Julian leaned in and kissed Tasha’s cheek, then moved immediately back to Camille’s side. “Tasha, your visit was a pleasure.” He smiled and rested his hand on the small of Camille’s back. “I do hope you’ll come back soon. Anytime you’d like to get away, just let Camille know and we’ll send a plane for you directly.”
He turned to Camille, wanting very much to run back upstairs with her. But Papa had said it was important. And it probably was, according to Papa. He could wait. At least a couple of minutes.
Julian grabbed Andre by the arm and dragged him into the west hallway. He closed the door and leaned against it, arm outstretched. “Are you insane?”
Andre remained silent. He slipped his hands inside his trousers pockets and waited.
Julian hated it when he did that. But it wouldn’t stop him from admonishing his little brother. “Didn’t I tell you specifically, do not sleep with Camille’s friend?”
“In all fairness...I did not sleep with her.” Andre defended his case.
“I’m in no mood for your play on words.” Julian paused, drawing his hands into fists at his sides. “If you leave that girl brokenhearted, then my wife will become upset. If she’s upset—”
Andre laughed. “I know, you don’t...” Andre’s words trailed off, as if recalling the last time he’d said something rude and risqué about Camille.
“Check yourself, baby brother,” Julian warned.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Andre said, almost sulking.
“How’s that?”
“I asked her not to leave.”
“What?” Rippling waves of shock slapped at Julian.
He didn’t know which was worse. Andre being a cad. Or Andre falling for Tasha. That’s the worst thing that could happen. How could Julian walk away guilt-free at the end of six months if Camille’s friend became his sister-in-law?
“I want you to stay away from that girl.” Julian’s finger popped up in Andre’s face, accompanying his order. “Do you understand?”
Andre walked to the door and paused, looking over his shoulder. “Why do you get to have all the fun?”
“Apparently, I’m not the only one.” Julian’s thoughts lingered on Andre until he disappeared around a corner.
There was no putting it off any longer. Papa was waiting. Julian headed in the direction of his father’s study. He whistled a jovial tune as he trekked through the halls and stopped at Papa’s door. Summoning his courage, he knocked.
“Come.” Papa’s voice traveled through the walls.
Julian opened the door. Papa’s bottle was already out of the drawer. An audacious move that desiccated Julian’s confidence. If he was bold enough to flaunt the liquor, in the off-chance Claudette walked in, whatever had Papa so troubled, it must be bad.
“Papa...” Julian took to his pockets to keep from openly fiddling with his hands. His knees weakened as he progressed across the room, which seemed much too small today.
Papa gestured toward the empty chairs in front of the desk.
Julian hesitated and sank into one.
“How was the cruise?” Papa’s tone was much too gentle and accommodating.
What’s this? A trap? Julian hesitated. In the whole of Julian’s life, Papa had never made small talk with anyone, not that he’d ever heard. His attempt reminded Julian of a spider stalking a fly that was on the verge of landing in his web.
That was a snare Julian wasn’t about to fall into. “Fine.”
Papa filled a shot glass and pushed it gently across the desk. Julian reached for it, feeling like a fly that was coming dangerously close to the spider’s web. He pulled the drink toward him and left it sitting on the edge of the desk.
Take that. Two could play this game. Julian had after all learned from the best.
Papa saluted and drained his glass. Julian didn’t have the guts to say, should you be drinking that, and so early in the day? But it was on his mind. His father’s health worried him daily.
Papa opened the center drawer, pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it across the desk.
“What’s that?” Julian asked, avoiding it. He wasn’t playing.
“It’s a dossier on your wife.”
Julian tried to keep a stoic face. “Why?” His discomfort snuck out as awkward fidgeting.
Maurice’s right jaw twitched. “See for yourself,” he said, waving his hand over his desk.
“Why don’t you just save me the trouble and tell me what you think you’ve uncovered?” Surely there couldn’t be this much commotion over finding out Camille had acting aspirations.
Papa studied him for a moment with that cold, calculating glare of his, and pulled a box of cigars out of his desk.
Not the cigars. He brought out his trademark technique of smoke screening a weak accusation. On the surface, that looked like a good thing. But Papa could be brutal when he didn’t get his way—and Julian wasn’t about to let that happen.
The sweet scent of cognac followed the smoke as it floated about the room. Julian loved that smell, it reminded him of his childhood. But Papa rarely smoked the aromatic cigars anymore. Not because he couldn’t afford them, but because Claudette’s nose was stronger than a Bloodhound’s.
She must be in town. Or perhaps Paris. Nothing else ever induced Papa to act so carelessly.
He puffed on his cigar a couple of times. “You’ve brought a wolf into the lion’s den.”
What? That made no sense. Julian searched his brain, coming up with nothing. Papa was losing his mind. “Perhaps you’d better spell it out for me.” Julian met Papa’s accusing eye without flinching. “I have no idea what wolf I’ve let into what lion’s den.”
Did this have something to do with a business deal? He’d wrapped up the merger—ala-takeover—of Dine Shipping nearly a month ago. Which is why he’d felt comfortable going to America to find Camille and then taking another ten days for the honeymoon. There was nothing pressing on his calendar.
“The lion’s den would be this family.” Papa’s icy stare surrounded him with a chill.
This family? What...? Papa had nothing. It had to be so. Julian was always careful about what he subjected the family to. He may have let Madeleine down a little hard, but he’d never once put the family in harm’s way.
“And the wolf is your wife.” Papa looked like a cat with feathers in its mouth.