Bron, Juliet, Sally and Wanda,
you know this book would not have happened without you. Thanks, ladies, for keeping me on the road.
MJ, thanks for the spark that gave me Franco.
âMust you marry every woman you sleep with?â Franco Constantine demanded of his father. Furious, he paced the salon of the family chateau outside Avignon, France. âThis one is younger than me.â
His father shrugged and smiledâthe smile of a besotted old fool. âIâm in love.â
âNo, Papa, youâre in lust. Again. We cannot afford another one of your expensive divorce settlements. Our cash reserves are tied up in expanding Midas Chocolates. For Godâs sake, if you refuse to have a prenuptial agreement, then at least sign everything over to me before you marry her and jeopardize our business and the family properties with mistake number five.â
Armand shook his head. âAngeline is not a mistake. She is a blessing.â
Franco had met the misnamed harpy at lunch. She was no angel. But he knew from past experience his father would not listen when a woman had him transfixed. âI disagree.â
Armand rested a hand on Francoâs shoulder. âI hate to see you so bitter, Franco. Granted, your ex-wife was a selfish bitch, but not all women are.â
âYouâre wrong. Women are duplicitous and mercenary creatures. There is nothing I want from one that I cannot buy.â
âIf youâd stop dating spoiled rich women and find someone with traditional values like Angeline, youâd find a woman who would love you for yourself and not your money.â
âWrong. And if your paramour loves you and not your wealth, sheâll stick by you once youâve divested yourself, and I wonât have to borrow against our estate again, close stores or lay off workers when your ardor cools and her lawyers start circling.â
âIf you want to control the Constantine holdings so badly, then marry.â
âI wonât endanger the family assets by marrying again.â
âAnd what of an heir? Someone to inherit all this when you and I are gone?â Armandâs sweeping gesture encompassed the chateau which had been in the family for hundreds of years.
Something in his fatherâs tone raised the hackles on the back of Francoâs neck. âIs Angeline pregnant?â
âNo. But son, you are thirty-eight. I should be bouncing grandbabies on my knee by now. Since youâre not willing to provide heirs to our estate then I think perhaps I should. Angeline is only thirty. I could have several more sons and daughters by her before I die.â
âYou canât be serious. Youâre seventy-five.â
His father speared him with a hard glance. âIf you marry before my September wedding, Iâll sign everything over to you. If you do not â¦â He extended his arms and shrugged. âIâll take matters into my own hands.â
Franco could easily find a woman to marry. Any number of his acquaintances would agree, but the stench of his ex-wifeâs betrayal still clung to him. Heâd been a young love-struck fool, blind to Lisetteâs faults and her treachery. He would never let a woman dupe him like that again. Marriage was out of the question.
He stood toe to toe with his father. âIf I find one of these mythical paragons and prove sheâs just as greedy as the rest of her sex, then you will sign the Constantine properties over to me without a parody of a marriage on my part.â
âProve it how exactly?â