Honeymoon in Paris Read online

  Luc’s hand found mine, his sweaty palm indicating that even though he looked as calm, cool, and collected as ever, he wasn’t too jazzed about this meeting either.

  Before I had a chance to hightail it out of there—slinky dress, stilettos, and all—Brigitte made eye contact. The expression on her perfectly made-up face morphed from slutty seductress to fake sweetness to… horror.

  When she and Vincent stood to greet us, the reason for the horror registered.

  We were wearing the same dress. Merde.

  As icy kisses were exchanged underneath the crystal chandelier, I had to stop myself from stealing her wine and dumping it down the front of her dress. I knew this dress looked great on me, but on Brigitte—well let’s just say that with the exception of my gentlemanly husband, every man’s gaze in that bar was glued to her and only her.

  “How adorable that you’re wearing the same dress as me, Charlotte,” Brigitte cooed in French, her dazzling smile slicing right through the armor I’d spent the entire afternoon building up. “I guess Luc’s taste hasn’t changed that much after all.”

  Vincent’s deep voice interrupted the awkward silence that followed. “I must say, both of you wear the dress quite well.…”

  It suddenly became clear that the only other man in the bar who wasn’t mentally undressing Brigitte was Vincent. To the contrary, he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off of me.

  Oh, dear God.

  I squeezed Luc’s hand and raised my eyebrows at him.

  He knew what that look meant. He immediately motioned for the server, then ordered us our own bottle of wine.

  As soon as we settled into our seats, Brigitte crossed her slim, toned legs and leaned forward just enough so that her cleavage was on full display. As if I needed one more reason to hate her.

  “So Charlotte, what do you do for a living?” Brigitte asked coolly.

  I forced a smile. “I’m a teacher at this wonderful language schoo—”

  “Oh, how cute,” she cut in as her dainty hand landed on Luc’s arm. “You know I never understood your desire to leave finance and become a professor, Luc. Maybe Charlotte understands this lifestyle better than I ever could.” She shot a suggestive glance in Vincent’s direction. “I needed more… I needed a different lifestyle.”

  “Yes, that was clear,” Luc said, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

  “Lucky for you, ma beauté,” Vincent chimed in as he ran his hand over Brigitte’s knee, “the lifestyle you wanted is exactly what I can give to you… and more.”

  It was odd, though, that even as Vincent’s hand ran inappropriately high on Brigitte’s thigh, the look in his eyes was cold—dishonest, even. What was he doing with her?

  Luc cleared his throat and sat up taller in his seat. “Well, we didn’t come here to discuss your new choice in lifestyle or in partners,” Luc said to Brigitte.

  Brigitte’s flirty eyes refocused on Luc as she pushed Vincent’s hand off of her. “You’re right. I need to speak to you alone for a minute, Luc. Charlotte won’t mind, will she?”

  Yes, you conniving little actress. As a matter of fact, I do mind.

  Luc kissed me on the cheek, his whisper coming softly in my ear. “Just a few minutes so I can discuss the matter of Adeline with her. Will you be okay?” He looked from me to Vincent, the skepticism in his eyes palpable.

  I summoned up every ounce of politeness I had in me and aimed the sweetest of smiles at Brigitte. “Of course. Now that the wine has arrived, I’ll be just fine.”

  Luc winked at me, then stood and headed to the bar with Brigitte while I took the longest sip of wine ever known to man.

  This drop-dead-gorgeous-famous-actress-ex-wife business was not made for the faint of heart.

  Vincent poured himself another glass, his black-and-gray hair shimmering underneath the dim lights in the hotel bar.

  “So, Charlotte, how long have you been with Luc?” he asked in French.

  “We met about a year ago, and we actually just got married last week. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Vincent ran his hand along his structured jawline, accentuating his salt-and-pepper five o’clock shadow. “I see. I imagine meeting the lovely Brigitte on your honeymoon was not exactly in your plans.”

  I couldn’t help but smirk. “Not exactly, no.” I wanted to tell Vincent that lovely wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe Brigitte, but something in his tone told me that he hadn’t really meant it either. “So how do you know Luc, Vincent?”

  “Luc didn’t fill you in on our family history? I am surprised. After all, shouldn’t a husband and wife be completely transparent?”

  When I responded with a cold look and another sip of wine, Vincent shot me a teasing grin. “Ahh, you’re a feisty one I see. You mustn’t take me so seriously, Charlotte. I have had three unsuccessful marriages. Clearly I am not the expert on this topic.”

  “Clearly,” I said. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. How do you know Luc and his family?” I wanted to know if there really was a story behind Luc’s connection to the Bouchers, or if Luc was simply mad, and jealous, because this older, handsome man who his family had been friends with in the past was now dating his ex-wife.

  “Luc’s father Pierre and I were close friends in college, then after graduation, we worked together for a long time. In our late twenties, we started our own publishing company—the company I still own today. My sons, the actors, Marcel and Nicolas, grew up with Luc and his sister, Sandrine. Our families were quite close, but unfortunately, as good things always do, our business relationship and our friendship came to an end several years ago.”

  “Why is that?”

  Vincent leaned a little closer to me, his leg brushing ever so subtly against mine. This man was smooth. I didn’t move, though. I wanted to know the rest of the story.

  “Pierre was the creative mind of the two of us. He directed the art and design teams of the magazines we created, worked with the photographers, the models, the writers. He had an eye for design, an incredible vision for story ideas that made our brand stand apart. In fact, even to this day, I credit much of my success to Pierre’s extreme talent.”

  Vincent took a quick sip of wine before continuing. “Unfortunately, Pierre did not have the business or financial strengths that I possess, and by the time Luc and Sandrine were teenagers, he’d managed the family finances so poorly that they were nearly bankrupt. His beautiful wife Michèle had no idea, until…” He paused, an inquisitive look passing over his strong features. “Luc hasn’t told you any of this?”

  “I know that Luc hasn’t talked to his father in years, but I haven’t wanted to push him to tell me the details. I figured he’d tell me when he’s ready.”

  “Then I’m not sure it’s my place to continue on with the story.” Vincent leaned closer to me, his broad shoulders and musky scent making me understand why Brigitte was so taken with him. There was something so powerful about his voice, his eyes, the way he held himself. But there was also something hiding behind that strong, intense gaze—something edgy and troubled.

  Vincent moved in even closer, resting his hand on my knee. “What I will tell you is that Luc comes from a broken family, a family his father shattered. I don’t know if Luc has ever recovered from what Pierre did to their family. I know from experience that Luc’s mother never did.”

  “What do you mean you know from experience?”

  “Luc’s mother, Michèle, was my second wife.”

  Did I just hear him right?

  Vincent had been Luc’s step-father? And now he was dating Luc’s twenty-five-year-old ex-wife?

  Lexi was so right. France was playing by a totally different set of rules.

  Not more than a few seconds after Vincent had dropped that colossal bomb, his cell phone rang.

  “Excuse-moi, Charlotte,” he said, removing his hand from my knee. “I have to take this call.”

  As I watched Vincent walk over to a secluded corner of the bar,
for the first time I really noticed the resemblance between him and his younger son Marcel, who was starring in Le Problème avec l’Amour with the lovely Brigitte. It wasn’t so much that they shared the same facial features—it was more in the way they held themselves, and the way they dressed. They both exuded that bad-boy feel: a sexy darkness which certain women couldn’t resist.

  From what I’d seen of Vincent’s older actor son, Nicolas, he was different—more secluded, more reserved, but every bit as handsome as his younger brother. Nicolas hadn’t been in as many blockbuster hits as Marcel, and he seemed to shy away from the press for the most part. It was Marcel’s face which was constantly splashed all over the front of every French tabloid, a new emaciated model or actress on his arm each time.

  Like father, like son.

  As Vincent talked in hushed tones back in the corner of the bar, I shot a subtle glance over to where Luc and Brigitte had been sitting, but Luc was already on his way back over to me.

  Luc leaned down, wrapping a protective arm around my shoulder. “I don’t want Vincent around you anymore, Charlotte. Please go up to the room and wait for me there.”

  “Could this have something to do with the fact that Vincent was married to your mother?” I whispered. “I don’t know if this is normal in France, but it’s sick that Brigitte would even consider dating your ex-step-father.”

  “I never considered him my step-father. He was married to my mother for only six months before she discovered that he was cheating on her. I haven’t seen or spoken with him since then. But I am not surprised that he has chosen Brigitte.”

  “I don’t exactly see this relationship lasting,” I said dryly as I eyed Brigitte flirting shamelessly with the bartender. “Besides the fact that she’s obviously using Vincent to get back at you, I get the feeling that Vincent isn’t actually in love with Brigitte either.”

  “Of course he’s not. He doesn’t love any of the women he dates. He’s a chauvinist, and he’s only using the women for sex. I don’t want you around him for another second, and I will never allow Adeline near Brigitte as long as she is dating him. They are up to no good. Now please, Charlotte, go upstairs while I finish talking to Brigitte.”

  “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  Luc rubbed his forehead in his hands and mumbled a French obscenity under his breath. I’d never seen him this serious or this angry before. “I don’t know. It could be a while. There are some things I have to find out from her. It has to do with Adeline, and it’s extremely important.”

  “Will you please fill me in on all of this later, Luc?”

  “Of course, ma chérie,” Luc said as he brushed his thumb over my cheek and kissed me on the forehead.

  Swiveling on my sparkly heel, I stalked out of the bar and focused my gaze straight ahead. I did not want to see the triumphant look Brigitte surely had plastered across her perfect little face as she watched me leave the bar alone.

  When I reached the lobby, a whiff of the cool autumn breeze rushing in through the front doors of the hotel called to me. I turned away from the elevators and instead charged through the double doors, sucking in the chilly night air like it was water.

  Leaning against the side of the hotel, I closed my eyes and tried to process everything that had happened in the past twelve hours. More importantly, I tried to tell myself that I hadn’t made a mistake in tying the French knot so quickly. Clearly the huge secret Luc had kept from me last year—that he had a daughter—wasn’t the only thing he’d been hiding. Yes, he’d told me that his parents had divorced when he was a teenager and that he and his sister hadn’t spoken to their father in years, but he’d never elaborated beyond that.

  This latest revelation—that media mogul Vincent Boucher had been in business with Luc’s dad, only to later marry Luc’s mother, and now was dating Luc’s ex-wife—had my head spinning. I thought my family was out of control. This was a total mess.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  “You must be cold out here in that tiny dress.” It was Vincent, his deep, cool voice rattling me from my thoughts.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m fine.”

  He reached into the breast pocket of his gray suit jacket and pulled out a cigarette. “Would you like one?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t smoke. Even though it’s practically a sin in France not to.”

  He chuckled. “C’est vrai. I like a woman who doesn’t smoke, though. It’s classy.”

  “Brigitte smokes, I assume?”

  He raised a brow. “Are you implying that she’s not classy?”

  “Assume what you will—all I was asking is if she smokes.”

  A devious smile peppered his unshaven cheeks. “Only after sex.”

  “That’s a detail I could’ve lived without.”

  “You asked.” Vincent took a puff of his cigarette, then proceeded to eye me up and down. “You know, I wasn’t lying in there when I said that you wear that dress quite well. Better than Brigitte, I must say. She is too thin to wear something like this. But you…” He trailed off, his intense gaze traveling up my body. “I understand why Luc married you so quickly. I would’ve too.”

  “As you pointed out before, you don’t have the best track record with marriage. And judging by the way you’re talking to me out here, with your girlfriend just inside, I can see why.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I adore women too much to be with just one.” He took a step closer to me. “I hope I am not making you feel uncomfortable.”

  “I’ve been living in France long enough to be able to hold my own with overly forward French men. But since we’re on the topic, what makes me just a little bit sick is that you were married to my husband’s mother, and now you think it’s acceptable to date his twenty-five-year-old ex-wife. While hitting on his current wife no less. As if this were all totally normal.”

  Another puff of smoke billowed from Vincent’s lips. “The women in these scenarios have all been willing participants. In fact, Luc’s mother, Michèle, was the one true love of my life. I loved her even before Pierre did.”

  “Interesting. Is that why you cheated on her?”

  Vincent flicked his cigarette to the ground, a hardness settling into his jaw. “Luc may think he knows everything about what went on between me and his parents, but he is wrong. He was only a teenager then, only a boy.”

  “Cheating is cheating.”

  “Why don’t you ask Luc about what his father did to him and his family before you judge my actions. You don’t even know me, Charlotte. We only just met this afternoon.”

  “I’ve got a pretty clear picture already. And I know that my husband doesn’t want me talking to you.”

  Vincent took another step closer, his hard eyes boring down on me. “Is that why he’s inside drinking with his ex-wife, on your honeymoon?”

  My cheeks blazed with heat. “What are you doing with Brigitte? I can see by the way you look at her that you’re not really in love with her. Don’t you think it’s time you leave the women in Luc’s life alone?”

  “Brigitte and I have an arrangement that works for both of us, and as for love, well, she will never love me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, chérie?”

  Suddenly Vincent cornered me against the wall, the strong scent of his aftershave making me dizzy as he ran a finger down my cheek.

  “She’s still in love with Luc. And she always will be.”

  FIVE

  A loud car engine revved up behind Vincent, giving me an opportunity to step out from under his powerful hold.

  The sleek black sports car came to a stop right in front of the hotel, causing a few giggly French teenagers passing by to stop and stare. Vincent walked toward the car, and within seconds, his ultra-famous, incredibly sexy older son, Nicolas Boucher, appeared.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Dressed in dark, fitted jeans and a black sweater that accentuated his magnificently
cut arms and chest, Nicolas gave his father a solemn nod then smiled at me.

  Lexi was going to kill me.

  “Who’s this?” Nicolas asked in French as he ran a hand through the mop of dark hair that framed his rugged face.

  Vincent placed a cool hand on my shoulder. I stepped away. I didn’t care about being polite anymore. I didn’t want that man’s hands on me.

  “This is Charlotte. And Charlotte, this is my oldest son, Nicolas.”

  Nicolas took a step forward and kissed me on both cheeks. After the second kiss, I noticed the cameras that had descended upon us. The paparazzi were back.

  “So it’s finished with Brigitte?” A chill laced through Nicolas’ tone as he stared his father down.

  “No, Brigitte is inside talking with your old friend, Luc Olivier. And this is Luc’s new wife.”

  Nicolas’ face paled as he looked from me to his father.

  “Mais qu’est-ce que tu fous?” What in the hell are you doing? Nicolas growled in his father’s ear.

  Vincent gave his son a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “Calme-toi, mon fils,” he said sternly. Calm down, son.

  Nicolas shrugged his father’s hand off of him. “Are you coming to the premiere party tonight? This is a big night for Marcel. He really wants you to be there.”

  “I have to check with Brigitte first,” Vincent said. “I have a feeling she may not be available tonight.”

  “She’s starring in the film,” Nicolas said, his tone annoyed. “She doesn’t really have a choice, does she?”

  “A woman always has a choice.”

  “Spare me your bullshit, Vincent. Are you coming or not? It starts in an hour.”

  “Excuse me for one moment while I go check with Brigitte.”

  Vincent and the overwhelming scent of his aftershave disappeared, leaving me alone on the sidewalk with Nicolas Boucher and three picture-hungry paparazzi.