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“I guess I’m going to have to feed you before you cave in,” chuckled Zack and, reaching inside her jacket, placed his hand over her stomach just below her breasts. Camille came to an abrupt halt when his fingers moved against the silkiness of her shirt. His other arm was draped across her shoulders and, as they stopped walking, he drew her closer against him. “If we weren’t in such a public place, I’d touch you in other places, Camille. You tempt me sorely.” He whispered the words against her ear and kissed it lightly before removing his hand and propelling her the rest of the way to the car. She crumpled into the front seat. Her legs had seemingly turned to gelatin.
Zack had chosen The Side Track restaurant for them to take dinner in. It was an old converted railroad building sitting virtually on the train tracks. They enjoyed a sumptuous meal of steaks and baked potatoes after an appetizer of fried zucchini sprinkled with seasonings and grated parmesan cheese. Zack ordered a bottle of wine with dinner, and Camille was feeling a warm glow from the food, the wine, and the man—her husband—across the table from her. He talked her into an ice cream dessert with liqueur and almonds on top of it.
“I won’t be able to get into my new clothes if I eat like this all the time,” she exclaimed as the aproned waiter set the concoction before her.
Zack smiled at her warmly as he leaned back negligently in his chair and sipped his coffee. She returned his smile then said slowly, “Zack, I want to thank you for the clothes. They’re lovely. You shouldn’t—”
“Camille, you’re my wife now. You obtained that title in an unorthodox manner, I’ll grant you, but you are just the same. Any material thing I have belongs to you now. I want you to remember that and take advantage of it.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. He lowered his voice as his azure eyes searched her face in the candlelight. “Camille, I want you to know—”
“Since when do you take the hired help out on the town, Zack?”
Camille and Zack turned at the same time to see Erica Hazelett standing next to the table. They had been so engrossed in each other, they hadn’t seen her come in. She stood beside them in her model’s pose, dressed in a soft jersey dress of blue that caressed her slim frame and made her ice-blue eyes seem even more frigid. She lay a possessive hand on Zack’s shoulder, and Camille bristled with anger. Hired help indeed!
“Hello, Erica.” Zack didn’t stand up for her but looked up into her face, which, in the reflected candlelight, was beautiful. Camille watched the two of them with a sinking heart. Why did she have to show up here and now, reminding Zack of how he had been forced to marry someone he felt only contempt for when this was the woman he truly loved? And what had he been about to say when Erica interrupted? She was always making an appearance at the wrong time.
“You’ve met Camille, I believe,” Zack said while Erica’s hand moved across his shoulders in leisurely exploration.
“Yes. Hi, Camille,” she said a shade ungraciously.
“Erica,” Camille returned.
Just then an average-looking middle-aged man joined Erica, and she introduced hi
m as a business associate of her late husband’s who was in Natchez to consult with her on some business-related matters. Camille didn’t catch all of his name, for Erica made the obligatory introductions with blatant disinterest in her escort.
“You haven’t answered my question, Zack. Since when do you take your employees out to dinner?” Erica’s beauty was marred as her mouth curled into a sneer when she looked at Camille.
“Camille is no longer just our decorator, Erica. She’s my wife. We were married this afternoon.” Zack’s tone was expressionless, and Camille felt a momentary pang of pity for him. It must be terrible to be stuck with an unwanted wife and forced to present her to the woman you loved.
Erica’s eyes turned even colder as they glinted in the candlelight. “You must be joking,” she scoffed.
“No. I’m not joking,” Zack snapped.
Erica removed her hand from Zack’s shoulder as if it had been burned. Then she turned her icy eyes on Camille, eyes full of pure hatred. Camille could almost feel the pinpoints of light that were Erica’s eyes stab into her flesh, and she hated herself for cringing under the malevolent stare.
Erica whipped her face back to Zack and asked him harshly, “What happened? Were you careless and got her pregnant?”
Camille uttered a small cry of indignation and protest as she stood, grabbing her purse and coat. To her surprise Zack stood and came around the table to take her arm. They brushed past the other couple, Erica’s escort viewing the entire scene with awe, his mouth slack in shock at Erica’s incredibly bad manners and lack of decorum.
They hurried past, but Erica grabbed Zack’s elbow and spun him around to face her. Since he had such a firm grip on Camille’s arm, she had no choice but to stop as well.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Zack? I know you didn’t marry her for love because you love me. Does this change anything between us? Do you still feel the same way toward me?” Erica’s voice was hard, but Camille noted a pleading quality in it, too.
Zack stood looking at her for long moments while Camille prayed she would die on the spot and not have to hear his answer. Finally he said, “No, Erica, this doesn’t change in the least the way I feel about you.” Then he turned abruptly and practically dragged Camille to his car.
Her emotions were shattered. Her heart and pride lay in tatters somewhere in the depths of her being. A crushing weight was pressing tightly on her lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. She had stood by while her husband of a few hours had all but declared his love for another woman. Why hadn’t she stopped the ceremony this afternoon? Surely Rayburn wouldn’t prefer that his son and she, whom she knew Rayburn had come to have a high regard for, suffer in a loveless marriage. Why hadn’t Zack stopped the charade before it went any further? She would have been mortified, yes, but was this any better? Could she stand to be constantly humiliated knowing that her husband loved Erica Hazelett but had been all but forced to marry her?
The worst part of it was that she loved him. Every fiber of her being cried out to him to love her back, but she knew that to hope he might grow to love her was a futile wish. He would forever blame her for trapping him into a marriage he never would have wanted.
She raised a clenched fist to stifle the sobs that erupted out of her mouth as they drove through the darkened streets of Natchez toward Bridal Wreath. What awaited her there, at the hands of her new husband, she had no idea.
Ten
Camille tried unsuccessfully to tie the shoulder straps of her nightgown. Her fingers were trembling in such a way that the task proved to be nearly impossible. She was standing before a dressing table she had never seen, looking into a cheval glass that reflected a room she had never been in, belonging to a man who was an enigma to her.
When Zack had parked the car in the garage of Bridal Wreath, he turned to her and said unemotionally, “Dearly and Simon are very excited about all of this. They’ve come to like you, consider you a member of the family. They know nothing of what my father learned about. To them we are a happy, loving couple who have restrained our love and now can share it openly. Let’s not disappoint them. Keep up the act.”
He ushered her into the house where Dearly and Simon greeted them with warm and hearty congratulations. Camille hated deceiving them, hated deceiving everyone, but she, like Zack, was powerless to prevent this catalytic chain of events. The couple assured her that all of her things had been moved into Zack’s room, but she could rearrange them as she saw fit. Dearly was smiling sweetly at both her and Zack, and Simon’s dark eyes and white teeth were gleaming in his kind face. Impulsively Camille went to each of them and hugged them in turn. In their innocence of the true situation, she looked upon them as a lifeline to sanity and reality.
