Authors: Julie Ortolon
“I got evicted, Chloe. Evicted!”
“I don’t understand.” Chloe moved her hands down to her temples. “Why is he doing this? He’s normally trying to force you to stop seeing someone, not forcing you into another marriage.”
“Oh God, that’s the horrible part.” Diane started to pace, wringing her hands. “He says we’re broke. I thought at first he was exaggerating. I mean, I know LeRoche Shipping has hit some rough patches the last few years, but I thought surely it can’t be that bad. Certainly not bad enough to take these drastic measures. Now?” Diane bit her lip before continuing. “I’m scared to death. John really is desperate. That’s why I need you to get that necklace. You said it was a gift from Marguerite. She must have sensed we’re in trouble, and she gave you a replacement for her necklace to restore our good luck.”
“Diane, you need to forget about the necklace,” Chloe said. The mere mention of it brought back all her anguish over Luc. “I was wrong, okay? It wasn’t a gift from Marguerite. It has nothing to do with her. Getting it won’t change anything for us.”
“It has to.” Tears welled in Diane’s eyes. “Otherwise, I have to marry Harold to keep John from going bankrupt.”
Chloe massaged her forehead. “Can we start at the beginning?”
“John’s been having a string of bad luck financially ever since he lost Pearl Island to the St. Claires, but the last few years, things have been getting steadily worse. So, John started talking to Harold about taking him on as a partner. The man is worth billions. John swears with his help, he can save the company. There’s only one hitch.” Diane’s face lined with distress. “When Harold met me, he started asking me out. I tried to brush him off, but John ordered me to go out with him. I agreed because it was only supposed to be until Harold signed the partnership agreement and wrote John a big fat check. But then Harold started dragging his feet. Then, he brought in
that man
to go over all the books.” Diane pointed an accusing finger toward the backyard, indicating Mr. MacMillan. “John did his best to hide how bad things were, but Harold’s not stupid. That’s one thing I’ll give him. He may look like an oaf, but he is way too smart for any of our good.”
“He also seems genuinely nice,” Chloe said.
“That doesn’t mean I want to marry him.”
“Then don’t. Find some other rich guy to support you until this all blows over.”
Or get a job
, Chloe added silently.
“I can’t! Didn’t you hear me? It’s serious this time. John could actually go bankrupt, so this won’t just blow over.”
“Are you saying that if you don’t marry Harold, the partnership is off?”
“Exactly! When he proposed, I figured I’d say yes, drag my feet until the deal was done, and then break up with him. But Harold’s made it clear the only reason he’s willing to save LeRoche Shipping is because he’s marrying into the family. He actually told John if not for that he’d be walking away, because he thinks the company is in such bad shape. So, he’s not going to sign those papers until after we’re married. I won’t even be able to divorce him, because our pre-nup papers say the partnership between him and John will be dissolved if I do.”
“So, he knows you don’t love him? And he’s going to marry you anyway?”
“No, he doesn’t know that. Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell him?”
“If he asked for all those conditions, he must at least suspect.”
“I’m doing the best I can, okay?” Diane said defensively. “God, I don’t need you riding me, too.”
Chloe sighed. Pointing out that she hadn’t been pushing for her mother to deceive the man would be pointless. “All right, so I get why you’re marrying him.”
I don’t approve, but I get it,
she added silently
.
“But why all this pretense that we’re some close, loving family? Polite and cordial, yes, we’ve always upheld that farce for the outside world. But loving?”
“Well, I had to say something when he started asking about you. What was I supposed to tell him?” Diane took on a petulant pout. “That my daughter is so selfish she barely makes time in her life for me?”
“Diane, please,” Chloe sighed, not in the mood to listen to that old song.
“As for my relationship with John, I couldn’t very well tell Harold that his future business partner is a narcissistic bastard who couldn’t care less about his own children.” Diane covered her face and burst into tears.
Chloe fought the urge to comfort her. That would only increase the tears. “So, you painted a rosy picture of the LeRoche family.”
“John encouraged it,” Diane sniffled. “He says it’s obvious Harold values things like that. The man’s an orphan, and a completely self-made billionaire. He’s all about work ethic and integrity and he wants a family. He knows we’re too old to have children, so he loves the idea that I have you. I think he has visions of becoming a dad to you.”
The words slammed into Chloe on so many levels. First the idea that this obviously nice man wanted to be her dad filled her with wild possibilities that seemed as farfetched as plucking a star from the sky. Empathy for him followed quickly, since she knew how it felt to want exactly what he wanted. To be part of a family. A loving family.
She shook her head in disgust. “What’s going to happen when he figures out what this family is really like?”
“I don’t know! That’s why I
had
to get you here. To keep him from suspecting too soon.”
“Jesus.” Chloe shook her head and started for the front door. “I need some fresh air.”
“Wait!” Diane grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
“I have no idea.”
“Chloe, please, I need you to help me. I can’t afford for you to get mad and throw one of your little snits right now. Not in front of Harold.”
“Well, then,” Chloe smiled, “if that’s the case, I think it’s best for all of us if I go for a walk.”
With that, she turned and strode through the house and out the front door. Force of habit made her cross the street to the trolley stop. What she needed right then was her old haunt, the French Quarter.
Chapter 15
Chloe realized her mistake the minute she reached Jackson Square.
Subconsciously, she’d been heading for her uncle’s townhouse, the refuge of her youth. But the townhouse was empty. Scott was in Galveston with Allison and the children. Even if he were there, she wasn’t that little girl any more. She’d learned to sort things out on her own.
Hoping to calm the turmoil in her head, she entered the park. The gaiety of the French Quarter surrounded her on all sides, but the park itself offered a small reprieve. A group of children ran and tumbled over the grass under the watchful eyes of their parents. Hearing their laughter gave her a pang of homesickness for Pearl Island. Ignoring it, she started along the circular path, passing tourists on benches with cameras hanging from their necks and shopping bags at their feet. She wished she’d taken the time to go upstairs and grab her camera, since focusing her mind on taking pictures always helped settle her.
When she reached the tiered fountain before St. Louis Cathedral, she perched on the edge to trail her fingers in the cool water. Somewhere in the distance, she heard a sax player belting out the blues. The sound triggered a memory of Luc’s sketchpad and the drawings he’d done of Jackson Square. Glancing around, she saw reminders everywhere, from the statue of Andrew Jackson in the center of the park, to the horse drawn carriages lined up along Decatur Street.
A quick stab of regret hit deep, along with a sudden, intense urge to see him. For two days, she’d felt so comfortable with him, as if she’d finally found someone she could relax around. Someone she could trust.
She longed to feel that way again, but didn’t know if she could. What if he really had been leading her on so he could use her? Or worse, what if everything leading up to that moment on the pier had been real, and her chance of a future with Luc had gone flying into the cove along with his sketchpad?
With Luc foremost on her mind, she thought she was imagining things when she spotted a man who looked just like him walking down Charles Street, right in front of the cathedral. She froze, willing him to look her way so she could see his face, but terrified he’d do just that and spot her. He didn’t, though. He kept walking toward St. Ann Street, weaving his way through the crowd. In contrast to the fashion-conscious Luc who had visited Galveston, this guy wore a slightly rumpled short-sleeve shirt that hung open over a T-shirt and jeans. She tracked his movements in glimpses through the banana trees that lined the park, but lost him when he reached the corner, where the trees and shrubs grew denser.
Would he continue straight, or turn onto St. Ann?
If he turned, and if she hurried, she could make it to the park entrance on St. Ann just in time to “bump into” him.
Before she could change her mind, she rose and hurried toward the park entrance. Half her mind screamed at her to stop, while the other half assured her she wasn’t committing to anything. She just wanted to see if it really was him.
Reaching St. Ann, she peeked through the vegetation and rails of wrought iron. Her heart skipped when she spotted him. Dang it, though, she still couldn’t see his face. He’d stopped to talk to one of the street vendors, an older woman who sat at an easel.
The woman looked up and broke into a broad smile when she saw him. A sense of recognition tickled Chloe’s mind. Wasn’t that the woman she’d seen in Luc’s sketchpad? His grandmother? The drawing had depicted her wearing the clichéd paisley scarf of a fortuneteller. Without the scarf, her gray hair sprang out in curls about her soft features. This woman simply looked like a grandmother, albeit a rather cool grandmother, in her colorful, oversized top and playful jewelry.
Luc had been right. Mawmaw didn’t suit this woman. She had a flare that better fit being called Mémère.
But what was she doing sitting on St. Ann Street? Luc had said she’d stopped telling fortunes when she lost the necklace. Had she joined the artists in Jackson Square, instead?
The guy who looked like Luc held out a small paper bag he’d been carrying. Food? Chloe wondered as the woman took it. The woman opened the bag and pulled out several colored pencils. Art supplies, Chloe realized. Luc—she was fairly certain it was him—had taken time out of his day to buy art supplies for his grandmother.
Watching them, she saw concern wash over the woman’s face. The words,
How are you?
moved across her lips, spoken in earnest. Luc nodded as he answered, the way people do when they say they’re okay even though they’re not. His grandmother said something clearly meant to reassure. She had the demeanor of a nurturer, a woman who listened without judgment and loved her grandson without condition.
Chloe’s eyes stung. How would it feel to have a grandmother like that?
Oh Luc, you’re so lucky,
she thought.
Suddenly he straightened, as if something, a sound perhaps, had caught his attention. He glanced around at the tourists, the artists, the street musicians. Chloe shrank back to partially shield herself behind a banana tree. Fortunately, he didn’t turn enough to see her. His grandmother frowned up at him and asked a question.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Luc shook his head.
His grandmother cocked a brow and glanced around. Her gaze brushed over Chloe, hesitating for the barest fraction of a second before moving on. Returning her attention to Luc, the woman motioned toward the empty chair. Luc shook his head, but she pointed at the chair more emphatically. With a sigh, Luc sat and his grandmother picked up a pencil to draw him.
Chloe’s curiosity grew. So many emotions shifted over the woman’s face as she drew: sympathy, sorrow, encouragement. What was Luc telling her?
Finally, Luc rose and stood beside his grandmother so he could see what she’d drawn. He nodded as if saying
not bad
, then pointed out something she could have done better.
Laughing, she swatted at him.
He laughed as well as he bent to kiss her cheek. Straightening, he checked his watch. He needed to go. This time his grandmother let him, but her gaze followed, filled with concern.
When Chloe was sure he’d moved on, she stepped from her hiding place. Strolling as casually as she could past the artists, she turned to see the drawing on the woman’s easel. She didn’t know what to expect, a caricature or a more serious drawing, but she caught her breath at the color portrait of Luc looking straight at her. His grandmother had captured his face with a few talented strokes. He wore a look of bemused patience, but sadness lined the edges of his eyes.
That sadness hadn’t been there during the two days they’d spent together.
Had she caused it?
“He’s a handsome boy, isn’t he?” someone asked.
“What?” Chloe startled out of her thoughts.
Luc’s grandmother turned in her chair and smiled at her. “Handsome, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Chloe agreed. “Very. Didn’t he want the drawing?”
“Oh, my grandson has enough of my doodlings. But him? Now,
there’s
an artist, if you want to know the truth.” The grandmother beamed with pride, a hint of Cajun coloring her voice. “He’s blessed with a lot more talent than I have. He’s a good boy, though, to take time out of his busy day to sit for me.”