The Marriage Bargain

by Sandra Edwards

  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.”

  Camille displayed a picture of calmness for Madeleine’s benefit, but she didn’t understand Julian’s reasoning and didn’t like the idea that he wouldn’t marry the girl, but he’d continue to sleep with her after he married someone else. Even if it was just a business deal.

  Julian scoured the house, looking for Camille, overwhelmed by his desire to hear the details of the shopping trip. He didn’t trust Madeleine, mainly because he didn’t trust his father to mind his own business. If Papa had his way, there’s no telling what kind of corruption he’d hold over Madeleine.

  After having no luck inside the house, he headed for the gardens. He didn’t know Camille well enough to guess which direction she’d gone, so he took it methodically.

  The scent from the roses called to him. Maybe it had done the same with Camille. The women in his life, first his mother and then Claudette and Lecie, were mesmerized by the fragrant flowers. Between the two mother-figures, he’d learned the meanings of all their colors at an early age.

  In the garden, he snipped a lavender bloom, because he’d been enchanted with her at first sight and a blue bud because he figured she was pretty much unattainable—just like his mother had been.

  His mother. Was that where she’d gone? The place his mother used to bring Julian and Andre to play.

  The grove seemed to be one of the few areas left to look, even though Camille’s finding it made no sense.

  He turned sideways and squeezed into the shrubs, scraping his shirt as he reached the clearing—a place he hadn’t been in over fifteen years. It looked the same, weathered with time but not necessarily neglect. Four windswept benches were centered on each side of the perimeter, four shrubs and the lawn they cornered were manicured, and various vines had spread across the trees behind the hedged borders.

  To see her sitting on the bench, much like his mother used to do with her legs crossed at the ankles, warmed his heart. He cleared his throat and moved toward Camille.

  Her gaze traveled up and met his, accompanied by a warm smile.

  “How did you find this place?” he asked, taking a seat and leaving plenty of breathing room between them. Julian didn’t want to invade her space without an invitation. Anybody who’d search out this place was definitely after seclusion.

  “Just my wandering curiosity, I guess.” She shrugged and draped her arms along the back of the bench, her hand nearly touching his shoulder.

  Camille had learned to conceal her pain, the hurt carved into her heart over being abandoned by her parents. But here in the late afternoon sunset, her face, well modeled and feminine, gave away her secret.

  Sadness twisted into a painful knot inside Julian. A take-charge man, he was used to getting his way and he wanted to remove her pain but didn’t know how. His inadequacy hammered at him, made him feel helpless.

  “It’s funny that you should seek out and find this one place over all others.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Andre and I used to play here as children.”

  “Really?” She gave him one of those looks that said you’re kidding, right?

  “It’s the truth.” He nodded, his thoughts wandering off toward his childhood memories. “My mother...my real mother...showed me this place.” He’d opened a door that’d been locked for over twenty years, immediately assaulted by an acute sense of loss.

  As if sensing his grief and despair, she removed her arms from the back of the bench and laced her hands together in her lap. “What happened to your mother?” she asked, encasing her words in a careful tone.

  Julian leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs and absently caressed the soft petals of the roses in his hands. “She, ah...” He stopped. Talking about his mother was hard; mentioning it meant he’d have to acknowledge the flaw that had consumed her sanity. Weakness. And what if Camille thought that had somehow rubbed off on him? What if she assumed it meant he was also weak?

  Did it really matter what she thought? Last week he was sure the only thing that mattered was his wife staying put for the agreed time. After that he didn’t care what happened. But that was last week. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “She killed herself.” Julian continued on, hoping Camille’s presence would continue to bring him peace. “With a bottle of pills.” He hated the helplessness piling around him. “I was five, but I’ll never forget walking into her room and seeing her lying there on the bed.” He looked away, the words snagging in his throat. “I thought she was sleeping.”

  Camille closed the gap between them and drew him into her arms. “Aw, Julian...I’m so sorry.”

  Instinct, and maybe need, pushed Julian to embrace Camille and hang on as if she’d float away otherwise. A rush of vulnerability swarmed around Julian and he pulled away.

  Okay. We can stop this now. He handed her the roses, hoping that would sway her in another direction. “Here, these are for you.”

  She took the flowers and draped her arms around him again. Julian wished she wouldn
’t do that. He didn’t like how good it felt, but he didn’t try to stop it either. Instead, he welcomed her comforting embrace, even if it did mean he was losing his touch.

  Camille didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, did nothing but hold onto the magnificent man in her arms. She didn’t want to acknowledge the magnetism building between them, but she had no choice. It was there dominating her mind, body and soul.

  Julian pulled away and her heart reacted like it’d been electrocuted. She swallowed hard, trying to devour the lump lingering in her throat.

  “How was your shopping trip?” he said smoothly, stoic faced.

  The memory of her conversation with Madeleine shuddered through Camille. “Hm...your Madeleine is something else.”

  “My Madeleine? She’s not my Madeleine.”

  “She thinks she is.” Jealousy snuck up against Camille and she tried to divert the unwanted sensation.

  “Is that so?” He smiled, like he saw right through her.

  “She told me that I may be marrying you, but she’s going to be sleeping with you on the side.”

  “She said those exact words?”

  Camille couldn’t tell if he was astonished or pleased to know he’d have a warm body waiting any time he wanted.

  “Precisely,” she said.

  “Huh. Wow.” He tempered his shock with amusement. “Papa’s really pulling out all the stops to run you off.”

  “Then I guess the joke’s on them.” A sensation of tired sadness passed over Camille. “Considering our arrangement...it’s really none of my business who you sleep with.”

  A hint of regret clouded his eyes for just a second, and then it was gone. “But that’s our secret,” he said, and winked.

  “Yes, it is.” She forced herself to look at Julian. “I’ll be discreet if you are.” She bargained in a teasing manner, the only way she knew to hide the reality of her discomfort.

  “Really?” he said, half intrigued, half put-out. “And just who is on our radar?”

  She stood and sashayed toward the shrubbery maze. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She giggled and ran inside.

  Julian followed her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, as if he’d been snubbed. “There’s someone you want to sleep with?” He stopped her and backed her against the wall of shrubs.

  They stood inches apart. Julian staring at Camille, her gaze glued to his. Their breaths increasing, mixing, intermingling. He looked her over seductively.

  It left a tingling in the pit of her stomach that riveted out to her fingertips and toes, allowing her to break the visual connection. “I should go inside.” She slipped to the side and put some space between them. “It’s getting chilly out here.” Stepping away, she let her fears quicken her steps toward the hidden passage in the hedge.

  Camille’s heartbeat amplified and coursed desire through her like an awakened river. Her head screamed no. Falling for Julian wasn’t smart. Her new husband intended to remain the bachelor about town and no marriage would alter that—least of all theirs.

  But her heart had already said yes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BY THE TIME ANDRE returned with Tasha, preparations for the wedding were well underway. The flowers had arrived. The rented chairs, tables and tents had been delivered and now a crew of hired workers were setting the scene for the reception behind the rose garden. Claudette and Camille had agreed it was the perfect place with a spacious area amid the roses for a makeshift dance floor. Of course, it was also the location of Claudette and Maurice’s wedding reception twenty years ago.

  When the car arrived, bringing Andre and Tasha from the airport, Camille had been gazing out the west dining room’s wall of windows. She raced through the hall and down the stairs, stopping halfway when her best friend entered the house and paused just inside the entryway.

  Thank god. Camille no longer felt alone.

  “Tasha.” Camille trotted down the stairs and embraced Tasha as she reached the bottom step.

  “Here she is,” Andre said with a grand gesture. “Safe and sound.”

  “Yes, your new brother-in-law took a personal interest in my well-being.” She smiled at Andre and winked. The gushing was almost sickening.

  Julian barged in from an opposite hallway. “Where have you been?” he asked Andre in particular, offering no smiles. No welcome home. No ‘thanks for the favor’.

  “Tasha and I stopped over in London.” Andre’s flat tone offered no indication that an explanation was forthcoming.

  Camille supposed it was his way of standing up to big brother.

  Julian was silent for a moment. His frustration worked his bottom jaw and after a bit he made a conscious effort to stop. “Did you stop in Paris?” He remained focused on Andre.

  “Yes, big brother, we did.” Andre winked at Tasha. “Marie promised the dresses will all be delivered this afternoon. A full two hours before the ceremony.”

  “Two hours. Aren’t we pushing it a little?” Tasha asked, in a comical tone.

  Boy, I’ll say. If this wedding was real, Camille would be nearing the breaking point.

  “Well, we had to move up the wedding day.” Julian smirked. “We think Camille is pregnant,” Julian added, his tone drenched in sarcasm.

  Camille smacked him.

  He rolled his eyes and let them settle on Camille, his expression softening. “Why don’t you get your friend settled in and then you can show her around. There’s nothing much for you to do at this stage.”

  “You want me to show her around?” Camille said in a casual, jesting way. “Who’s going to come find us when I get lost?”

  Andre raised his hand. “I can do that.”

  Tasha looked at him like he was a white knight. “Everybody loves a hero.”

  Julian huffed and took a couple of steps away before turning back to Camille. “Chéri, I’ve got some things to attend to, but I’ll be back in plenty of time before the ceremony.”

  Camille considered just what business he could have, but decided not to ask. Maybe he was going to pay Madeleine a visit, as most bridegrooms expected certain things to happen on their wedding day. Maybe Julian was arranging his wedding night bliss. It just wouldn’t be with the bride.

  There was a little something unsettling about that notion, even though Camille knew precisely where she stood with Julian. She didn’t need to be reminded that they were in a business arrangement. Assuming it could turn into anything more wasn’t smart, and she’d just be setting herself up for heartbreak.

  “Come on,” Camille grabbed Tasha’s hand. “Come with me. There’s an empty bedroom right beside mine.”

  “Like you’re going to be in there.” Tasha laughed as Camille pulled her up the stairs. “Thanks for the ride, Andre,” she said, without looking over her shoulder.

  “My pleasure, Chéri.” He called out. “Remember, if you need anything. Anything at all. I’m your man.”

  Camille stopped Tasha at the top of the landing. “Look—” She pointed an accusatory finger at Tasha. “—Andre is not your play-toy, okay.” It was no question.

  “How about my boy toy?” She snickered. “Can he be my boy toy?”

  “Tasha.” Camille issued her best warning tone in hopes of stifling Tasha’s amusement. “This is not funny.”

  “Lighten up.” She eyed Camille with one suspiciously perched eyebrow. “God, you’re so uptight. Geez, isn’t that scrumptious man of yours taking care of you?” She breathed in a shallow, quick gasp. “Don’t tell me this family is that old fashioned.” She sighed, disappointed. Clearly, she’d set her sights on bagging Andre while she was here and she thought family principles might spoil her chances.

  Maybe it was best to let her think that. Then maybe she’d leave Andre alone. “You can’t argue with tradition.”

  Monique’s silent footsteps went unheard until she was standing at Camille’s side. She paused silently until she wasn’t acknowledged.

  “Miss Camille, you’re needed in the d
ownstairs library,” she said softly. “Mrs. de Laurent needs your approval on some last minute arrangements.”

  Camille sighed and bit her tongue, the urge to swear growing. “All right,” she said to the maid and turned to Tasha. “Just go ahead and get settled in. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Well don’t leave me stranded here too long,” Tasha’s words chased her down the hallway. “I’ll never find my way out of this place.”

  Leave it to Tasha to infuse a little humor into this zany situation. Camille snickered and hurried down the stairs. Knowing Claudette, her dilemma was probably nothing more than where to place the orchids in relation to the roses. Not that Claudette was superficial. She and Camille just lived in very different worlds.

  Sometime later, when Camille had finally garnered a spare moment away from the hustle and bustle of planning an impromptu wedding, she headed for Tasha’s room only to find it empty.

  Where was that girl? Hopefully, she hadn’t found Andre’s room.

  Camille glanced up and down the hallway. Searching for Tasha meant she’d run the risk of running into Maurice, or worse yet, Madeleine. The last thing she needed right now was hearing Madeleine bragging about satisfying Julian on his wedding day to Camille.

  She opted for her room across the hall instead, with thoughts on taking a nice, hot shower.

  The shower was refreshing, but Camille was still left with a sense of unease. After the terrycloth robe had drained the excess moisture from her body, she slipped out of it and into the silk robe Julian had given her. She liked the feel of the smooth fabric against her bare skin.

  She was getting married this evening, but she couldn’t help feeling something was going to go wrong.

  The owner of the finest salon in Paris had been flown in to doll up the wedding party. Jean-Jean was attractive and hip and definitely not gay. He’d flirted relentlessly with Tasha the whole time he worked on her hair. He’d agreed to style Claudette, Lecie, Tasha and Camille’s hair, saving the bride for last. He’d brought along an assistant to tend to everyone else.