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

“He’s been hurt,” Chef went on. “He’s closed off. I know it because I … well, I recognize it. If he opens up to you, please take it for the gift it is and don’t take advantage.”

My eyebrows pressed together. “Of course.” I swallowed, feeling silly now I’d thought his concern was for me. And almost guilty, even though I’d done nothing wrong.

Chef sliced the ginger root. “You know that song ‘Graceland?’ By Paul Simon?”

“Vaguely.’’

He turned on the fancy coffee maker and set out a mug to fill with hot water.

He held up a bottle and inspected the label. “Honey?”

“Uh. Sure. Thank you.”

“Lavender honey.”

“Oh, I love that. I thought we were out.”

“I hid some. It’s from the farm next to Pascale’s estate. The place is famous for lavender. You should see it all in bloom. Bloody gorgeous. Anyway, you ever listened to the lyrics?” He dumped the chopped ginger and a generous spoonful of honey into a mug.

“To ‘Graceland’?”

“Yeah. It’s about this dad, a single dad, and his kid. On a road trip. And he says …” He looked up in thought. “Hmm. I’ll butcher it. Hot water’s ready.” He put the mug under the hot water spout and filled it. Then he gave it a stir, took out the spoon and put a saucer over the top. “Needs to steep. It says something like when you’ve lost love, it’s like everyone can see inside your heart and see that you’re blown apart.”

I swallowed, my throat thick.

“Anyway, it’s true,” Chef went on. “It feels like everyone can see your damage, so you brick that hole closed in whatever way you can, with whatever you can. And it’s not always a sound structure, if you know what I mean.”

“I—”

“Hey you,” Andrea said, hurrying up the stairs. “Just got the downstairs bedding out of the dryer and remade the beds.” Then she looked at me and back at Chef and back at me.

“He knows about Xavier,” I said. “You told him?”

“I had to, remember? You have a dinner date in Calvi tonight.”

“Oh yeah.” I grinned. “Sorry, my mind is a bit …”

“Mushy? I bet. That was some kiss.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” I tried to rein in my smile by biting down on my bottom lip. But there was a bubble of giddiness inside that wouldn’t be kept down.

Chef whistled and waved a hand as he tidied up his small work station.

“I have a few minutes,” Andrea said. “You want to go sit in the living room? Or we can go down to your old cabin. It’s actually better to be lower in the boat on days like this, the rocking isn’t so bad.”

Chef took the saucer off the top of the mug. Steam rose. “Have at it.”

‘Thank you so much,” I told him, accepting the mug gratefully.

“Just remember what I said, yeah? Be careful.”

“I will.”

I followed Andrea downstairs. My bags were back in my room. “You said my old cabin, and it gave me an odd feeling like it was assumed I’d be in Mr. Pascale’s room tonight.”

“Okay, two things,” Andrea said, flopping down on the edge of my bed. “One, yes, you probably will, oh my God. But I thought you might need your own space if you want it.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I know we’re new friends, but yeah, I feel the same way.”

“I miss Tabitha and Meredith. But having you here totally makes up for it. Except that you are bearing witness to my ex-boss’ booty call. Which is not ideal.”

“Nah. I already chatted with the crew. Paco will stay on, but the rest of us, if it’s okay with Mr. P, are going to take two nights off in Calvi.”

My belly flipped, and I was filled with gratitude. “That’s nice of everyone.”

“It’s gorgeous there. And a bit different from the usual hoity-toity Riviera scene. And a break is welcome, trust me.”

“You said two things when we got down here? One I should have my own cabin. And two?” I took a careful sip of the hot ginger tea I was carrying and set it down on the dresser on a leather mat designed to stop things sliding off the varnished surface.

“Ah right. Two, you’re not going to call him Mister Pascale now that, you know, you’re …?” She waggled an eyebrow.

I chuckled. “Right. I guess I’m supposed to call him Xavier. I mean he’s asked me to before. It feels weird.”

“Not weirder than,” she lowered her voice to a sultry moan, “‘oh, yes, Mister Pascale—”’

“Stop!” I hissed and snorted a shocked laugh. “Shhh, oh my God.” I gave Andrea a playful slap on her arm, my cheeks burning. “Gross. Makes it sound like he’s my teacher or something.” I shuddered, still laughing but also feeling more than seasick. An image of Tabitha’s disapproving expression floated through my brain.

“Sorry.” She bit her lip in an exaggerated grimace. “Out of line.”

“A bit. I know, it’s weird. Look.” I sobered and took another careful sip of tea. “This feels … scary. And real. Nothing has even happened yet. Nothing irreversible, anyway. Apart from that kiss, which was, phew. But the chances of someone being hurt are high. Me. I’ll just say it. The chances of me being hurt are high.” I blew out a measured breath. “I’m in over my head. So I’m probably going to play things close to my chest. I feel as if sharing it will make it more real, you know? Please don’t … please don’t be offended.”

She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I understand. You can trust me. I’m fond of you both. And to be honest, I’ve wondered how I’d feel if this happened. My allegiance is to him because of history and circumstance. But I’m rooting for you. I’m rooting for you both.”

“It’s only two days.”

“It’s more.”

“Please.” My stomach clenched. Seasickness or panic? “Please don’t say that. I can’t … I can’t afford to think that.” Xavier’s warning to protect my heart came back to