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Julie had never hated another human being as much in her life.
Still watching her, Jean Claude leaned one elbow on the intricately carved wooden mantel. “You are indeed a bigamist. Such a shame, really. And so very…embarrassing, I think is the word. At least, it is potentially a very public embarrassment for your new husband.”
It really was. The papers had been full of the wedding for the last month. Society columns were filled with speculation about the marriage of one of California’s wealthiest bachelors. She could just imagine what would happen if they got wind of this news.
That distribution deal Travis was so concerned about would no doubt disappear and the humiliation would cling to him forever. Oh, God, she wanted the floor to open her up and swallow her whole.
Or better yet, swallow Jean Claude.
If her legs hadn’t felt like overcooked spaghetti, she might have walked over to Jean Claude and slapped him. As it was, all she managed was a wince before she dropped into a wing-backed chair. The wide window beside her overlooked the front of the house. At least she didn’t have to sit here and stare out at the wedding party.
They’d left the reception, where their friends and families were dancing and laughing, to come to Travis’s study. Despite the room’s size, its dark green walls, thick, colorful rugs and countless bookshelves gave the study a warm, almost comforting feel.
But it would take way more than the room’s ambiance to comfort Julie at the moment. Her heart was galloping in her chest and her stomach kept twisting, as if a giant, unseen fist was squeezing it mercilessly. She shot a look at Travis and nearly groaned at the expression of pure fury on his face.
The three of them were caught together like survivors of a shipwreck. And two of the survivors looked as though they were each willing to throw the other out of the lifeboat.
Could this get any worse?
Oh, she really shouldn’t have thought that question.
“I believe I saw some reporters stationed outside this…winery,” Jean Claude mused aloud. “Perhaps I should go and have a quiet word with one or two of them.”
Reporters.
Julie’s head ached anew and the tumult in her stomach stepped up a notch.
“You won’t be talking to any reporters,” Travis muttered tightly.
“This is, as you Americans are so fond of saying, a free country, is it not?”
“Not where you’re concerned,” Travis told him, then added, “You start talking to reporters and my lawyers will be on you so fast, they’ll take everything from you but that ridiculous accent.”
Jean Claude’s eyes narrowed, but as Julie watched him, all she could think was that he was so far outclassed in the whole really furious competition. Anger radiated off of Travis in heavy waves that seemed to swim through the room, making the air almost too thick to breathe.
“You are in no position to dictate terms to me,” Jean Claude warned.
“Mister,” Travis answered. “This is my house. I do what I damn well want and right now, I want to hear everything you’ve got to say. So start talking.”
For a moment, it looked as though the smaller man might argue, but then, he conceded and gave an indolent shrug, as if none of this was consequential at all.
“It is quite simple really,” Jean Claude said in what Julie realized was a reedy, almost whiny voice. “The delightful Julie and I were never really divorced. So you have married a married woman, my good man.”
Julie’s heart stuttered a little, but she swallowed hard and pulled in a deep breath. She couldn’t really believe this was happening, but it was hard to avoid the truth.
From a distance, the muted sounds of her wedding reception were nothing more than a soft, white noise. She glanced down at the gold, diamond-studded band on her left ring finger. Sunlight caught the channel-set stones and winked with a dazzling shine and glitter. Travis had only put it on her an hour ago. Why the devil hadn’t Jean Claude stopped the wedding before it was too late? Groaning quietly, she buried her left hand in the folds of her wedding gown so that she wouldn’t have to look at the ring again.
“I’m not your good man,” Travis was saying and his voice was low, deep and threatening enough that if Jean Claude had had a brain in his head, he would have been backing up. Instead, he only picked up the glass of wine he’d poured for himself and sniffed in distaste.
“I am the injured party, mon ami,” he said, taking a mouthful of the cabernet and swallowing as if he’d had to force it down. The insult to King wines was unmistakable. “Surely you can see that?”
“What I see—” Travis said “—is a guy trying to work a shakedown.”
“Shakedown?” Jean Claude walked around Travis, came to Julie’s side and laid one long-fingered hand on her shoulder.
She flinched and ducked out from under his touch. Jumping to her feet, she only swayed a little before locking her knees and lifting her chin. Damned if she’d let Jean Claude demoralize her again. Once in a lifetime was more than enough.
“I am only here because it is the right thing to do.” He smiled, set the glass of wine down and looked around as if searching for something better.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s the reason,” Travis said and slanted a quick, hard look at Julie.
She met his gaze squarely and tried to tell him silently that she hadn’t had a part in this. Whatever it was Jean Claude was up to, he was doing it on his own.
Smoothly, Jean Claude strolled around the room, inspecting the knickknacks, leaning in to check the signature on a painting of the vineyard, as if completely unconcerned about Travis’s mounting anger. And, he probably was, Julie thought. The man was single-minded, she’d give him that. He saw only what he wanted to see.
“Why are you here, Jean Claude? Really.” Julie asked the question because she wanted him gone. And the only way to accomplish that was to finish whatever he’d come to start.
“Why?” Jean Claude turned and gave her a smile most people reserved for a particularly bright three-year-old who’d managed to not spill his juice. “Surely that is clear, chérie.”
She didn’t bother to glance at Travis. She knew what he was feeling, because that anger of his was still vibrating into the room. Instead, she stared at the man she’d once promised to love and cherish, and she saw only a stranger. “Spell it out for me, Jean Claude.”
He sighed. “Very well. You see, when I read about the wedding of my sweet Julie to one of the powerful King family, I knew it was only right for me to come.”
“Uh-huh,” Travis said, moving to stand beside Julie, arms across his chest, long legs planted in a wide stance as if he were ready to do battle. “And the reason you waited until after the ceremony to speak up?”
Jean Claude gave him a pleased smile. “Why, speaking up beforehand might have alerted the press.” He smiled. “Something I’m sure you would rather not chance.”
The press. Julie could just imagine what the media would make of this. Vineyard Tycoon Marries Bigamist. Oh, wouldn’t that be great? Or maybe King’s Queen a Counterfeit. Her insides went cold and still. Jean Claude had come to blackmail Travis. It was the only explanation.
Travis sneered at him, raking the other man up and down with a scathing look that bounced off Jean Claude like bullets off of Superman. Clearly, Travis had come to the same conclusion Julie had. But when he turned that same sneer on her, she made a supreme effort to get past the disgust riddling her and find her own sense of fury.
“I had nothing to do with this,” she told him, meeting his icy gaze. “Travis, you can’t believe I would help him! You know what he did to me. How I felt—”
“Ah, chérie,” Jean Claude murmured. “There is no reason for you to explain yourself to him. And what was between us has nothing to do with this man. You are after all, my wife.”
“Oh, good God.” Julie shot her gaze at the blond man who had once captured her heart, and wondered what she had ever seen in him. Now she looked at him and saw him for what he was. An oily, sneaky, evil little troll.
A troll who looked totally pleased with himself.
“All right,” Travis announced, his voice commanding attention in the otherwise still room. “Cut to the chase here, Pierre—”
“Jean Claude,” he corrected.
“Whatever,” Travis snapped. “What the hell do you want, exactly?”
Jean Claude smiled. “My demands are small,” he said with a slight shrug. “I only wish my due as an abandoned husband….”
“Abandoned?” Julie’s temper finally overcame her humiliation. She charged Jean Claude and would have slapped him silly if Travis hadn’t reached her side in time to stop her. Still, even with his hand on her arm, holding her in place, she hissed at the other man. “You no good, lying snake in the grass. I didn’t abandon you. You left me. Remember? You said you would get a divorce in Mexico. And then you wrote me a month later and told me it was done. That you were ‘free of me.’ Don’t you stand there and—”
“Chérie,” Jean Claude cooed, his pale eyes twinkling as if he were enjoying himself tremendously. “Clearly, you are overwrought.”
“Over—” She hauled her right arm back and Travis gripped both of her arms before dragging her away from the other man.
“Did you ever get a copy of the divorce decree?” Travis whispered the question into her ear.
Julie shook her head, disgusted with herself as much as with Jean Claude. She’d been a complete idiot. Not only in marrying the worm, but also in trusting him to end the marriage, too. Her only excuse was that she’d been so hurt. So totally crushed, she hadn’t really been thinking at all.
“No. He told me he would make me a copy but he never did.” She shot daggers at the man standing there smirking at her.
“And you trusted him.”
“Yes. Damn it.”
Travis’s grip on her arms loosened and when he set her aside, she could see there was still fire in his eyes. His mouth was set and a tic in his jaw let her know exactly how hard he was working to keep his temper under control. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, then turned to face the other man again. “How much?”
“That’s very crass.”
“It’s expedient,” Travis argued. “Let’s hear it. How much for you to keep quiet?”
Jean Claude nodded once. “Very well, be it as you wish. I believe—” he said calmly as he shot his cuffs “—that one hundred thousand dollars will convince me to not seek out the press.”
“One hun—” Julie gaped at him, then turned to face Travis. “You can’t seriously be thinking about paying him off. You can’t do it, Travis. It’s blackmail.”
“I prefer to think of it as paying for privacy,” Jean Claude mused.
“You stay out of this.” Julie stabbed her index finger toward him.
“Julie,” Travis said. “Let me handle this.”
“No. You can’t.” She grabbed his forearm and felt the corded muscles in his arm bunch beneath her hand. “Travis, he won’t stop. This will just be the beginning.”
Travis lifted her hand off his arm and Julie could only watch as he walked slowly across the room to his desk. Opening a drawer, he pulled out an oversized checkbook and glanced at the other man. “One hundred thousand. And if you go to the press anyway, I will bury you.”
Jean Claude gave him a brilliant smile. “But what reason would I have to slay the golden goose, mon ami? No, your—pardon, our—secret will stay with me, I assure you.”
Not looking at him again, Travis grabbed a pen, scrawled across the check, then ripped it free. He stalked across the room, folded the check in half and tucked it into the other man’s breast pocket. Jean Claude lifted one hand to his suit pocket to pat the check, as if assuring himself it was there.
“Make no mistake, Pierre,” Travis said, pushing his face into Jean Claude’s until the other man pulled his head back and, at long last, looked worried. “Open your mouth and you’ll regret it.”
“But of course,” the other man said and bowed elegantly. He stepped back, then crossed the room to the closed door. He opened it, then stopped and turned to look at Julie. “I’d forgotten, you know.”
“Forgotten what?”
“Just what a lovely bride you make.”
“Get out,” she said, fighting the darkness that was rising up inside her like a toxic spill. The coldness swamped her, cutting off her air, spreading chills along her body until she was nearly quivering. “And don’t come back.”
He smiled again, then left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Seconds ticked past before Julie could force herself to look at Travis. She’d known him her whole life and yet, she had no idea what she would see on his face. When she finally faced him, though, his expression was blank. His familiar features no more than a hard mask, hiding whatever it was he was feeling from her.
And the cold rushing through her turned icy.
“Let’s get back to the reception,” he said.
“Are you serious?”
“Damn right I am,” Travis told her, coming across the room to stand in front of her. “And you’re going to smile and laugh and dance like you haven’t got a care in the world. Understand?”
“I don’t think I can. I’m so furious—”
“You’re furious?” He laughed shortly but there was no humor in it. Just as there was no shine of amusement in his eyes or in the hard flat line of his mouth. “I just found out my new wife already has a husband. A blackmailer no less. And you’re furious? Trust me when I say I’ve got you beat.”
Yes, he probably did. Watching him, Julie felt his rage and understood what he must be feeling. But damn it, she’d been lied to, too! “I didn’t know about this.”
“I said we’ll talk about it later.” He took her upper arm in a firm grip and led her across the room to the door. “For now, we’re going back to the party. We’ll smile for the photographers. We’ll dance and we’ll eat wedding cake and we will not let anyone else even guess that there’s something wrong. You understand?”
“I get it,” she said, and was forced to agree with him. She so didn’t need any more drama today. “More acting.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine.” It wouldn’t be easy, but with enough wine, all things were possible. “But then what?” she asked, looking up into dark brown eyes that looked as cold and empty as an abandoned well.
“When the party’s over, we head to Mexico. To get you a damn divorce so we can get married again.”
Three
Travis checked his wristwatch for the tenth time in as many minutes, then looked up at his brothers. Adam and Jackson stood side by side, looking so much alike they might have been twins. But then, Travis knew that all three of them were carbon copies of each other. With only a year separating each of them, they’d grown up close and had gotten even closer over the years. The King brothers were a unit. So much a unit in fact, that it was nearly impossible for one of them to hide something from the others.
For example, without even looking into their eyes, he was fully aware that they knew something was up.
“The vineyard manager, Darleen, should be able to keep things running around here while I’m gone,” he said, glancing around the nearly empty garden area. The wedding and reception were over, the guests were long gone and now the catering crew was cleaning up. A veritable squad of workers was stacking the white chairs, dragging down the garlands of flowers, packing away crystal and china and whatever food was left over.
A low hum of anger still throbbed in Travis’s gut. This should have been a good day. One to celebrate the fruition of his dreams for the winery. Instead, his dream was fast becoming a nightmare.
Shaking his head, he dragged his thoughts back to the business at hand and turned his gaze back to his brothers. “But if she needs help…”
“We’ll be around,” Jackson assured him. “Well,” he corrected with a wry smile, “Adam will be. I’ve got a flight to Paris lined up.”
Jackson ran the King-Jets operation for the family. Building luxury jets and leasing them to the wealthy of the world. They had plenty of trained, experienced pilots on the books, sure, but Jackson enjoyed taking some of the runs himself. Nothing he liked better than heading out to wherever the wind blew him. The job suited him. Jackson never had been one for staying in one place too long.
“And after Paris, it’s Switzerland,” Jackson continued. “Should be gone about three weeks, so Adam’ll have to step in if Darleen needs anything.”
“I’ll be here,” Adam agreed.
“Of course you will,” Jackson said with a laugh. “According to Gina you’re never more than five feet from her and you watch her like she’s a hand grenade about to explode.”
Adam scowled at the youngest of them. “Talk trash when the woman you love is pregnant. Then we’ll see where we stand.”
