The Marriage Bargain

by Sandra Edwards

  “Well, are we all set now?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Tasha said. “We’re all on the same page.” She reached for her glass. “I am invited to the wedding, right?” She asked Julian in particular.

  “Of course you’re invited to the wedding.” He draped his arm around Camille’s chair. “I’m sure Camille will want you by her side.”

  “Since the wedding isn’t going to be for a couple of weeks, could Tasha join us in France in maybe a week or so?” Camille’s insecurities leaked out as she spoke to Julian.

  “Sounds perfect. Whatever you want.” Julian glanced at Tasha. “I can send a jet for you when you’re ready to come.”

  “A private jet?” Tasha’s eyes lit with excitement, but she masked it with smooth composure. “Cool.”

  Uneasiness knotted inside Camille and escaped in her nervous laughter.

  “Say, Julian...?” Tasha asked. “You got any brothers?”

  “I have one brother.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Younger, by two years.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.” Julian smiled.

  Camille kicked Tasha’s shin under the table.

  “Ouch!” Tasha yelled and glared at Camille. She bent over, rubbing her leg.

  Julian hid his chuckle behind a cough.

  The waiter Julian had stopped to talk to earlier appeared with a tray of food, including a plate of hamburger and fries for Julian—he’d told Camille that he loved the American delicacy—and a slice of apple pie with a side of vanilla ice cream for Camille.

  After serving them, the waiter hesitated over Tasha with a plate of cheesecake. “Mr. de Laurent asked me to choose something from the dessert menu for madam.” He sat the dish in front of her. “I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. Or, if madam prefers something else...?”

  “No, this is fine.” Tasha smiled politely and grabbed her fork, ready to feast on the café’s sweet treat.

  As the trio munched, they reserved the conversation to minimal small talk until they’d nearly finished with their desserts.

  “Well, Tasha, are you going back to L.A. tonight?” Julian asked, pushing his plate aside. “If you’d like to say in Vegas a couple of days, I can extend our villa upstairs for you.” Julian paused, catching his breath. “I do hate to risk looking like a poor host, but we are due at the airport soon. We’ll be leaving for London this afternoon.”

  “Well, Vegas ain’t exactly London,” she said in lighthearted quips. “But okay, I’ll take it.”

  The three of them stood and went back inside the hotel lobby where Julian made sure the staff knew Tasha would be staying on through the end of the week—four days away. They were to see to her every need and desire.

  Camille was surprised to learn that while they were lunching, her belongings inside the suite had been packed into brand new designer luggage. A notion that made Tasha swoon.

  The girls said their goodbyes. Tasha went upstairs and Camille climbed into a limo with Julian, Soren, and Heinz, Julian’s pilot. During the drive to the airport, uneasiness crept over Camille and left her with a troubled feeling. Leaving the country with three men she’d known for less than a week might not be construed as prudent.

  She knew her qualms were crazy. Julian and Soren were honorable men; even though they came from two separate classes of society, their morals and principals were the same. Maybe that’s why each was able to put so much faith and trust in the other. They got as good as they gave.

  At the airport, Julian showed Camille the stateroom on the plane. “Once we’re in the air,” he said, “you can rest in here if you’d like.”

  He wondered about Camille’s friend. She was loud and flashy. The exact opposite of Camille. How had they become friends? But no matter, if Camille wanted her to come to France, he’d bring her there. Better yet, he’d send Andre to get her. That’d serve him right.

  “So, we’re going to London and then on to Marseilles?” she asked, as if she was just trying to fill the silence.

  “We will spend a day or two in London where you can do a little more shopping.” He felt an eager attraction coming from her and it pleased him. “Then we’ll head to Paris where you’ll meet with a designer or two.”

  “Designer? Why?”

  “To make you the wedding dress of your dreams.” One way or another, Julian was going to charm his way into his new wife’s good graces. And at the end of six months, when he’d grown tired of her and she of him, they’d go their separate ways and he’d be free. Free from the bonds of matrimony his father was so sure he needed.

  Her mouth opened in dismay, but she remained silent.

  “What is it, Chéri?” Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, a flash of loneliness stabbed at him. “A dress designed specifically for you does not please you?”

  Her faint smile held a touch of sadness. “Julian, that’s very generous of you.” Camille’s face went grim. Something was on her mind, and judging by the demure smile, she wasn’t talking.

  “But...”

  “I guess dressing properly comes with playing the part, huh?”

  “Well, you might as well enjoy it.” Her lack of enthusiasm surprised Julian and somehow pleased him at the same time. Not that he didn’t want his wife attired in the finest designs, but her indifference was appealing. There was something comforting in the notion that Camille was unmoved by designer fashions.

  Julian wanted to see her smile though. “Someday, when you do it for real, you can just think of this as a...how do you Americans say it? A dry run?”

  Camille’s smile fell into laughter.

  He thought he knew her problem. Camille was about to have the wedding of her dreams for a marriage that wasn’t real. Women got that way about weddings. All mushy. Julian knew he should have considered the ramifications of their ‘pretend marriage’. “Well, at least I can make you laugh.”

  She squared her shoulders and plastered on an overzealous smile. “From here on out I will play the part with complete enthusiasm and absolutely zero regret.”

  Julian wasn’t sure if she believed what she’d told him. But it didn’t matter. He trusted his instincts and they assured him Camille was the solution to his troubles. She held a certain appeal with her sentimental mind-set over a real dress for a faux wedding. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, Julian sensed her disappointment.

  A soft knock in the hallway accompanied Soren’s serene voice. “Sir, we’re next in line for takeoff. We should take our seats.”

  Julian gave Camille a carefree shrug. “Shall we?”

  She followed him into the lounge and they sat together on the couch.

  “Did you tell your friend the truth?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt.

  “No.” Camille didn’t bother looking his way until her belt was fastened. “I thought it was best to let her think it’s real. Besides, wasn’t that part of the deal?” she said in a peculiar searching way. “Everybody’s supposed to think we’re married in more than name only?”

  She had a point. The fewer people aware of the scheme, the better their chances of success. So far, only three people knew. Julian, Camille, and Soren. If word did get out, it wouldn’t be hard to unearth the culprit.

  Julian fiddled with the jewelry box inside his jacket pocket. Camille was looking a bit disenchanted, but this might raise her spirits.

  “Speaking of believability.” He paused and pulled out the trinket box. “I thought you should have these,” he added, offering her the gift.

  Her eyes radiated joy. She accepted Julian’s present and opened it as if it was made of fragile glass. She gasped and one hand flew to her chest. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the diamond-studded rings inside.

  Julian slipped the box away from her and put the marriage symbol onto her ring finger. “Every beautiful bride deserves beautiful rings.” He backed up his statement with a wink and a smile. “No matter the circumstances.”

  Her face softened into a
desirous I-want-to-believe-you look.

  She was caving; he could see it happening. In no time, Julian would win her over with his charms.

  “Why me?” she finally said. “I know you said ‘I’m perfect for the part’. But why?” she asked, as if she thought she was a speck of nothing. “What makes me perfect? And say, not my friend Tasha?”

  “I’m sure your friend Tasha is a nice girl.” He paused to stifle the derisive laughter charging up his throat.

  A glint of understanding sparked in her eyes. He could see, deep down inside, she knew why even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. Tasha was, in a word, unrefined.

  “But...”

  “She is, how do you say...?” He hesitated, searching tactfully for the right words. “A trophy wife.”

  Camille’s entire body seemed to relax, as if she got it. “And Julian de Laurent wouldn’t be caught dead with a trophy wife.”

  She did get it.

  “If it’s to be believable, my wife has to be a woman of substance and eloquent beauty.” He waved his hands before him in a grand gesture. “She is the bride. Not the young lady who jumps out of the cake at the bachelor party.”

  The makings of a serpent’s stare quickly gave way to a stony gaze before her eyes settled with approval.

  “Underneath all that fluff Tasha has her moments.” Camille’s tone, hesitant and weak, suggested she was digging for something good to say. “She’s been a good friend.”

  Julian sensed there was a ‘but’ lost in her thoughts and struggling to get out. It was up to him to help her forget about it. “Yes, and just the kind of girl my brother Andre will fall madly in love with.” Julian laughed in a deep, jovial way. “Tell her to go easy on him.”

  “You keep your brother in check, and I’ll do the same with my friend.”

  Always the diplomat. Julian liked that about Camille. He also liked that she was able to remain composed while under pressure. She’d need it, especially when it came to Papa and Madeleine. Julian would love to shield her from both. But for six months? It didn’t seem possible.

  “I doubt they will be half the problem that Papa and Madeleine will turn out to be.” He eased it in there, half-hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  She did. Indicative of her head whipping in his direction.

  “Who’s Madeleine?” The inquiry clawed its way out, as if crawling over mountainous terrain.

  “Madeleine is my father’s choice,” he said with a trivial, dismissive tone.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” She stiffened and pulled away.

  “But she is not my choice.” He leaned closer to Camille. “All you have to remember, Chéri, is, you are my choice.”

  “Oh, I get that,” she said with a touch of irritation. “But, just how far are your father and Madeleine willing to go?” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at him. “Will they be out for revenge?”

  Denial shook Julian’s head. “My father...no. But he will have a sharp eye out though, which is why we must appear real.”

  “And what about Madeleine?”

  “Well, she’s not going to be happy.”

  “Will she get violent?”

  Madeleine? Violent? The notion was laughable. She wasn’t the physical type, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying to cause trouble. “She’s not going to take this well. But you aren’t in any physical danger, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So, I’ll just have to be on my toes around Madeleine, because she’s going to be out to sabotage me.” She seemed to be filing informative tips away in her brain.

  “Us. Sabotage us.” Julian didn’t want Camille thinking or feeling like she was in this alone.

  She had to know and understand they were in this together. Julian couldn’t afford to have her back out on him now. It meant the difference between six months of make-believe with a woman he found simply delightful, or a lifetime of nothing special with Madeleine.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CAMILLE CHANDLER was afraid of the unknown. That fear fueled her continued support of Julian’s harebrained scheme. She was terrified to start over. She had nothing to start over with. And Margo wasn’t likely to ease up on her threats.

  With five million dollars, Camille could go to some nondescript little town Margo had never heard of and get a job at the local paper—or hell, with that much money she could probably even buy the town’s newspaper. That’s it; she’d purchase a house and run the newspaper. Any money she had left over, she’d put the rest away for a rainy day.

  That dream sounded better than the alternative: living on the streets and hoping to land a job at the local diner—a job she’d never worked in her life.

  The stopover in London had been quick. Too quick, considering Julian’s jilted lover and his father, who wasn’t getting the daughter-in-law he desired, were waiting in France. The layover was also expensive, but probably not from Julian’s point of view. No doubt, he was used to spending thousands on a single suit.

  Not Camille. She considered anything upwards of fifty bucks a splurge. After stopping at a few of the finer boutiques, they were back on Julian’s jet and headed for Paris. The afternoon spending spree—dozens of outfits ranging from several hundred dollars to a few thousand—was a little unsettling.

  In Paris, they made another quick stop and had a brief meeting with some designer, Marie something-or-other. Camille had never heard of her, which didn’t mean much. Her wedding gown designs were supposed to be all the rage.

  Julian promised Marie’s questions, strange and off the wall, would give her insight into Camille’s true personality and in the end, she’d be rewarded with the wedding dress of her dreams. Camille had her doubts, but five million bucks was ample motivation to yield to the designer’s quirks.

  After the appointment with Marie, Julian and Camille dined at a sidewalk café before returning to the airport.

  Funny, the closer they got to Marseilles, the tighter Camille’s nerves twisted in her gut. She almost wished she didn’t know Julian’s father and the girl he’d slighted would be out to get her. Well, probably not the father, but definitely the girl.

  Camille was determined to disregard this new development and not give it a second thought. Julian had pledged to be on her side. He had just as much at stake as Camille, even if their motives were born from entirely different reasons.

  She followed sheepishly behind Julian as they descended the stairs out of the aircraft. A light breeze blew a whiff of salt through the air. Camille looked around. Were they near the ocean?

  Julian grabbed her hand at the bottom of the steps. “Remember, Chéri,” he whispered in her ear. “From here on out, in public, we must appear in love.”

  His fingers remained tangled with hers. “I’ll be so convincing—” She looked at Julian and smiled. “—even you’ll think I’m in love.”

  They jumped into a Mercedes limousine waiting in the pickup area. The chauffeur, a tall, gangly fellow in a driver’s suit, sprinted around the car and climbed behind the wheel. This time, Julian and Camille were alone in the limo. Where Soren and the pilot had gone, she didn’t know.

  Julian raised the glass partition between them and the driver. When it completely closed, he turned to Camille. “There will be times when you may not be able to find me. If that’s the case and you need something, seek out Soren. Otherwise, don’t be too open with the staff.”

  A quick and disturbing thought assailed Camille. Julian thought he’d hired an actress. Camille was no actress. What if she blew it? “Look I know this whole plan was born because you want to retain your freedom.” The fear of being left alone with his family pushed her words out in a brittle, broken tone. “But you’re not going to leave me alone for weeks on end, are you?”

  “No, Chéri. If I go away on business, you will accompany me, just as it would be expected of any newlywed couple in love.”

  Camille’s relief escaped in a quick deep breath. The further Julian kept her away from his father and Madeleine, the better.<
br />
  “Don’t be nervous.” Julian’s arm encircled Camille and snuggled her close.

  “I know, I know. I’m perfect for the part.” She was glad he thought so, but she had her doubts.

  Camille’s gaze traveled outside the window, her eyes drawn to the crowded city looming ahead. Old-World architecture peeked through the modern-day lampposts, traffic lights, and automobiles lining the paved streets. The ancient city had been effectively transformed into a twenty-first century metropolis.

  As they left the jumbled urban center, the buildings diminished becoming sparse, replaced by rich, lush countryside. Camille was impressed with the winding roads and the grand estates perched atop rolling hills. The beauty of the landscape made the near-hour trip pass quickly.

  The limousine turned off the main road and followed a tree-lined avenue twisting and winding its way up a hill. At the top, a barricade of ancient stone walls and massive pine trees guarded the fortress. When the path cleared, a sprawling chateau, three stories high in some places and with turrets on either side, sat majestically against the countryside. The site stole Camille’s breath away.

  Damn. Did this mean Julian had won that silly bet?

  The car slowed to a stop in a covered archway where a group of people, presumably Julian’s family, were waiting. Camille felt like she was in the midst of some strange foreign film.

  An older couple stood alongside a man about Julian’s age and a young girl. And behind them, a row of servants—Camille figured them for servants because of their attire. The men were dressed like Soren and the women had on maids’ uniforms.

  Camille climbed out of the car with Julian’s help. He rested one hand against the small of her back and led her to the older couple first. His parents, Maurice and Claudette de Laurent.

  Julian’s brother—and if Camille remembered correctly, his younger brother—peered at her with cold, judging eyes that were almost the same color as Julian’s bluish-green, but maybe a little paler.