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

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you haven’t even mentioned your boss.”

I licked my lips. “What about him?”

“Josephine.”

“Mother,” I shot back.

She let out a sigh. “I’ve seen pictures of him, you know?”

“I’m—it’s going to be okay.” I dismissed her mention of him. “It’s fine to think of this as an extended vacation, all right? That’s what it is. I’m not throwing in my degree to become a professional nanny.”

“Okay. I just miss you.” Her voice wobbled.

I squeezed my eyes closed. “I miss you, too. Hey. Can you wrap your arms around yourself and squeeze? That’s me hugging you. Everything’s going to be all right. Listen, I have to go. I love you.”

We said goodbye and hung up. I stared at the phone. I didn’t need to go anywhere, but talking to my mom hadn’t made me feel better at all.

An hour later, Andrea texted me that I would eat early with the crew and Dauphine would eat alone with Monsieur Pascale. I couldn’t help the horrid feeling in my belly that I’d done something terribly wrong. But what?

The next day, it happened again for both lunch and dinner. Feeling mildly betrayed, I was torn between relief and disappointment. They played board games on the upper deck and went swimming, and he barely glanced in my direction. When I woke in the night and crept up to the top deck, I was equal parts relieved and disappointed not to find him there. Every morning, I felt crabbier and more tired.

Xavier had business on shore and he was back and forth. On one of the days, it was my day off, so I hitched a ride with him and Evan to shore while Dauphine stayed with Andrea. We were in a small town near Marseille, and as much as I’d looked forward to moments like this, I felt overwhelmed wandering around all day by myself in a strange town. The museum I’d read about online was closed and nowhere had good Wi-Fi, so I couldn’t even check in with home or check my email to see if I’d heard back from any of the jobs I’d applied for. I sat awkwardly by myself at a little café and ordered a citron pressé, which wasn’t as good as the one Xavier had ordered me because it came with packets of sugar that didn’t dissolve instead of the simple syrup. The baguette sandwich came with anchovies on it, which permeated the entire experience even though I picked them off. And weirdly, I missed Dauphine and wondered why I hadn’t just invited her along even though it was my day off. Security, I reminded myself. That was why.

I met up with Xavier and Evan at the quay. Xavier was on the phone, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his tan pants and his linen shirt tails carelessly rumpled. Against the backdrop of the Mediterranean, he still looked like a million dollars. He nodded in my direction.

“Have a good time?” Evan asked, and I tore my gaze away. Luckily, I was wearing sunglasses.

I shrugged and followed him toward the tender. “It was all right. There’s not much to do here. But it was nice to stretch my legs and walk more than fifty feet in one direction.”

He grinned and stepped into the shallow boat, turning to help me in. “I’ll bet.”

“I was disappointed not to see the museum though. It was closed. I read they have an exhibit of the Huguenot expulsion since Marseille was one of the ports many fled from.”

“Do you know where your father’s ancestors left from?” Xavier suddenly asked from behind me, clearly having caught up with us and our conversation.

“Um.” I shifted over on the bench to give him room. “The south, probably Marseille. But I’m not sure.”

“I apologize. I should have told you there is a Huguenot Memorial on Ile Saint Marguerite.”

“Where we just were a few days ago?” I asked, dismay lacing my tone. I quickly schooled my features and hoped I hadn’t come off as annoyed. This was not my vacation after all. But I was annoyed. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I asked myself why I was still working for a man who didn’t even like me half the time. But then I thought of Dauphine. She’d told me she loved me when I was putting her to bed the other night. And I surprised myself my returning the sentiment.

“What was all that Huguenot stuff about anyway?” asked Evan. “Wasn’t much for history in school.”

“People being persecuted for being protestant, so hundreds of thousands fled the country,” I supplied as he steered the vessel past the quay and toward our huge floating home.

“So you’re technically protestant,” Evan mused, eyeing me. “And Xavier here is Catholic. Interesting. Destined to be at odds.”

I kicked Evan’s shin, acting like I was being playful, while inside I was asking what the hell? “And what are you?” I asked Evan, trying to brush over the weird vibe.

“Thirsty. Hey, the crew is all going out when we get to St Tropez. You should come with us.”

I glanced at my employer, who was staring very hard at his phone. “Sure,” I said. “That’d be fun. As long as Dauphine doesn’t need me.”

“She’ll be seeing her grandmother for a bit,” Xavier responded, letting us know he had, indeed, been listening.

“Oh,” I responded. Surprised. “How long for?” What was I supposed to do when I wasn’t watching Dauphine?

“I’m not sure yet. Evan?” He turned his head toward his bodyguard. “When are we due in St. Tropez?”

“Day after next. Why?”

He switched to French, and they spoke so rapidly that between that and the sound of the tender motor, I let their conversation go and drifted into feeling the sun and wind on my face. Turning toward the elements, I breathed in deeply.

I didn’t understand why my mere presence had suddenly made Xavier act so damn uptight. He’d so very thoughtfully bought me