Chapter 50

The following day, Luc got a frantic call from Don Grant.

“The San Croix Apartment Complex. In Savannah… We’ve hit a snag.”

“Which is?” Luc was barely awake and not ready for conversation as memories of the previous night came flooding back. He also had a hellacious hangover.

“The foundation columns. The client wants wrought iron.”

“What?” Luc reacted so loudly he woke Julie, who rolled over, staring at him.

He put a hand on her shoulder, patting gently, directing a wordless whisper at her. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

“Wrought iron?” he reacted angrily. “What the hell does he think we’re building? A gazebo?”

“I know Luc, but—”

“If we use wrought iron to support that entire structure, it’ll be like placing a pound cake on dry spaghetti. The whole thing’ll collapse.”

“That’s why you’ve got to go back to Georgia.”

“Tell him it can’t be done,” Luc ordered.

Damn it, I don’t need this. Not now.

Upon waking, he’d imposed a penance on himself, and part of it was staying by Julie’s side. He was going to be in her presence every waking moment. He wouldn’t leave her.

“Can’t. It’s Savannah. Wrought iron’s part of the ambience.”

“Ambience be damned. He’ll have flattened tenants if we do what he wants.”

“We need you there, Luc.”

In the end, he started packing for another trip of undetermined days, taking him away from Julie and the problem she didn’t know existed.

As he was going down the stairs, Clarice had to show up, of course. He wavered slightly as if trying to decide whether to ignore her or not, then simply stood there, waiting.

Not bothering to see if anyone else was around, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Luc slung her away.

“Don’t.”

“You weren’t saying that last night.” She leaned toward him, whispering, “I managed to retrieve my thong from the flowerbed.” She giggled. “Wouldn’t want to give one of the gardeners a shock.”

“Not so loud.” He caught her by the shoulders, saying a little quieter, “That was an accident. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“But it did, and nothing you say will change that.”

He shook his head.

“Admit it, Luc…you wanted it as much as I did. You may be married to Julie, but you want me.”

“Can’t you understand?” His voice rose, then dropped to a whisper. “I don’t love you, Clarice. Whatever there was between us was over and done with eight years ago. “

“I don’t think Julie will see it that way,”

“Listen to me.” He took a step toward her, hand shooting out to catch her wrist. His grip tightened, twisting.

Clarice cried out.

“You stay away from Julie. If you say one word to her about what happened, I’ll kill you. I swear.”

He let her go so quickly she staggered. Before she could recover, Luc was down the stairs, speaking to James who'd come in from bringing the limo around. They went out together.

Rubbing her wrist, Clarice stared at the closed door. Luc had frightened her. She knew he was capable of violence. When they’d been dating, there had been a good many brawls between him and other men, usually instigated by her flirting. She believed what he said.

* * *

Clarice soon had other things to think about. Her headaches returned, bringing with them the nausea and dizziness Mark had warned her were often part of a migraine’s symptoms.

Michel appeared while she was in the bathroom being violently sick. Damn him! “Are you all right?”

“Does it look like it?” Raising her head, she reached for a washcloth, holding it under the water. “What do you care?”

“I care about the health of everyone here at San Souci.”

“Damn it, Michel, I’m not everyone, I’m your wife.” She flung the washcloth onto the sink and pushed him out of the doorway.

“For the time being, anyway.” He stepped back and her hand struck empty air as she stalked into the bedroom.

“What does that mean?” Clarice whirled to face him. God, that makes her head hurt! The room seemed to spin, her stomach moving with it.

Michel leaned against the doorframe. “It means, Clarice, that for now, we’re going to stay married, as much as I hate to. At the present time, I don’t think Gran’père’s health can withstand the shock of a divorce with my brother named as co-respondent. So we stay together, but you’re going to change your way of living, ma douce.”

He folded his arms across his chest. Something in his stance told Clarice not to argue. Since the violence of the night before, she was hesitant to provoke him.

“In public, you’re doing to be a model wife.” As she started to speak, he went on, “You’ll behave, Clarice, if that’s possible. Understand?”

“What about you?” She brushed her hair back from her face, smoothing the damp strands. “Is it going to be Celibacy for Fun and Profit? You’re a Deveraux, Michel. I don’t think you’ll take to the chaste life very well. Not now, at any rate.”

“If I want someone, I know where to go.” When she looked shocked, he laughed. “Surprised? I think there’s a lot about me that might surprise you, if you’d ever cared to find out. If I find someone I can love, and if you should ever find someone you might love—God help the poor bastard—once Gran’père’s stabilized and stronger, we’ll get a divorce and go our separate ways.”

“So, you’ll just chuck the vows you took so easily?” Her brows rose sarcastically.

“I’ll risk damnation to get rid of you, Clarice. Those vows can go to Hell.” He stepped closer and put his hand under her chin, fingers digging into the soft underside. “And good riddance, darlin’.”

Flushing, Clarice jerked her head away. She winced and put her hand to her forehead.

“You’re really in pain, aren’t you?” His tone changed.

She nodded, biting her lip, not wanting to make the effort to speak.

“When are you supposed to see Mark again?” Still talking, he went into the bathroom.

“What do you care?”

He didn’t answer.

Over the sound of running water, she went on, “In four more weeks. I couldn’t get in for a six-weeks’ appointment. His schedule was too full.”

He reappeared with the familiar orange-and-gray caplet, handing it to her. Clarice took it eagerly.

“W-will you rub my neck for me. Please?” She sounded as if she were begging. Hell, she was begging.

“Go ahead and undress and lie down.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Michel wouldn’t let her stay in pain, no matter how he felt. He wouldn’t let any creature suffer.

Once she was on the bed, face down on the pillow, he knelt on the bed next to her, gently touching her neck and shoulders. His fingers were impersonal and without desire.

Clarice closed her eyes, wishing the day of her appointment would hurry.