Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance, Natasha Boyd [e reader books .TXT] 📗

myself safe. There was no ignoring my throbbing heart that still gasped like a gutted fish in my chest. After I held Dauphine close, I’d need time to heal away from all this. Breathe, Josie.

“She loves you. So much.”

“I love her too.” I was going to crush her tiny body in the biggest hug when we had her safe. God, I hoped she was all right and not scared. The poor girl already had nightmares. My stomach swirled with rage at thinking of the asshole who had her, of how terrified she must be. I understood an inkling of how Xavier must be feeling. He must want to tear Michello limb from limb. It was a pity he was a legitimate businessman and not a gangster because I’m sure with his resources he could make somebody disappear. I took a deep breath. God, I wanted to hold him. Comfort him. Even after his brutal accusations today. The image of him curled up, his head in my lap, in a rare moment of vulnerability flashed through my mind, and I blinked back the burn of more tears.

“And my son? Do you love him?”

I jerked, my deep inhale interrupted.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean … to shock you.”

My head shook with a will of its own, but I couldn’t answer.

Her hand squeezed mine.

I blew out the long, slow, steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“He deserves to find love again.”

I closed my eyes against the burn of tears and nodded. “He does.”

“You must forgive him. He is not easy. He was always a wary child. His father … and myself, if I am honest … we did not show him the best example of love. It was … how do you say?” She pursed her lips. “It was … currency? We used love, and Xavier’s love, against each other.”

I winced internally and nodded in understanding at the way she gave her explanation as a question, due to the language insecurity. But I turned her explanation over in my mind.

If Xavier didn’t feel worth loving … if he didn’t think he had emotional value, or wasn’t worth investing in, or being a risk worth taking … or worse, if he didn’t feel he was worth living for, then yes, perhaps that was how he saw it. Maybe even the way he gave it. “I agree he thinks he doesn’t deserve love.”

“He blames himself for Arriette.” Madame’s patrician profile was silhouetted as we sped along the highway, streetlights glowing amber, casting her in sharp relief.

“Yes,” I agreed, and after a brief hesitation, added, “I got the impression from him you did not approve of her.”

“I should have been better about accepting Arriette when she was alive. I always thought he was too good for her. Perhaps a mother’s pride. But in the end I was right. He had to fight that battle alone. He didn’t feel he had my support when things got bad. And of course when she died he probably thought I was saying … I told you so …” She shook her head.

“Have—have you told him your regrets?”

“Not in so many words. Besides, their union produced Dauphine.”

“I think he probably needs to hear it. Maybe not the part about where you think you were right. I think he already knows that.”

She gave a humorless laugh, then sighed. “I have not been the best mother. And with the terrible example his own parents set, it’s no wonder he chose poorly.”

My chest squeezed. “He loves you. And no one is perfect. We all do the best we can,” I soothed. And suddenly I ached for my own mom. She’d said similar things to me growing up when she and I had crossed wires, about how she was just doing the best she could. And she did. I never doubted her devotion. Even when she chose Nicholas De La Costa as my stepfather.

Madame patted my knee. “Yes. I hope you will remember your own words of wisdom when you and Xavier are working out your differences. When this is all over and my granddaughter is safe. We all do the best we can.”

I narrowed my eyes at her emotional outmaneuvering, but she pretended not to notice. “He accused me of being involved in what happened today,” I said instead.

Her inhale was sharp. “Non.”

“Oui,” I responded.

She flicked her hand through the air. “Ridiculous!”

“Oui,” I repeated, waiting for the inevitable question of why he might have thought that with a hint of suspicion. None came. Instead she said, “He is looking for an excuse to set you away from his heart. And that tells me all I need to know.”

She picked up my hand in hers again. “After we have Dauphine back in our arms, please … please give him a chance. Love is … true and real. And deep love is … so rare. I am only just discovering it myself. I saw the way my son looked at you yesterday when he thought none of us would notice and,” she caught my eyes and held them, “and the way you looked at him. You have been … healing for him. For Dauphine. Real love from the right person will do that.”

Thinking of all that had passed between Xavier and me, and how little time we’d really had to cement who we were to each other before a crisis showed me just how ill-built our connection had been, I steadied my voice. “Sometimes love doesn’t come fast enough. And sometimes it’s not enough.”

“And sometimes love is all it takes.” She winked cheekily, even while her shoulders were still tense with fear. Neither of us let go of each other’s hand.

The car left the highway and a roundabout put us on a two-lane road. We sped up the hills and sharp turns in the failing light. It was almost nine p.m. Somewhere to the west the sun was about to set. Every few minutes Madame would silence her phone, unwilling to take a call and risk missing one