Katherine Garbera - Claimed by the Millionaire

“We can discuss it the next time we’re in this situation,” he said, fairly confident that they’d never be in this situation again.

She shook her head, and he wondered if she regretted going with him last night. He watched her walk away, trying to make himself regret that he’d taken a nice young woman and put her in this situation, but he couldn’t. There was something about Sheri that drew him. For safety’s sake, he should back away, but he’d always lived for danger and this woman seemed like a challenge he could handle.

“An employee! Tristan, honestly, you’ve gone too far this time.”

“Rene, it’s not as it seems.”

“Good luck explaining that to the board.”

Tristan felt very much the wayward son as he leaned against the mantel in his father’s den. It was funny to him that, outside of this room, he was considered to be a forceful man. Inside, he was always keenly aware that he was his father’s son. And that he’d never lived up to the expectations Louis had for sons. Rene did it exceptionally well but he’d been the eldest and the expectations for him had been different than the expectations for Tristan, which were pretty much that he simply stayed out of trouble.

“This can’t continue,” his mother said.

“Maman, it’s not as if I seek out this kind of publicity.”

“We know that, Tris. But you have to admit your behavior is out of control,” Blanche said.

“Out of control? I’m trying to have a normal life.”

“We want you to settle down,” his father said. “That’s the only real solution to this problem. Until you do, the paparazzi aren’t going to lose interest in you.”

Tristan shrugged one shoulder. He wasn’t marrying again, something he’d promised to Cecile on her deathbed. Their relationship had been so intense, even in those last moments when he’d held her fragile body in his arms and watched her slowly slip away from him.

“The press have always been interested in our family,” he said.

“The rest of us don’t do anything that gives them a reason to photograph us,” Rene said.

“What are you getting at? I can’t control their actions.”

“That’s right, you can hardly control your own,” his father said.

“ Père, I’m grown. I don’t answer to you.”

“Do you answer to Ms. Donnelly?” Blanche quietly interjected into what would have been a very heated argument between him and his father.

“Why do you ask?” Protecting Sheri had been on his mind since she’d screamed outside the villa on Mykonos. He’d brought her here thinking that together the entire Sabina family could help him keep her out of the glare of the spotlight, but he realized now that he didn’t want to leave her in their care. Not that the option of doing that was open to him now.

“Because she’s not used to being followed by tabloid photographers, and she works for us.”

“Tristan, you slept with an employee ?” his mother asked.

“Enough. I’m not discussing my personal life with any of you.”

“This isn’t personal. It’s business.”

“How do you figure, Rene?”

“If it involves someone who works for the Sabina Group, that does involve us. She’s not some heiress used to the paparazzi and she would never have been exposed to them if not for Tristan,” Rene said.

“I agree. We’re going to have to do something. Maybe transfer her to the London office,” Louis said.

“We’re not transferring her anywhere. She’s always lived in Brooklyn and I don’t want her life disrupted,” Tristan said.

“It’s a little late for that,” Blanche said.

Everyone joined in the discussion on what should be done with Sheri and how Tristan should have shown more sense, and he shook his head. He was tempted to grab Sheri and leave. Just walk away from his family and his position at Sabina Group, but he liked the magazine he’d started. And he wasn’t a quitter. Never had been, even when the odds were stacked against him.

So he pushed away from the fireplace and waited until everyone stopped talking at once.

“Sheri isn’t your concern, Rene.”

“How do you figure?”

“She’s my fiancée, so I’ll be the one to look after her.” The words came out of nowhere and stunned everyone into silence. He heard his mother gasp, and Blanche’s expression—a cross between disbelief and shock—was comical.

“Fiancée? You’re going to marry this girl?”

He felt trapped by circumstances and his own desires. He wanted Sheri and wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. But he knew he had to do something to protect her from the tabloid press. As his fiancée, she’d be in the society pages for the right reasons.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought of the last time he’d told his family he was getting married. Cecile had been standing at his side, but otherwise the stunned disbelief of his family was exactly the same.

He tried to find the humor in it, but it was difficult. “Now that everything is settled about Mademoiselle Donnelly, I’m going to my townhome in Paris.”

“Everything isn’t settled, Tristan. Bring your fiancée in here so we can all toast the new couple,” Rene said.

“And I want to talk to her about planning a party,” Blanche said. “We can do it in conjunction with the launch of our summer fashion guide. I think that will be the best way to introduce her properly to the world at large and as one of us, don’t you think?”

Tristan shook his head. “She doesn’t have time to plan a party. She’s my assistant.”

“Nonsense, Tris, she’s your fiancée now, that takes precedence.”

“No, Blanche, it doesn’t. You and Maman can plan a party for us if you want to, but Sheri will continue working for me.”

“Why?”

“Because that is her desire. That’s the reason we’ve kept our engagement secret all this time.”

Eight

Sheri had changed into a red-and-white maillot and a wraparound sarong. She sat in the dappled sunlight that filtered into the glass-enclosed pool. There was a sense of peace that reminded her of the quietness of her own small backyard garden in Brooklyn, although the indoor pool was heavily landscaped and looked like paradise, while her own garden was little more than a few fruit trees, bare now that it was the middle of February.

Aunt Millie had been a big believer that being outside could soothe the soul as nothing else could. When Sheri had been upset by her father once again missing a birthday or scheduled visit, Aunt Millie would lead her to the backyard and tell her stories of fairy princesses who lived in the garden under Sheri’s bedroom window.

She closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind to her aunt. She wished she could feel Millie’s arms around her once again. She was so tired of being alone. Of facing every situation on her own.

She heard the sound of footsteps and glanced over her shoulder as Tristan approached. He looked grim, and she wondered if the paparazzi had followed them and were now camped out on his parents’ doorstep.

She stood up. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Sit down.”

She sank back down onto the lounge chair. It was thickly cushioned, probably more comfortable than the old mattress she slept on at home.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve decided the best way to handle the paparazzi is to take charge of the situation.”

She liked the sound of that. “Good. Running away seems cowardly to me.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You never fail to amaze me,” he said, and for once that arrogant tone she associated with him wasn’t there.

“How am I doing that?” She usually glided through life being dependable or invisible. Which, she realized, was why the photographers had shaken her. She’d never stood out from the people she worked with or dealt with on a daily basis. How could she handle the attention of the world?