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

“Lavender honey.” Xavier’s voice was gruff. Then he bought three baguettes, two rounds of cheese, and two pots of honey before Dauphine managed to get us moving again.

I seriously hoped he was going to share his bounty with me. That was why he bought it right?

Around us people shouted out greetings and hummed with oohs and aahs, and others called out for separated friends and family members. There were colors everywhere you looked. Smells ran from melting cheese, to fish, to rotisserie chickens and fresh herbs and spices. Under foot, the uneven cobblestone streets were cast in multicolored shade from the sun beating through the awnings.

I’d never been a big social media user, but suddenly I wanted to take pictures and post everything I saw. But none of the pictures would capture the sounds and smells and the utter feast for the senses. I was in awe, and only when I looked over my shoulder and saw Xavier Pascale still following us, keeping pace, his hands stuffed stoically in his pockets, did I become self-conscious enough to realize how like a gawking tourist I must look and snapped my mouth shut.

Dauphine dragged me to several stalls where even I had to admit the dresses were gorgeous. I bought a couple of linen summer dresses at Dauphine’s urging, one in white and one in black, as well as a jade green halter neck bikini. “I’ve never bought a swimsuit without trying it on.” I grimaced, wishing at least Meredith were here to give me advice. Even Andrea. The sizes made no sense, so I held a bikini top up and fitted the strap around my chest. Dauphine grabbed the sales lady’s hand to get her attention and garbled something to her. The no nonsense sales lady gave me a look up and down, then suddenly grabbed my boobs in her hands, letting go before I could even gasp in shock. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and whipped me around side to side and back to face her. Heat plumed along my chest and cheeks. She muttered something, sounding irritated or unimpressed, and then grabbed my hips and waist.

Dauphine giggled, her small hand covering her mouth.

“What just happened?” I managed.

“She measured you.”

“With her hands?” I whisper-squeaked.

Mr. Pascale stood loitering, dark glasses still on and phone in his free hand. For a moment I thought he hadn’t seen until I saw him sucking in his cheeks, trying really hard not to laugh.

Before I could process whether he was actually laughing at me or something on his phone, since I couldn’t see his eyes, the woman was back. She twisted me around again and nodded.

“Um,” I tried, my eyebrows practically in my hairline.

“Bon,” she said and ripped the original bikini out of my hands, replacing it with another the same color.

“You needed a bigger size, she said,” Dauphine told me.

“Uh, okay.”

The woman rattled off something else.

“She says it’s eighty euros for the dresses and the bikini, but I think you can offer her fifty.”

“Wait. Really?”

Dauphine shrugged. “I think it is okay. Papa always says they charge more to Americans.”

I reached into my small cross body purse to get some cash and timidly handed the woman a fifty euro note. She snatched it out of my hand and then said something terse to Dauphine.

“Okay, she said she’d take sixty. Do you have ten more?”

I dug around and found a twenty. “Here,” I told the woman, feeling bad. “Make it seventy.”

“Bon,” she snapped and took it, looking less than impressed with my bargaining, even though it was in her favor. Then she was off helping someone else.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered under my breath, feeling like I’d just been in some kind of battle where I’d also been violated. “Not sure that was worth the discount,” I told Dauphine. “She wasn’t very friendly.”

“They never are,” Mr. Pascale’s voice cut in. “They do six market mornings a week, traveling every day. I think they gave up being charming a long time ago.”

I looked up at his profile but couldn’t get a read on his face with his mouth set so sternly.

“Come,” he said with a shrug. “Let us go and find a cafe. I have to make some phone calls, and it is too noisy here.”

“Uh, thank you Mr. Pascale, for letting us stop to shop. Sorry it took so long.”

He waved me off and took Dauphine’s hand. “If it means you have a proper swimsuit and I don’t have to worry about Rod making inappropriate comments, then it is nothing.” His neck flushed. “And call me Xavier, please. Mr. Pascale is my father.” He strode ahead.

I let out a breath and followed them, feeling again as if I’d just been reprimanded for the Rod thing. I hung back as Dauphine pointed out things here and there, and Xavier pulled out his wallet again and bought her a pink summer dress, a set of sparkling scrunchies, and some beaded bracelets. I admired everything I passed but didn’t dare stop to admire too long in case I lost sight of the two of them or got caught up with another scary sales lady. My earlier awe for the market had morphed into a bit of sensory overload.

Finally, they took a right turn out of the market and down a side street. We approached a super cute street cafe with small wooden tables spilling onto the sidewalk. A trellis wound with some kind of flowering plant, and there were bright tangerine-colored umbrellas. There was a single table with two seats available and Xavier pointed Dauphine toward it before speaking briefly with a nearby table and stealing an extra seat. In seconds, we were all closely seated.

“What did you think of the market, Josie?” Dauphine asked.

“It’s amazing.”

“You see? Je l’ai dit, non? I told her, Papa. She did not believe me.”

Xavier gave a small smile, and I wished I could see his eyes. “Is that right?”

I lifted a shoulder, then