“So, what do you...live in a castle or something?” She snickered, as if her words were funny. “You know, I hear those things are like cold and damp.”
“No, Chéri. Not a castle.” A happy memory from his childhood, of his mother chasing him and Andre through the grove, paraded through his thoughts. A mild, pleasurable chuckle rippled up his throat. “Just a chateau that’s been in my family for about four hundred years.”
She sighed and frowned again.
“Oh, it’s been fully renovated and updated with all the latest modern-day amenities.”
That didn’t get her either. Her stoic expression suggested she couldn’t care less about his family’s home.
“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes and her voice faded, losing its steely edge. “What’s your point?”
“If you are not entirely mesmerized by the view, if not the chateau itself, I will double your pay.”
Finally, her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“Entirely.”
“And just so we’re clear.” She paused, fidgeting in her seat. “What exactly do you get if I am somehow mesmerized?” She covered her mouth and coughed out something that sounded a lot like, “Bullshit.”
“Nothing quite so dark and lurid.” He propped his elbow atop the couch and chuckled before taking on a more serious tone. “Our six month marriage will begin on the day we are wed in France.”
She reached for his forehead like his mother used to do when he was a child, but Camille’s touch was different. It sparked hunger, warm and soft and unfamiliar, and sent it surging through to his core. He grabbed her wrist, a feeble attempt to distract himself from his intense emotions.
“I haven’t known you for very long,” she said over a half-giggle rippling through the air, “but I think there might be something wrong with you.”
He laughed and laced their fingers together. “Camille, you are going to drive my father insane.”
Her face relaxed into a knowing expression. “I thought so.” She made no move to withdraw her hand.
“You may not know as much as you think.”
“You may be surprised.”
“Hm...that’d be a first.” He wasn’t being terse. Women rarely surprised him. They were an open book, one that could be read from cover to cover in about five seconds but were seldom worth the time. Until now. Every word, action, hint and suggestion about Camille Chandler held him captive. He hoped he didn’t end up disappointed.
“Well that’s a pretty cynical outlook for a guy who’s got the world at his feet.” The spunk in her tone had returned full-force.
“The world at my feet?” he asked, more for amusement’s sake than curiosity.
“Well, anybody that’ll wager five million dollars on a bet that can easily be fixed has to have the world at their feet.”
She had a point. She could lie. He’d be surprised if she didn’t. Money had a way of motivating people to do strange things. His motivation was freedom. Luckily, he had a virtually unlimited supply of cash to support his quirks.
But more than that, he got the impression she could use a break.
“Being me is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“And why is that?”
“Enough about me.” He leaned toward Camille and looked her over seductively. How he’d like to tangle his hand in those dark tresses and draw her to him. “Are you ready to leave the United States?”
“Just as soon as we’re married.”
Oh, that. “All right. I’ll leave the arrangements to you. It’s probably more efficient that way.” Julian had no interest in supervising the tedious preparations. The only thing he cared to oversee was the pre-nuptial agreement.
“Vegas.”
“Vegas?” What? She wanted to gamble? Perhaps his instincts had failed him and he’d made a bad choice.
“Vegas. It’s the quickest, easiest, simplest way to get hitched.”
Hitched? Oh, yes, an American idiom. Relief washed over Julian and relaxed his shoulders. Thank God. He’d hate to think he’d lost his edge.
“Vegas. That’s where we want to go.” Her eyes lit up, like she was enjoying herself. He liked it. “When do you want to go? Today? Tomorrow? I’m not sure when we can get a flight out.”
“Oh, we can go anytime you’re ready—”
“Let me guess.” She cut him off. “You have your own plane?”
“That I do, Chéri.”
“Look.” Her shoulders dropped and she blew out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got to stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“Why?”
“I’m not really your darling. It’s not like we’re a real couple or anything.”
“For the next six months, Chéri, we will give every appearance of being just that.”
And if she succumbed to his charms during that time, so much the better.
She was beginning to blush a little and when she started to fidget, Julian grew anxious. He didn’t want her to get antsy and have second thoughts.
“Would you like to pack a few things, or purchase a new wardrobe?”
“Is that really necessary?” She paused, as if letting the idea of her clothes being inadequate settle into her thoughts. “Well, I guess my JC Penney look isn’t quite up to par for the de Laurent family, huh?” She opened herself up for a shot at ridicule. A quality only for the brave. She didn’t take herself seriously. Another trait Julian could appreciate.
“Camille.” He used her name purposely this time. “I think you look great no matter what you wear...but, as the wife of Julian de Laurent, certain responsibilities and expectations come with the arrangement.”
The look on her face said she understood. It also said she wouldn’t want the job for good.
“And being your wife includes dressing the part.”
She caught on quickly. Another positive. “You’ll wear the latest fashions from the finest designers. You’ll be draped in jewels that most people can’t even imagine. Those who can will envy you. Enjoy it, Chéri.” He went back to calling her by the French endearment. She needed to get used to it, because people would expect nothing less from a member of the de Laurent family.
“Are you going to make up some fantastical yet completely bogus background for me as well?” Her brittle tone oozed out and she stiffened with a disinterested, casual lack of concern. Clearly, she felt belittled and didn’t like it. That wasn’t his objective.