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

“Fine. Go on.” I settled back.

“So all these company executives and highway patrol come out, coz, you know, the damn rig has blocked the tunnel completely, like, really wedged in there. They organize a towing situation, but there’s just not enough strength to get it out. It doesn’t budge. They call the engineers, and the engineers talk about removing pieces of the tunnel ceiling. But that could cause a lot of structural damage and mean a lot of rebuilding. And at this point, the mayor of the local town is out scratching his head because this situation has blocked the road in and out of his town. People are upset.”

“Did you smoke something?”

“Shh. Someone says let’s get the blow torch in here and cut the roof of the truck off, and everyone thinks that’s a great idea. But then someone mentions sparks, and people worry the whole thing could explode. So of course, then it’s really getting out of hand because someone else is all ‘let’s blow up the mountain,’ you know?”

“Is there a point here?”

“Hush. So with all this going on there’s a bit of a traffic jam. And word is starting to travel down the lanes that there’s a truck wedged into the tunnel and no way to get it out. We all have to turn around and go home because they are going to blow up the mountain and we’ll be stuck in our town, cut off, isolated for years with no supplies until they can rebuild the tunnel.”

“Meredith,” I growled.

“Patience, grasshopper. So then this little kid—”

“Don’t tell me. Fifth grade?”

“Sure. So this fifth-grader timidly raises her hand. But of course, no one’s paying attention. She’s small, and her voice is small, and all the grown-ups are emotional and panicked and basically having an existential crisis. The mayor is crying about the loss to the town, the engineers that they’ll have to destroy everything they built, the trucking company about losing a truck. So the little girl talks louder, and eventually, goes right up to the head of the trucking company whose truck is wedged in the tunnel.” Meredith winked. “I mean, it’s really wedged in there, and we’re only talking a difference of six inches here. Maybe seven? And that truck could get loose.”

“Oh my God, only you could make this story sexual.” I rolled my eyes.

“Symbolic, not sexual. Anyway,” she exaggerated. “So the little girl gathers her courage and her loudest voice and marches up to the people in charge. The ones who are the actual decision makers. And she says ‘Excusez-moi?’ She’s French. Like Dauphine. This is a French town. Did I tell you that?”

“Meredith.”

“So she says, ‘Excusez-moi? But why don’t you just let the air out of the tires?’ Everyone grows quiet and the mayor laughs and says, ‘Yeah, we tried that.’ And he looks to the engineers who look to the trucking company, who, in turn, look at the driver of the truck. The driver shakes his head a bit sheepishly. Actually, no one has tried that, it seems. So they all frown at the child. I mean, it’s a little girl offering an opinion, you know? And all these important blustery men aren’t used to that. I mean, Lord, give me the confidence of a mediocre white man, amirite? But they’re desperate, so they try it. And lo, wouldn’t you know?”

“It works.”

Meredith nodded. “It works. They tow the truck free and everyone celebrates, and everyone loves everyone, and the mayor, let’s call him Javier Rascale, falls in love with the mother. She’s called Mosie. And the little girl, her name is—”

“I get it.”

“Right, well, and everyone lives happily ever after.” Meredith frowned. “Well, mostly everyone. The engineers, of course, go home and realize they’re not actually that smart, and they all get super depressed. But everyone else is happy.”

I pursed my lips, fighting a smile.

“The point is,” Meredith said. “The grown-ups are making this complicated. And really it’s quite simple.”

Letting out a long sigh, I let my head fall back to the headboard to stare at the nineteenth century carved molding. “How does the little girl get the mayor to listen to reason?”

“I don’t know.”

“This was super helpful,” I deadpanned. “Thank you.”

She squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome.”

But Meredith had made me sort-of smile, and that was something.

“Can you look up what belle-mère means?” I asked her, spelling it out while she typed it into her phone.

“Stepmother. Did Dauphine ask you to be her stepmother?”

I nodded, mute, my eyes filling.

“It actually means beautiful mother. Trust the French to fully romanticize a replacement mother. My idea of a stepmother is Cruella De Ville.”

“Same with my stepfather.” I picked at a stray thread on my pillow. “Although he wasn’t exactly cruel, not to me. Just a money grubber.”

“Maybe it’s different when one parent dies as opposed to one of them having an affair.”

“Maybe.” I lifted a shoulder. Then I shivered. “The way he looked at me when he took her tablet. I feel guilty all of a sudden, even though Dauphine called me, and not the other way around. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her back.”

Meredith brought her knee up and rested her cheek on it, looking at me sideways. “It sounds like you have a good relationship with her. You guys are friends. If you hadn’t called back when she was obviously upset, that would have been cruel.”

I sighed. “You’re right.”

Suddenly my phone rang again. Another unknown number. Both Meredith and I stared at it.

“Answer it or no?” I asked quickly.

“Answer it!” Meredith practically shrieked.

I stabbed the accept button. At least it was a voice call and not a video call.

“Josephine?” Xavier’s deep voice rumbled.

Meredith slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

I flapped my hand.

“What?” Meredith whispered at my gesture. “What does that mean?”

I covered the phone. “I don’t know. Leave?”

“I’m leaving,” she said, then stopped and pointed at me. “But you are telling me everything.”

“Go,” I mouthed.

“Going,” she mouthed in response, backing to the door.

“Josephine?” Xavier said again with