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

“Moi,” began Paco. “I used to captain for the older Monsieur et Madame Pascale. I have known Xavier since he was a boy.” He let out a gruff chuckle with a shake of his head. “I could tell some stories, but non. All I can say is I’m very grateful to the family. And it has been an honor to work with Xavier.” He paused, suddenly looking somber. “There is no finer man,” he finished and picked up his glass of sparkling water, staring at it as if he could see distant memories within it.

“Well.” Rod cleared his throat. “For me, let’s just say I was a rather naughty boy, got myself arrested a couple of times, and Evan who’s a mate of my older brother just pulled me aside one day and gave me a bit of a shake. ‘What you gon’ do with your life, Roddie,’ he says. Or something along those lines. Told me I needed to man up, like. He helped me get back on my feet and gave me a job. I’ll always be thankful Mister P trusted Evan enough to give me a fair shake. So, you could say I’m dedicated to never letting either of them down.”

I chewed my piece of salami, and then forked some salad as I turned to Chef.

Chef sat back with his arms folded. “Not sure when it became confessional lunch. But you may as well know. I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for six years and one month. I lost a restaurant, my wife, and custody of my son.” He glanced at Dauphine, and words seem to halt in his throat. I surmised he had a lot more to say but felt it was either too difficult or best for Dauphine not to hear. “Anyway, my restaurant was one of Mr. and Mrs. P’s favorites. When he heard what happened to me, he offered me a job if I could get myself cleaned up. He said the job was mine as long as I needed, and that anytime I was ready to start again with a new venture he’d …” Chef cleared his throat as if choking up, “… he said he’d back me. Not sure I’ll ever take him up on that. But for now, I’m happy here, talking to you sorry lot.” He raised his glass of water. “Cheers.”

I reached for my glass, a lump in my throat. “Cheers,” I said.

“Chin chin,” sang Dauphine.

“To Mister P,” added Rod and Andrea in sync.

We all took a sip.

Andrea stood. “Anyone need anything? I just have to run to the kitchen, I put another baguette in to warm up. Be right back.”

We all helped ourselves to seconds and thirds of the delicious salad and cold meats and cheeses. The baguette was warm, crunchy, and delicious, especially when slathered with a little lightly salted butter. I had far more of it than I should have been comfortable with but couldn’t bring myself to care.

A while later, after Paco had regaled us with a story about a run-in with some modern-day pirates early on in his boating career, he sat back with a pat of his belly and a satisfied smile. “Time for a nap.”

Dauphine let out a sound of disappointment.

“You want to watch a movie or something?” I asked her. “You don’t have to sleep, but maybe we should lie down for a bit until the food settles and the sun is not so strong.”

“You can set up a movie on the screen in the main salon,” said Andrea. “I’ll show you how everything works.”

I smiled. “Perfect.”

Everyone grabbed their plate and some glasses from the table, and we had everything cleared up in no time. Before long Dauphine and I were on the couch watching a singing Zac Efron, and it was only then I realized that Andrea hadn’t shared her story of how she came to work for Xavier Pascale.

If the stories at lunch were to be believed, every one of his employees had needed rescuing, so I had to assume Andrea’s story was a similar situation. So my new employer had a white knight complex. I supposed there were worse faults to have, I thought to myself wryly, irritated that I was finding more reasons to like than dislike him. A crush on a handsome man, I could get over quickly. A crush on a handsome and kind man … well kind was my kryptonite.

Dauphine lay on the sectional, her eyes drowsy, but glued to the movie. She’d pulled a cerise cashmere-looking throw over her bare legs.

“Be right back,” I whispered. The boat rocked gently beneath my feet as I stood.

The swimming and salt and sea air had tired her out.

I hoped they did the same for me come bedtime.

I caressed her hair and then got up and made my way to the galley to find Andrea and chat. Unfortunately, she was busy going through upcoming menus with Chef.

After making sure it was fine with Andrea that I leave Dauphine relaxing where she was, I retrieved my sketchbook and climbed to the top deck. I spent a blissful hour under the awning, sketching the houses built into the rock. Dauphine found me soon enough and was delighted that I knew how to draw. I tore a sheet out of my book, making a mental note to buy more paper when I could, and gave her a pencil. She drew a seascape, complete with a mermaid.

The sun was low, and the light hitting the villas and rocky outcrops as we gently swayed in the water made my heart twist in contentment. I found myself longing to explore the tiny villages. How close together were all those houses after all? Were all the alleys cobblestoned? Did little French ladies stand in front of their pale blue doors and sweep their stone steps and shoo the stray cats? Did they all walk home with fresh baguettes every day? How strange to have been plucked from my small Southern life I’d