against the door.

This was probably just his staged way out. Julian de Laurent had turned every aspect of his life into a life and death drama. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid a ‘real’ marriage. Whatever happened to...“
Sorry, Pops, but I just don’t want to marry her
”?

Instead, he’d gone to America and hired her, a stranger, to pretend to be his wife for six months until his father got over his fascination. What kind of people did that?

Rich ones, that’s who. People with way too much money at their disposal. People who are used to getting what they want. People who give no forethought to those they step on in the process.

The next six months was going to be hell.

“What pisses you off more?” she asked, without looking at him. “My seemingly ulterior motive? Or, that your father had to do your homework for you?”

She suspected she’d jabbed him good with that one and mustered the courage to look at him. For a split-second, she almost saw the hint of humorous appreciation trying to light his eyes. Soon it was overshadowed by his swelling anger, or maybe it was hurt. He chose not to speak, just stared at her with a dark, infuriated glare. It unnerved her, and she had a pretty good idea that was his plan.

Camille would love to
not
give him the satisfaction of letting him get to her, if she could just figure out how. But he had. When had that happened?

Julian blasted her with a quick dousing of French—which she didn’t understand. But if she had to guess, she’d say it wasn’t good.

She stared him down with what she hoped said
your-lecture-is-falling-on-deaf-ears-with-me
.

“Of course you don’t understand French.” He gave her one of those dismissive looks he’d kept in reserve for his servants until now.

“No. I skipped that class in high school.”

“As if your high school French would’ve been adequate.” Julian’s obnoxious laughter bruised her ego.

Spiteful jerk.

“Look, I just want to know why we’re going to a hotel.”

“And I told you.”

Lord, he was making this hard. Harder than it had to be. “Okay...if we don’t want to stay at the house, for whatever reason.” She paused, trying to reason the frivolous expenditure in her head. “Why are we going to a hotel? Why aren’t we going back to the Naoma Louise?”