Andre cleared his throat and glanced around Harry Martel’s office. The opulent surroundings were unfamiliar to Andre and his family. Martel wasn’t a man the family had done much business with since Andre’s mother died.
The attorney’s seat behind the desk was empty. He hadn’t come in yet. But Andre, Lecie and Julian were all there, waiting in evenly spaced chairs perched in front of the desk.
Julian’s leg had begun to bounce, a sure sign that he was getting tired of waiting. Lecie was texting—who, Andre wouldn’t hazard a guess.
Still punching keys, Lecie said, “How long do you think this is going to take?” She looked to Julian for an answer.
“Not too long, I should think,” Julian said.
“I still don’t understand why I’m here.” Lecie rolled her eyes and went back to her texting.
Julian draped his hands on the arm of his chair, preparing to stand, when the door behind the desk opened and Martel entered the room.
The attorney looked at each of them, addressed them by name and then took his seat behind the desk. “Thank you all for coming in today,” he said, opening the top file on the stack in front of him. “Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
“With all due respect,” Julian said, “we barely knew the man. Haven’t seen him since our mother died. And Lecie has never met him, nor is she related to him.”
“Nevertheless, he is recently deceased and you are three of the five people listed in his will.”
“Three of five?” Julian asked.
“Who are the other two?” Curious, Andre straightened. His long-lost relatives?
“They’re irrelevant.” Martel paused, settling his gaze on Andre. “Unless—” He pointed his pen at Andre. “—you cannot meet the terms of the will.”
“Me?” Andre laid his palm against his chest. “Why me?”
“We’ll get to you in a moment.” The attorney looked at Lecie. “Edouard left you the sum of fifty-million dollars in cash, and his home in the United States. California.”
Lecie’s crystal blue eyes lit up. Andre could guess the thoughts running through her head right now. Fifty mil. A home in California. USA, here I come.
Over Julian’s dead body. Andre chuckled inside. Big brother would have a conniption fit if little sister attempted to strike out on her own, especially in America.
Andre had barely heard the attorney say that Edouard had given Julian fifty million too, and a house near Toulouse.
The bequeathals so far didn’t make sense. Martel had said the other two relatives would only be relevant if Andre failed to meet the terms of the will. But he knew his mother’s family had much more than one-hundred million dollars.
Was it feasible? Was fate about to smile upon Andre?
“Regarding Edouard’s mother’s jewelry.” Martel never raised his gaze from the document. “The pieces shall be split equally among the three of you. You will take turns choosing a piece. Lecie will go first, followed by Julian and then Andre.”
Yes, but what about the rest? Had Uncle Edouard squandered away the family’s fortune? What did that mean for Andre’s share of the inheritance?
“The remainder of the estate…” The attorney glanced up at Andre before returning to the document. “Which includes one-hundred percent of the shares in Mont Claire Enterprises, twelve pieces of real estate consisting of homes and condominiums in or near Paris, Avignon, Bordeaux, London, Barcelona, Seville, Athens, Naples, New York, Palm Beach, Lake Tahoe and Hawaii, and approximately 3.2 billion dollars in cash will go to you, Andre.” Martel lifted his eyes and met Andre’s gaze. “Are you married, Andre?” He waited while Andre shook his head. “Are you planning to get married anytime soon?”
“Should I be?” A measure of anxiety crept into Andre’s voice.
“If you want to keep this inheritance…” Martel nodded. “Yes, you should.” The attorney cleared his throat and went on. “If you are not married within sixty days from the date of this notification—today—you will not only forfeit the entire portion of your share, but also your siblings’ inheritances as well. If that is the case, the entire estate will be divided equally between the two remaining relatives.”
“A wife? Seriously?” Julian turned to Andre. “He has to get married?”
“Or forfeit billions.” Martel slapped the folder closed. “And because he’s not married as of the reading of this will, he’ll need to stay married for at least one year.” He stood and waited for them to do the same. When they did, he said, “My colleague Laura will finish up here. I’m due in court.”
Half an hour later, Andre and his siblings left Martel’s office and shuffled into the limo waiting out front.
Andre tugged at his tie, happy that Julian and Lecie had taken the seat across from him, leaving Andre the entire expanse of the other side to himself.
It felt hot inside the car. He fiddled with the air conditioning vent and sucked in a deep breath. It did nothing to calm what felt like a noose tightening around his throat.
“Nervous, little brother?” Julian chuckled.
Andre looked at Julian through squinted eyes and tightened his lips.
“Leave him alone.” Lecie backhanded Julian’s upper arm. “Losing that much money because he can’t find a wife isn’t funny.” Dead silence laid in the space between the siblings until it was broken by Julian and Lecie.
Andre might have laughed too, had it not been for the notion that it wasn’t just his inheritance at stake. In a thickened voice, Andre asked, “What am I going to do?”
“Oh, it’s simple.” Julian shook his head and followed it with a one-sided shrug. “Just find yourself a temporary wife.”
Andre snorted. “A questionable maneuver at best. One that you somehow lucked out on.”
“I thought it turned out perfectly.” Lecie brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Maybe you should look in the same direction.”
“Tasha?” Andre knew where this was going. And it’s not that Tasha wasn’t a good choice. In fact, she’d be his first choice if he were going to enter into a marriage of convenience—or any other kind for that matter.
But Tasha wanted to be a star. And that didn’t include a starring, albeit temporary, role as Mrs. Andre de Laurent.
Andre slipped inside his father’s library and eased the door shut behind him. Maurice de Laurent stood at the colossal wall of windows behind his desk, looking out. He had a scotch on the rocks in one hand and his other was stuffed inside his trousers’ pocket.