Sounded as odd as the gold band on his ring finger felt. He turned his gaze to the dance floor and watched as a tall man with dark blond hair and a wispy moustache cut in on Jackson to dance with Julie.
Julie looked up at the blonde and her features froze in appalled shock. Something inside Travis jolted. He’d already started moving toward the couple when he saw Julie try to pull away even as the blonde leaned in closer to her, whispering something in her ear. Whatever he said had made quite the impression on Julie. She looked like a balloon, slowly deflating.
The crowd separating them seemed to get thicker as Travis moved faster. Instinct pushed him on. He slipped past people, pushed others out of his way and got to Julie’s side just as she finally managed to shove herself out of the blond man’s arms. She stared up at the guy as if he were a ghost and the blonde was enjoying her shock.
“Julie, you okay?” Travis came up beside her.
“Travis. Oh, God….” She covered her mouth with one hand and kept staring at the other man as if she couldn’t really believe he was there.
And just who the hell was this guy? A reporter? A photographer who’d somehow made it past security? But where was his camera? Instinctively, Travis pushed Julie behind him as he faced the tall, lanky man who was looking at him with what could only be glee shining in his pale blue eyes.
“What’s going on here?” Travis demanded, keeping his voice low enough that even the other dancers around them couldn’t hear him over the music.
The blonde gave him a half bow and smirked. “I’ve only come to offer my congratulations on your wedding,” he said, his English flavored with a very thick French accent.
Travis shot a look at Julie.
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” Travis said, turning back to the guy silently laughing at him. Something was going on here and he was damned sure he wasn’t going to like it. Hands fisted at his side, he demanded, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Ahh…” The guy held out his right hand and said softly, conspiratorially, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jean Claude Doucette. And you must be the man who has just married my wife.”
“I’m a bigamist,” Julie muttered and the word tasted foul in her mouth. Well, this certainly put her “bad feeling” from earlier in perspective. Compared to now, that debilitating trepidation was like a day at Disneyland.
This was a nightmare. One she couldn’t seem to wake up from. One where both of her husbands—dear God—were facing off like a couple of well-groomed pit bulls. Although, if she had to bet on who would be the winner of this weird contest, she’d put her money on Travis. The Frenchman who stood so calmly at ease had no idea just how much danger he was in.
“Yes, my dear,” Jean Claude said, from his place beside the cold hearth. He looked suave and sure of himself, as always. His blond hair was swept back from his forehead. His pale blue eyes were locked on her and even from across the room, she read the humor in his gaze. He wore a well-tailored gray suit with a pale yellow shirt and a steel-gray tie. He looked relaxed, completely at home, as if he were enjoying himself immensely.
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
