Carefully, he eased the car back, the heel of his palm on the horn. Blasting it. It was up to those cockroaches to move. Cursing, they scuttled back. Tom deftly wrenched the wheel to the left, spun the car around—thank God she handled so beautifully. He pulled out of the garage and wheeled into the streets of Paris. Heading home. Heading to his father.

“They should all be there by now,” Judy said. “Do you want to head out?”

Pierre looked at his watch. “No—Sophie will be coming from London. I will wait until this afternoon, when all are assembled. It is better to deal with them together. For now, we can just stay here.”

“Right.” Judy twisted her fingers.

“You want to say something?”

“It’s just that ... at the press conference ... I didn’t expect you to say that about Sophie . . . that you loved her.” Judy looked at him anxiously. “You love me . . . right? You’re going to marry me . . . get a divorce?”

“Of course I am.” He came over, gently raised her hand to his lips. “My Judy, who loved me all the time.”

“Then why did you say that?”

He released her hand. The questioning was not good; he frowned, lightly, to watch her expression change. Like all women, she had to be kept on a tight leash.

“I need a year or so, Judy. I intend to break her. To ruin her. She must lose everything. First, that bastard Montfort. I want him to know I’m fucking his wife.” A cruel smile. “A man like him will never touch her after that. She needs to be punished. Broken, mentally. Then I will divorce her in disgrace, and you will be the chatelaine.”

“Your mother . . . won’t like that. Nor your son,” Judy dared to say.

Pierre shrugged. “You know me, beloved. I make the decisions. I am the head of this family. Everybody will learn to respect it.” He smiled. “And in the meantime, we will have each other. You will found your own PR firm, and Massot will give you contracts that will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams, as the Americans say. You have waited this long, Judy. Can you wait some more?”

She nodded.

Two years, he thought, two years, and then a tragic boating accident on the Seine. As if he would ever marry a whore!

“Good girl.” His fingers splayed, and stroked her rib cage; he enjoyed her shiver. “Just to show you how much you mean to me, you will accompany me to the château. I will insist that the family accept you as my most trusted friend.”

“Sophie knows we were lovers; Tom, also . . .”

“A youthful indiscretion we both regret. But we intend to stay friends, so I introduce you. It will all be open and aboveboard; you will dine at the château with the family once a week.”