“What do you mean by that?” Julian poured the drink into his mouth, savoring the whiskey’s cool bite.
“You and father have an argument. The worst I’ve seen yet.” Andre studied Julian and took another drink of his liquid courage. “He wants an heir. And since you’re the oldest, he expects you to give him one.”
“What’s your point?”
“So you do what you do best,” he said, his tone growing bitter, less tolerant. “You disappear. Then, mysteriously, you return a week later with an American fiancée.”
“Again. What’s your point, baby brother?”
“Are we really expected to believe this is real?”
“You think I’d marry someone if it wasn’t?” Julian asked.
“You? Sure.”
“If that were the case, it might as well be Madeleine.”
“Anything not to marry Madeleine.” Andre reflected with grim amusement. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Somewhere deep down inside, Julian hoped his brother understood.
“How well do you know this girl? How do you know she’s not—”
“I’ve known her since last year, Andre. And make no mistake—” Julian waved a finger in Andre’s face. “—be very careful what you say about my wife.”
“Your wife?” Andre gave him a sideways glance of utter disbelief.
“Yes.” Julian sat the glass down and slid his hands inside his pockets. “Between you and me, Camille and I are already married.”
“Married?”
“Married.”
Andre gave him a dismissive gesture. “You know Papa’s going to be furious. And he’s going to want a French wedding.”
“Well, he can be pushy.” Julian was casually amused. “He won’t believe it’s real unless he witnesses it for himself.” He laughed to hide his discomfort over Papa’s control.
Andre shook his head. “Man, I hope you don’t end up regretting this.”
“There are no regrets.”
“You just up and got married? I can hardly believe that.” Andre stroked his chin and studied Julian. “Pre-nup?”
“Yes. We have a pre-nup.” Sarcasm crept into Julian’s voice. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re mistaken.”
Andre couldn’t be more wrong. Julian knew exactly what he was getting with Camille and how much it was going to cost him. Five million dollars.
“For your sake, big brother, I hope you’re right.” Andre smirked and poured himself another drink. “I certainly don’t want her dipping into my children’s inheritances.”
“You don’t have any children.”
“Not yet. No.” Andre paused, sipping his bourbon. “But someday I think I might. And I don’t want your gold-digging wife stealing from them.”
Rage almost choked Julian. Curses fell from his mouth as he grabbed his brother’s lapels and slammed him against the wall. He didn’t care whether he hurt Andre or not. Nor would he tolerate trash talk about Camille. He’d take that from no one.
“Julian...!” Andre’s voice cracked.
“Be. Very. Careful.” Julian’s jaw clinched as he tried to contain his anger. The fury quaked through him, diminishing as it rippled out. He reached up and gave Andre a light slap on the cheek. “Watch what you say about my wife.”
Heated anger burned against Julian’s face. He was a fragile thread away from the breaking point, and by the looks of Andre—eyes widened with a mixture of fear and uncertainty—he saw it too. And when Julian snapped, nobody wanted to be in his path.
Andre raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your girl.” He tried to squirm out of Julian’s grasp. Julian let him. “It was rude and inconsiderate.”
Julian shifted his focus to his glass. He needed a refill. Why had he done that? He’d never raised a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry.” He overfilled his glass with more than the usual double shot. “I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, feeling like a heel. He’d always protected Andre, never threatened him. Julian drained his glass.
“I hope she cares about you, half as much as you care about her.” Andre cleared his throat around his fragile, shaking voice and perched his hands on his hips. “If she does, you two will be all right.”
Care about her? Disbelief and confusion muddled Julian’s brain. He didn’t care about her. What Julian cared about was his freedom.
“You might be interested in knowing that Papa’s not taking this lying down.” Andre’s confidence returned with an agreeable nod. He slid his hands inside his pockets and stepped toward Julian.
Andre’s words bothered Julian more than his closeness. He looked at his little brother. “What’s he doing?”
One could never feel too comfortable when Maurice de Laurent implemented one of his crazy, harebrained schemes. Julian was well aware of where he’d acquired that trait. His own scheme had Papa written all over it. And if not for the fact that the idea was born to dupe him, his father would probably be proud of the ingenuity.
Julian didn’t like the stark look on Andre’s face.
Not Madeleine. “No....” The word ground out like tires bouncing over ruts in a gravel road. “Please tell me he hasn’t invited Madeleine here as our guest?” Even though he doubted his chances, he still held a flicker of hope that he was wrong.
“That he has.” Andre’s reluctance was overshadowed by the message.
“Why would he do that?”
Was Papa really that sadistic? Sure, Julian didn’t want to marry Madeleine, but he didn’t have anything against her either. Not enough to induce him to force her to sit around and watch him marry another woman.
“I suspect he thinks he can thwart your efforts to marry your American...wife.” Andre snickered, as if finding perverse pleasure in Julian’s predicament. “But, before you start feeling too sorry for Madeleine, remember...she and Papa are cut from the same cloth.” His voice took on a warning tone. “She won’t accept your engagement lightly either.”
All the more reason to avoid this evening’s dinner party. Especially if Madeleine was going to be there, which she obviously was since she was in the house.