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

a series of relieved and excited whispers in French and more tears caused the noise level to grow. Dauphine stirred, her forehead creasing.

Xavier shushed her and inclined his head for the stairs.

I bounded quietly ahead of him and headed for Dauphine’s room but realized my mistake when Xavier headed for his own bedroom and then laid his daughter down gently on one side of his bed. Silly me. I should have realized he’d rather not let her out of his sight. Especially not knowing what she might have been through and if she’d wake up in the night. He wouldn’t want her to feel alone.

Working quietly alongside him, I unbuckled her sandals, noting her bare feet were dusty and dirty. The dress she’d worn was soft enough to sleep in, but I doubted she’d want to wake up in it and be reminded of her ordeal. Madame must have had the same thought because she appeared behind us with a pale green nighty with little mermaids on it.

Dauphine’s hair was tangled, and I’d have to help her brush it out in the morning. I smoothed it back before kissing her forehead gently, tears of relief burning the back of my eyes.

“Was she hurt?” I whispered to him, terrified of the answer.

He paused and met my eyes. So much seemed to flash through his—pain, yearning, apologies, and things I couldn’t decipher that looked like someone who’d stared into the abyss of hell and made it out by the grace of God. Then he shook his head and went back to his task.

My breath released with gusty relief.

Stepping back and melting toward the doorway, I left Xavier and his mother tucking Dauphine in.

In the blue and white room that was supposed to be mine, I closed the door and let out a bone weary sigh. In the ensuite bathroom, simply and beautifully appointed in white marble and blue Moroccan tile, I stared at my reflection.

What a day. My hair had almost dried in its bun. My skin looked pale and blotchy despite the tan I knew should be there, and my eyes looked puffy and exhausted from crying. I opened the drawers in the vanity and found a small airline kit in the last one. Inside was a tiny toothbrush and toothpaste. Assuming it had been left here for an unprepared guest, I gratefully brushed my teeth and rinsed my face. I’d have to sleep in the t-shirt I’d thrown on in Corsica earlier today. It felt like a lifetime ago. Looking at my phone, I saw it was around three in the morning.

I wanted to sleep, but I was also wired and wanting to find out what had happened to Dauphine. Inside, I was torn. I knew Madame would probably have Xavier give her as much of a debrief as he could tonight, and I wanted to be there for it. But perhaps I should just leave them to be a family. I couldn’t shake the icy way he’d looked at me earlier today when he thought I was involved and the way he’d instantly assumed my guilt. Growing up, my dad always told me that how people behaved in a crisis was the true test of their character. Today had shown me that Xavier didn’t trust easily. Maybe not at all. It helped me understand why he was friends with the people he worked with. But also that he was a father before anything, and that was admirable. It was heroic, even. If only all the men of the world took their fatherly duties as seriously as Xavier, perhaps the world would feel safer.

My father had given up fatherhood through no fault of his own when he’d died suddenly. I had to acknowledge the part of me that for many years, irrationally, blamed him for leaving us. I felt betrayed. Let down. But mostly, I was angry at my father for not fighting harder to live. I’d spent several months reading everything I could find about people seeing the light and then turning back for another chance at life, convinced if only Daddy had told them how much he loved me that he’d have been allowed another chance.

Every night, I wept and argued with God. At one point, my twelve-year-old self, only a little older than Dauphine, had asked God whether if I’d been a better daughter, less willful and more loving and appreciative, if maybe, perhaps, Daddy wouldn’t have died. Then, of course, I’d gotten a stepfather who didn’t take his fatherly duties seriously at all, in fact had used us as a shield of respectability, leaving my mother and me almost destitute and our reputation in tatters.

No, Xavier’s distrust of everyone and everything for his daughter’s sake, even at my expense, only served to make me admire him more. Understand him more. Love him more.

He was the kind of man I’d choose to have a family with, I admitted to myself. And it had nothing to do with his means and everything to do with him.

Dammit. My eyes filled again, and I gripped the sink and squeezed my eyes closed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to come to France and leave my heart behind. Xavier and his daughter meant everything to me. Everything. I wanted them for my own. How could I leave them voluntarily?

I heard the soft voice of Madame and the rougher cadence of Xavier. They were probably discussing what had happened and how Dauphine had been found.

I could always find out tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I let down my hair with a sigh, brushing my fingers through it and then braiding it loosely.

Tomorrow I would hug that dear little mermaid, then I’d have to rescue my things and try to get home. I didn’t even know what day it was. Evan had mentioned something about flight availability later in the week. But then Madame had invited me to stay. God, I was so torn and so adrift.

There was a quiet knock on my door. My stomach