Billionaire Games Boxed Set 1-3 (13 page)

There was plenty of time to change her mind, if Papa and Madeleine didn’t run her off. He’d nip that in the bud, though, starting with Papa.

Julian jogged down the stairs, dashed through the first floor hallway and didn’t stop until he reached his father’s study. He hesitated, holding his fist in the air before knocking.

After a triple tap, his father’s voice filtered through the door. “Come.”

Julian readjusted his posture and entered the lion’s den. He doubted Papa was happy about last night, but he hoped the charm he possessed over his father hadn’t diminished.

Papa groaned as Julian crossed the spacious room and settled into one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Groaning couldn’t be good. Julian forced himself to raise his gaze.

The senior de Laurent’s icy glare sliced through Julian and hung on the silence between them. Papa’s attention dropped to the desk and he leaned over. A rattling told Julian he was unlocking
the
drawer, the one he always went for when faced with a situation he couldn’t control.

Three. Two. One.

Papa withdrew a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The bar had been removed from his father’s office five years ago, on Claudette’s orders, after he’d suffered a heart attack and the doctors advised him to stop drinking. Sometimes, Julian thought Claudette knew about
the drawer
, but if she did, she wasn’t talking.

The liquor bottle clinked as he set it on the desk, the sound resonating in Julian’s head. This undoubtedly meant an argument was about to ensue. He didn’t see why skipping last night’s dinner party was such a big deal.

Papa cleared his throat and poured the amber liquid into each glass. He remained silent on purpose, knowing it unnerved Julian.

“None for me, thanks,” Julian said, in that same old weakened tone his father had a way of commanding.

Papa bellowed and sat the bottle down with a thud. “Your restraint is ill-timed.”

He was making jokes. That was a good sign.

“What did I restrain at the wrong time?” Julian struggled to regain his composure, but Papa had a way of making him feel like a wounded lion. “And when exactly was that?”

“This is not funny, Julian.” Papa’s glare cut through him as he raised the glass and dumped the liquor into his mouth.

Julian’s shoulders jumped as he tried to come up with witty words that didn’t leave him looking like a fool. He couldn’t find any, so he shook his head.

“What’s that?” His father asked, mocking him. The senior de Laurent stared at Julian for a moment and then admonished him with quiet laughter.

“Is this about dinner last night?” he said.

“Don’t minimize it, boy.” Papa pointed his finger at him.

Julian hated it when Papa called him “boy”. It made him feel helpless and useless. Just like he’d felt when he found his mother’s cold, lifeless body. Julian shifted in his chair. “What’s the big deal?”

“Is this what America has done to you? Turned you into an insolent cad?” Papa’s gaze traveled up to meet Julian’s. Intolerance darkened his eyes. He was blaming it on America, but Julian knew it went much deeper than that. Papa was looking at it like he’d lost because Julian had chosen a woman who wasn’t Madeleine.

Julian’s helpless laughter wrapped him in doubt. “I hardly think this is America’s fault, Papa.”

“Then your American fiancée.” He threw his hands in the air. “You would never have run out on a dinner party before.”

“Before what?” Julian’s temper flared and fueled him with confidence. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone badmouthing Camille. Not even Papa. “Before I became bewitched by the seductive American? Before I passed on Madeleine? Before I grew up?”

Papa’s nostrils flared.

But it didn’t stop Julian. “Which is it father?”

Julian knew Papa didn’t like it when he used that cold tone and called him
father
, any more than Julian liked being called
boy
.

“Which is it that’s really got you so upset, Papa?” Julian dared to make demands upon his father.

Papa stared at him with those typically vacant brown eyes filling with the resentment of defeat.

Seeing concession in Papa’s eyes bolstered Julian’s poise. “How could you bring Madeleine here, knowing I was bringing home my fiancée?” he asked. “She’ll be my wife by the end of the week.”

“End of the week, huh?” His eyes traveled a slow journey to meet Julian’s gaze, and suggested he knew Julian’s secret.

“End of the week.” Julian reiterated. It was true. Technically. She would be his wife by the end of the week, according to French law.

“You’re losing your touch, boy.” Papa’s sneering laughter fractured Julian’s composure.

There he goes again. Julian bit back the frustration. “All you need to know, Papa, is that Camille and I will have a traditional French ceremony at the end of the week. And until then, we will refrain from living together as husband and wife.”

Papa’s face lit with hope. “Does this mean your American marriage was not consummated?”

Julian knew what Papa was thinking and he couldn’t let that happen. “No, father. Our American marriage is quite legal.”

He challenged his father by standing first. This was usually Papa’s step. It indicated the conversation was over. Julian turned his back on his father and moved toward the door, not waiting for Papa’s customary dismissal.

“Where are you going?” Papa bellowed, his eleventh-hour attempt at re-seizing control.

Julian wrapped his hand around the doorknob and paused, looking over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Andre, Papa.” He opened the door. “I’m sending him to America to get Camille’s friend.”

“Are her parents coming to the wedding?” Suspicion raided Papa’s words.

“Camille was raised by her grandmother, who’s no longer with us.” Remorse crept around Julian and threatened to suffocate him. “She never had the opportunity to meet her parents…that she can remember.” He bowed his head and moved into the hallway and shut the door.

Julian was always careful in his choice of words when talking to his father. He made it a point never to tell the man out-and-out lies. This time was no exception.

He passed Monique in the hallway. Claudette had assigned the housekeeping assistant as Camille’s attendant. Julian agreed. It was a good choice.

“Have you seen my brother?” he asked, moving past her.

“Yes, sir. He’s in the smaller, east dining room.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

The unplanned pleasantry surprised Julian as much as it must have shocked the maid. He didn’t show graciousness to the servants. Why thank them for doing their job? They were duly compensated. Wasn’t a monetary gain thanks enough? Julian had always thought so. But he’d gotten so used to Camille offering thanks to virtually everyone during the last couple of days that it seemed to come naturally. She had a kind word for anyone who was remotely nice to her, no matter the circumstances.

Camille was definitely having an effect over him. Whether or not it was good remained to be seen.

Julian stopped at the dining room’s entryway and found Andre, Lecie, Claudette, and Camille having breakfast. No one seemed to notice him. Either that, or he was being ignored.

Andre was laughing, Claudette was gushing, and Lecie was declaring Camille’s sentiments as, “the most romantic thing ever.”

Good lord, what had she been telling them? Julian cleared the fear out of his throat.

Everyone glanced up and stopped.

“Julian.” Lecie was the brave one, rising and coming to his side. She laced her arm around his and led him to Camille’s side at the table. “Camille was just explaining why you two missed the dinner party last night.”

She pushed him into the empty chair beside Camille.

“I guess you really can’t fault a man when he’s that romantic.” Claudette smiled and flashed Julian her ‘
you’re forgiven
’ face.

Julian looked at Camille, smiled and winked. Whatever she’d said to get him back into his step-mother’s good graces—he could kiss her. Again.

“Julian,” Lecie smiled, returning to her seat at the table, “Mother and I are going to take Camille into town to arrange some wedding details.”

He glanced at Camille, hoping that was okay.

“It’s going to be fun.” Camille assured him with confidence.

“All right.” He checked his watch. 8:30 am. “Could you please have her back by three?” he said to no one in particular before turning to Camille. “We have plans this evening.”

She inspected him with a questioning look. He leaned in and kissed her cheek and then whispered in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’m looking out for you.” Julian paused beside her ear, brushed his lips over her cheek again and moved away.

A weak smile turned the corners of her lips. “I’ll be here.”

Julian focused on Andre. “I need you to take the jet to California.”

“California?” Andre grunted. “I don’t want to go to California.” The behavior reminded Julian of Andre during his toddler years.

“It’s not up for discussion, Andre.”

“Why am I going to America?” Andre did nothing to temper his dissatisfaction.

“You’re going to pick up Camille’s friend, Tasha.”

His face brightened. “Is she married?”

“No,” Camille said.

“Is she cute?”

“She’s very cute.” Camille paused, a bit of pity for Andre washing over her. Especially if Tasha saw him as entertainment while she was visiting. “You have no idea just how cute.”

“Guard your heart, little brother.” Julian stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “She will steal it.”

“She didn’t steal yours.” Andre noted.

Julian looked at Camille. “My heart was already spoken for.” He grabbed her hand and prompted her to stand. Tangling his fingers around hers, Julian kissed her sweetly. Not passionately. Just sweetly.

Everyone stopped talking abruptly.

Julian froze, his lips just a breath away from Camille’s. He cut his eyes toward the table. Andre, Lecie, and Claudette were fixated on the dining room’s entryway.

Madeleine.

CHAPTER NINE

MADELEINE THIBAULT WAS BEYOND GORGEOUS. The kind of woman that made Camille shrink into a cocoon of doubt and insecurity in the shadows of her basking beauty. But the look in her eyes—heartbroken devastation—had the opposite effect over Camille.

It was clear Madeleine was far more envious of her than Camille could ever feel in return. Still, the two could end up having far more in common than either imagined. But right now, Camille was on top and she had to be the bigger person.

She sucked it up and stepped toward Madeleine, extending her hand. “Hello. I’m Camille Chandler.”

“de Laurent. Camille Chandler de Laurent.” Julian corrected her.

Madeleine’s face tightened. If Julian meant to discourage her, he was succeeding. Her cold hand gripped Camille’s with the effectiveness of a wet noodle. “Madeleine Thibault,” she said, her voice cracking around her queen’s-English accent.

“Have you had breakfast?” Camille gestured at the table. “Would you like to join us?”

Madeleine’s sad smile looked bereft and bleak. “Yes.” She surveyed the table and moved toward the buffet table. “I think I might.”

Julian, who moments before was excusing himself, sat back down. Camille eased into her chair, her spirits sinking to the floor. She was just about ready to throw a pity party for her competition.

Madeleine approached the table and snagged the empty seat between Andre and Lecie. She avoided looking at Julian.

Who could blame her? “So, Madeleine.” Camille was not going to be the mean-spirited, so-called winner. Far as she could see, there were no winners. Not where Julian de Laurent was concerned. “Have you lived in Marseilles all your life?”

“No. I was born in Paris.” Madeleine’s words came slowly and reluctantly, like she didn’t trust Camille’s sincerity. “I spent much of my school years in England—” That explained the British accent. “—It wasn’t until I’d met Julian in Nice a few years back, that I began spending time in Marseilles. I have a small apartment there.” Madeleine held her head high, keeping her pride intact.

So why was she here? Why wasn’t she at her small
apartment in Marseilles?

But who was Camille to question the de Laurent family? She’d just have to make the best of an awkward situation. She made a mental note…when the time came to get married for real, she’d discourage an invasion of her bridegroom’s old flings.

But this wasn’t real. She couldn’t forget that.

“I envy you.” Camille admitted.

“Envy me? Whatever for?” Madeleine doused her with an annoying glare, as if she thought she was being mocked.

“You’re so traveled.” Camille remained calm. “I envy your firsthand experience of having visited so many places.”

“I doubt that’ll last long.” Madeleine’s wall of dignity began to crumble. She avoided any further eye contact with both Camille and Julian. Instead, she focused on Claudette. “Maurice said you were going shopping today. Might I perhaps tag along?”

Claudette’s attention darted around the table and settled on Julian. “To tell the truth, Madeleine…Lecie and I are taking Camille into town to settle wedding arrangements.”

“Ah…” Madeleine’s voice tapered off. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I guess nobody wants me to tag along for that.”

Why would you want to
? Camille didn’t have the guts to say that out loud, but it didn’t stop her curiosity. Why would anybody want to stick around and watch somebody they loved get hitched to someone else? Camille would be on the first plane, train, bus, or whatever.

“If Madeleine wants to go shopping with us,” Camille said to no one in particular. “I have no objections.”

Julian cleared his throat and rose from the table. “I’m sure you ladies will work it out. I must be going.” He glanced at Camille and stretched out his hand. “Walk me out?”

Long, extended fingers drew her like a magnet. Their touch bathed her in an appealing gentleness. She hurried after Julian as he rushed into the hallway like a speed walker.

“What’s going on?” Camille whispered. “Is she for real?”

Julian stopped just outside the door. “Madeleine Thibault has never been that considerate in her whole life.”