She tried to move away, toward the kitchen. Julian grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly, almost violently against him.
“First of all...yes, you are my wife. Still.”
What? She’d signed the papers. They were divorced.
“I don’t know about the rules in America, but in France a divorce takes two signatures.”
“I signed.” She looked away.
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“I didn’t sign. I couldn’t.”
“Oh, I get it.” She sighed, disappointed. “You don’t want to be divorced because then you’ll be free to be pushed into marriage with Madeleine.”
“No. That’s not why I didn’t sign.” His tone took on a quality of mockery before it was overshadowed by remorse. “When it came down to it, I couldn’t break our connection. Yours and mine.”
He was good, she’d give him that. A passionate fluttering popped up in her chest. It was wise to ignore her heart and all it desired. Camille had trusted him before and look how that turned out. But he was looking at her with that look of his, the one that made her heart go pitter-patter.
She sighed, fighting that sinking, losing feeling.
“Please come home?”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head.
“Please, Camille. I realized something when you left.” His voice drifted into a hushed whisper. “I love you. I need you to come home. Forever.”
Love? Was he serious? She chewed on her lower lip and stole a look at him.
Julian shot her a mischievous grin before releasing her hands. He backed into the nearest booth and dropped her wedding rings onto the table.
“What are you doing?” she asked, his actions sending her pulses spinning.
“I’m sitting down.”
“Why?”
“It looks like I’m going to be here a while.”
She hesitated, blinking with bafflement.
“I’m not leaving until you agree to come home.” There was something genuine and truthful and determined in his manner. Julian was serious.
Camille slid into the opposite side of the booth and laid her hand on the table. “Well, you’ve got a long wait ahead of you.” She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help herself.
“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He reached across the table and grabbed at her fingers.
Camille ignored the blush burning her cheeks. She could hold out about ten minutes. Fifteen, if she tried really hard. When Julian turned on the charm, he had no trouble getting whatever he wanted.
Including Camille.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
THE NAOMA LOUISE crept out of the marina, gliding toward the waters of the Mediterranean as the last, faint colors of day faded away.
Julian waited on deck for Camille. She’d said she wanted to slip into something more comfortable. He hoped that meant sexy.
They’d made a quick get-away right after the ceremony; she hadn’t even taken the time to change out of her dress. They’d done the whole wedding-circus act last time. This time, it’d been just for them.
It seemed like the logical step after Soren had found her wedding dress in that little second-hand shop in Marseilles last week. It’d been a stroke of luck, actually, when Soren saw it in the shop’s window while driving past.
After Julian reacquired the gown—and learning Madeleine had sold it to the shop—it only seemed fitting that he and Camille should renewed their vows so she could wear the dress that’d been made specifically for her.
They had done that today, and now, he was taking her on a cruise of the Greek Islands—a desire she had expressed right after he’d brought her to France the first time.
Julian looked at his watch, and back to the double doors leading below deck. What’s taking so long?
Just when he was ready to go look for her, Camille emerged wearing a sheer black negligee over a bikini of the same color.
Desire swelled inside him, as quickly as a summer storm brews. Drinking in the sight of her, he stood slowly. “You look absolutely stunning.”
A rush of pink stained her cheeks. Julian swept her into his arms. She sank into his embrace, saying, “Thank you for bringing my dress home.”
“Anything to see you smile.” He kissed her, savoring every second. “As far as weddings go, I think this one was by far our best.”
“Well, you know what they say...” She looked at him with eyes that said she was ready to embark on the voyage of love. “Third time’s a charm.”
Julian laughed, and latched onto her hands. “I have something for you.” He led her down to the chaise lounge chair and pulled her into his lap.
She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck. “You really don’t have to give me presents.”
“Well,” he said, reaching for a folded document on the table beside them. “This is a special one.”
He offered it to her; she took it and sat up, then unfolded the document and perused it. As she read, her mouth dropped open. She looked up at him, shaking her head. “Julian...?”
“You now own half of everything that is mine.”
She glanced away, and remained silent for a time. It felt like forever before she sucked in a breath, and said, “Julian...I don’t want your money.” She shrugged. “Just your love.”
“And that, Chéri, you have.” He snuggled her closer. “No one will ever tear us apart again.”
“You promise?” she whispered.
“I promise.” He caressed her soft curves and she molded into the contours of his body. “Have I told you today that I love you?”
“Once or twice, my love. Once or twice.” Her soft, whispering breath tickled his neck.
Holding Camille in his arms, Julian was the happiest of men. Their marriage had started as a business arrangement, but somewhere along the way they’d fallen in love.
Destiny had certainly smiled upon Julian when she paired him with Camille—his perfect match.
**Thank you for reading The Marriage Bargain. If you enjoyed it, please think about leaving a review at your favorite online retailer. On the following pages are excerpts from Crazy For You by Sandra Edwards and Regina Duke’s The Wedding Wager.**
CRAZY FOR YOU
by
Sandra Edwards
PROLOGUE
1988
New York City
THE INTERVIEW wasn’t going well. Not from Roxanne’s point of view. She knew Lauren Weber’s reputation as a talk show host. In a word, barracuda said it all. This came as no surprise to Roxanne and now she wondered how she’d ever been talked into this in the first place.
If Lauren’s guest had anything to hide she had a way of tempting those skeletons out of the closet. And Roxanne had plenty to hide. Plenty that could tarnish her public image of sweet and innocent.
This is all Walt’s fault. Roxanne’s publicist had convinced her it would be good publicity for the new movie. Initially, his argument had been a good one: Lauren Weber was the most popular talk show host around, and this would be a nice plug for the new movie since millions of people would see the clips.
Walt had been adamant, so reluctantly, and against her better judgment, she’d agreed to let America’s favorite talk show host interview the renowned authoress-actress Roxanne Simon.
“What can you tell us about Garrett-Hollander?” Lauren’s questioning voice brought Roxanne back to reality.
She didn’t falter at the mention of the ever-popular rock band. “Well…” Roxanne said, “I don’t know what I could tell you that you don’t already know.”
“Isn’t it true that you and your sister Candy knew them when they were nobody?”
“I’ve never thought of Frank or Rich as nobody.”
“Isn’t Frank Garrett the father of your son?”
The audience reacted with a mixture of gasps and whispers.
Roxanne laughed skeptically. “Whatever gave you that ide
a?”
“Well, his name is Frankie.”
“Frank is my father’s name,” Roxanne said with all the repose expected of someone with two Best Actress Oscars under her belt.
Lauren took on one of those looks that said she knew she was getting nowhere. But Roxanne wasn’t falling for that. Lauren Weber was regrouping. And Roxanne Simon would be ready.
“Your latest movie,” Lauren said, changing the subject, “Bad Company was released last week and it’s doing well at the box office.” She paused briefly, allowing the audience time for applause. “And rumor has it that it’ll be nominated for multiple Academy Awards.”
“Well…I think it’s a little early to be supposing about the Oscars,” Roxanne declared.
“You’re no stranger to the Oscars,” Lauren said. “You’ve won awards before. Aren’t you getting used to collecting them by now?”
“I’ll never get so used to it that I’ll take something like that for granted,” Roxanne said meekly of the Oscars. “I’m always grateful for any recognition of my work.”
Roxanne was surprised at how cool she’d managed to remain. Lauren had invaded territory that was better left alone. Territory that was known for bringing out Roxanne’s weaknesses.
“What’s next?” Lauren’s voice remained casual.
“A vacation,” Roxanne said, and dropped it at that. It wasn’t time for the public to know she’d started work on her autobiography.
“Devoting some time to your son?”
“Yes.”
“Is he here with you?”
Apprehension bundled up inside Roxanne, but she wouldn’t lie. In the past, her lies had a way of biting her on the butt. “Yes, he is.”
“Could we bring him out?”
Shit. Through the years, Roxanne had successfully protected Frankie from the press. Not one photograph of him had ever been published in any newspaper or magazine. But America was going to get a look at him now.
If Roxanne refused to let him come out, the audience would know she had something to hide. That news could get back to Frank. On the other hand, if she let did him come out, then Frank might see him. Yet there was no real choice in the matter; refusing to bring him out would cause a much bigger fuss.
“If he wants to come out,” Roxanne said. “But, Ms. Weber…please understand—” her tone issued an unmistakable warning, “—I wouldn’t want his head filled with any foolish ideas.”
That probably wouldn’t stop Lauren, but hopefully a sense of decency would. Lauren didn’t have to tell Frankie she thought Frank Garrett was his father to get her point across. The implication would be more than enough.
Roxanne’s four-year-old son ran across the set and climbed into a chair that had been strategically placed between talk show host and guest.
Frankie looked at Roxanne for direction.
“Hi, sweetie.” Roxanne smiled at the boy. “This is Ms. Weber and she wants to talk to you.”
Frankie turned to Lauren and waited for her to say something.
“Frankie,” Lauren’s tone, drenched in gentle persuasion, placed additional emphasis on his name. “Is there anyone out there in TV land that you’d like to say hello to?”
Frankie nodded.
Lauren pointed off to the right. “Just look into the camera over there, and say whatever you want.”
Frankie peered into the camera and waved. “Hi, Aunt Candy. I’m on TV.” His upper lip twitched slightly to one side—a trait all too familiar for Roxanne.
Lauren smiled. “And what a lovely child he is. I’d say there’s a striking resemblance.” She paused. “Wouldn’t you?” She topped off her declaration with a triumphant stare straight into the eye of the camera.
The damage was done. Anybody with eyes could see that Lauren wasn’t speaking of any resemblance between mother and child. Frankie’s locks, curly and black, were far from Roxanne’s straight chestnut-brown hair. Nothing about his piercing baby blues resembled her unusual eyes shaded the color of purple violets. No, it was clear—Frankie didn’t resemble Roxanne at all.
After filming the show, Roxanne and Frankie went home to their apartment overlooking Central Park. Candy had left for Florida the day before, at Roxanne’s insistence, and now Roxanne was wondering what she’d been thinking.
Heading to Florida—a place she hadn’t been in five years—wasn’t Roxanne’s idea. If she’d had her way, she would have chosen to never step foot in the place again. But Jerry, her psychiatrist, had said she’d never be free of her demons if she didn’t face them. And that meant returning to Florida for an extended stay.
Well, at least she could nip this Lauren Weber fiasco in the butt before she left. Sure, Lauren’s audience had seen Frankie, but if Roxanne could keep the whole of America from getting a firsthand look, she had to try.
Inside her bedroom, Roxanne carelessly tossed clothing inside her suitcase while holding the telephone against her ear with her shoulder. “I do not want it aired.”
“They won’t go for it,” Walt said with a measure of regret in his tone. “What they’ve got is too hot.”
“Well, threaten them then.” She cradled the receiver in her hand while various scenarios, all of them revenge oriented and involving Frank, wrecked havoc in her mind. “Tell them they’ll never get another interview from anyone even remotely associated with Simon Productions. Ever again.”
“Roxanne, I tried. They don’t care.” His words were kind, and draped in a compassionate tone, but they missed the mark. “It’s going to air in a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks...?” Nothing could lessen that blow. “Why so soon?”
“Rox…” Walt said. “They aren’t going to let this one sit on the back burner. Just go on to Florida and let the whole thing blow over.”
Blow up, is more like it. “Okay,” she agreed in a defeated tone and slammed the phone down, staring at it. Lauren Weber had managed to turn her world upside-down. “Bitch.”
A Few Days Later
Florida
Roxanne’s red Porsche sailed smoothly down the highway. With the convertible top down, her hair flew recklessly around her head and she’d reach up from time to time to push it out of her face.
Approaching Tampa, she wondered if she could pick up Y-95, an old radio station favorite. Adjusting the dials, instantly the hard-rocking sounds of the J Geils Band poured out through the speakers. As the band serenaded her with their wit about how much Love Stinks, she said softly, “Boy, does it ever.” Roxanne snuck a peek at Frankie sleeping in the passenger seat, and fought the temptation to turn up the volume.
Ten minutes later, she passed a sign reading: Welcome to Tampa. A familiar excitement stirred within her. Yesterday, returning to Florida was the last thing she wanted. But now, surprisingly, coming home felt good. Of course, the new house probably had a little something to do with that. She’d never laid eyes on it, outside of photographs, but she already loved it.
After Jerry had convinced her she needed to go back, for her own sanity, she’d been so scared that Frank was going to magically appear from out of nowhere that she bought the house through a service. She knew the floor plan inside and out, even though she’d never stepped foot inside the place.
At the intersection of Busch and Armenia, Roxanne waited for the traffic light to turn green. No matter how good finally coming home felt, it had little effect on her mounting dread. If Frank saw that show, or heard about it, he’d find her no matter where she was. She could only hope this would be the last place he’d look.
Roxanne pulled her car into the semicircle driveway, parking behind Candy’s black Targa. She climbed out of the car and neither the humidity nor the heat dissuaded her as she went to the passenger side and gathered Frankie, who was still sleeping, into her arms.
She headed toward the front door of the two-story, wood-trimmed house that she found as appealing now as she had when she’d seen it in the photographs. It looked even more inviting, if that was possible, nestled amon
gst the tropical trees and plants. Once at the door, she couldn’t get to her keys and decided to lean on the doorbell.
The door opened promptly. “Hi, Jameson.” She felt a measure of comfort, seeing half the husband and wife team that’d been in her employ since shortly after Frankie’s birth.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Roxanne,” Jameson said in a well-educated accent. “Shall I take him?”
“Yes, please.” She passed Frankie off to him. “Have Rose put him to bed,” she said of Jameson’s wife.
“Ms. Candy is out by the pool.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a smile, and then darted through the house and out into the back yard.
Candy was bikini-clad and laid out in a poolside lounge chair, soaking up the sun. The tropical heat washed over Roxanne in a thick wave of sweltering moisture as she dropped into a nearby chair. She’d nearly forgotten how uncomfortable Florida’s humidity could be. She wondered if Candy was asleep and cleared her throat.
Candy’s eyes opened behind her Sun Clouds. After a moment, she asked, “How’d the interview go?”
An unpleasant feeling devoured Roxanne. Reluctantly, she admitted, “Not well.”
“So what happened?”
“All she wanted to talk about was Garrett-Hollander.” Roxanne tried to show as little emotion as possible, even to Candy.
Candy tipped her sunglasses up and propped them her forehead. “That was the subject?”
In the background, one of Garrett-Hollander’s songs poured from the radio sitting on the ground at Candy’s side. Since Roxanne’s unexplained disappearance from Frank’s life five years ago, he’d written many songs about her. Some indicated his hatred for her, while others simply begged her to come back. There were also songs alleging that she’d been a hooker. It was one of those songs that played on Candy’s radio now.
…I played the fool
I trusted her
But she let me down
Cause while I was away
Roxanne was out selling herself
The Marriage Bargain Page 20