Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  “He’s setting up a lunch,” Evan went on while I brooded at how my father couldn’t ever take no for an answer. “Next week. Marie-Louise put it on your schedule. She just put a bug in my ear to ask if you’d seen it.”

  My poor long-suffering assistant who had to contact Evan because I was playing a game of avoidance with my own father.

  I flipped open my laptop and after passing the facial recognition software opened my calendar to see how Marie Louise had shaped up my next two weeks. Luckily it was fairly clear, like I’d asked her to keep it, apart from a couple of meetings, a visit with my late wife’s estate attorney and the lunch with my father. At least Dauphine would be happy. The lunch was at Le Club Cinquante-Cinq, her favorite. I gritted my teeth and hit the confirm button on the invite. “Fine. Done.” Sometimes it was easier to keep the peace and invest a bit here and there with him.

  “Okay, the other update is that we got some chatter from one of our contacts in the port that there was a guy asking about us, which is why we took precaution yesterday. He surmised it was just a journalist.”

  “Mais?”

  “But, what?”

  “I’m asking you. You have the look like your spiders are tingling.”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “Spidey-sense. When will you get that right?”

  “Evan.”

  “Sorry. Yeah. You’re right. Something feels shifty. I looked into Michello.” Evan paused. “He was released.”

  “He’s out? Shit.” Arriette’s stepbrother. My stepbrother-in-law. He’d been arrested for possession outside a nightclub and briefly taken off the streets. But he’d always been a bad seed. Always hitting his sister up for extra cash when he was short. I blamed Ariette’s addictions on his enabling. He’d spiraled after her death, presumably thinking he’d be inheriting her estate, racking up IOUs with the type of people who liked to tie up loose ends when they didn’t get paid, or even when they did. And sadly, they were also the type who knew I was his relation. Michello was a wild card. I didn’t like wild cards.

  “Okay. Keep an eye on him.”

  “Already got someone on it.”

  I nodded, satisfied, and glanced at my watch, hoping Evan wouldn’t wind back around to my comments about the nanny. “I’ll be ready to go shortly.”

  Evan didn’t move.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I was just thinking that it’s been a really long time since I heard you laughing like you did last night.”

  “Oui, maybe it was overdue. They say time heals, no?”

  Evan cocked his head to the side. “Maybe. Anyway, just give her a chance.”

  Internally, I knew what I’d asked about having her sent home was ridiculous. And I could have come to this conclusion on my own instead of clueing Evan in on my struggle. I waved my hand with a chuckle as if I’d been joking all along. “Apparently I don’t have much choice, do I? It was difficult enough to get a nanny at such short notice anyway. Did the background check come in?” Despite The Tabitha Mackenzie Agency always promising vetted placements, I’d be a fool not to do my own research. Especially when Dauphine was involved.

  “Preliminary is clean. Couldn’t find a driver’s license but she has a birth certificate, social, and passport.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t drive?”

  “Maybe. She lives in downtown Charleston. So it won’t be hard to figure out a full picture.”

  “Bon.” If I remembered, Charleston was a quaint little city with a young but well-preserved history. It was also a walking city so it wasn’t surprising she didn’t have a car. I’d really enjoyed my brief trip to meet with a super yacht company who had bid on and won my business for the more eco-friendly yacht I was planning to upgrade to. I loved the ocean, and these gas-guzzling and oil slicking beasts weren’t very good for it. “She’s an architect,” I offered.

  “She’s what?” His eyebrows hit his hairline.

  “An architect. She’d have a degree or something with her name on it. Start there.”

  “That’s impressive. Beautiful and smart.”

  “Apparently.” I growled at him.

  Evan turned to the door. “Oh, by the way, I told her she wasn’t allowed to leave. You’re welcome. I felt like you both needed a cool down period.”

  “You did what?” Fuck. The last thing I needed was her feeling like a prisoner, especially if she had issues with being on a boat. “Evan.”

  He shrugged with a cryptic look. “New security measure I just implemented. No one on or off the boat twelve hours before we move port.”

  “Twelve hours?”

  “Okay, fine, we can make it three. But with Michello skulking around, it’s a good idea anyway. I want to make sure we’re safe.”

  Somehow, I didn’t think the new security feature had much to do with my ex-brother-in-law and everything to do with the fact that Josephine had quit and Evan wanted her to stay. What was my old friend up to?

  A stray thought popped into my head. My hand clenched.

  I scowled at him. “Wait. You’re not … you don’t … you know there’s no fraternizing.”

  “What?” Evan stopped with his hand on the door, and then busted out laughing. “Jealousy is a good look on you, my friend.”

  “Get out.”

  He raised a palm. “Pas de problème.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  JOSIE

  First morning jet lag was like a heavy beast in my head hanging on tight to my eyelids. I persuaded Dauphine out of my room where she’d bounded in to wake me up, telling her I needed to shower and change and then I’d meet her upstairs. The boat was moving. I sluggishly showered, rinsing my hair again, since I’d slept on it wet and woken up looking like a cast member from Sesame Street. I tied my hair in a low bun and pulled on a simple sundress I’d found on sale last fall while out shopping on King Street with Meredith. With my best friends on my mind, I checked my phone for a message.

  Tabs: How was your first night?

  I quickly typed back, cognizant of the time. It was late morning here already, and I had a little girl to look after.

  Everything is great. Food delicious. Boat on the move. Jet lagged. I hope you’re good. Miss you. More later xo

  I realized the sound of the engine was so loud because there was a door open in the hallway down to what looked like an engine room. The walls were cream and well lit. I peered down the metal stairs. “Got it?” a man’s voice said. I didn’t think it was Evan or Paco. “We’ll have to replace the ballbearing, over,” the British voice said and then the body it belonged to emerged—sandy haired, skinnier than Evan, and wearing a white polo and khaki shorts that now had black grease stains smeared in places. “Oh, hullo,” he said with a broad smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth when he saw me. He was young, but sea weathered. Perhaps an ex-surfer. “You must be Miss Marin.”

  “I am.” I held out my hand.

  He held up his black grease-covered one apologetically. “I’m Rod. I’m a deck hand. I missed you when you arrived yesterday, I was taking a bit of time off. Sorry about my hand being greased up. Just had a wee problem with one of the systems. No big deal.”

  “No problem. Nice to meet you. When did you get on board?” I asked conversationally.

  “Uh.” He scratched his head. “About five this morning, right before we set off.”

  “Is that right? Well, I’ll leave you to it.” I waved and stomped up the stairs. Evan was going to get an earful from me. Imagine telling me no one could get on and off the boat for twelve hours before we moved? I growled.

  As soon as I got to the main living area, I took a moment to look outside the window. We were cutting through the water, land to our right. The morning sun sparkled off the blue waves. I wanted to appreciate it more, but my need for caffeine outweighed the gorgeous view. I had yet to see where the chef worked, so I looked around for where the kitchen might be. Wait, was it even called a kitchen? A galley?

  The sound of masculine laughter came from the br
idge.

  I headed that way to say good morning and perhaps be pointed in the right direction for caffeine.

  Dauphine sat in the captain’s chair, her hands on the large wheel, and Captain Paco stood behind her, pointing into the distance. A breeze blew through the open windows and the scent of salted air was a welcome jolt to my tired brain.

  “Good morning,” I greeted.

  “Look! I drive the boat,” Dauphine gushed when she saw me.

  I chuckled. “I can see that, no wonder it’s such a smooth ride. You must be doing a great job.”

  She flushed with pride.

  “I was wondering where I might find some breakfast leftovers and some coffee.”

  Dauphine abandoned post, sliding off the high wooden chair. “I will bring you.” She was in tiny white shorts and a blue t-shirt. Her hair needed a brush.

  Paco patted her head.

  “Sorry you have to lose your co-captain,” I told him, setting my feet farther apart to allow for the motion of the boat.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, sticking an unlit skinny cigar in his mouth.

  “Not enough. I’m still on American time.”

  He nodded. “It will take a few days.”

  Dauphine tugged on my hand. “Come.”

  I raised my other in a goodbye wave and allowed myself to be led back down to the main living area and through a doorway on the opposite side of the stairwell I used to go downstairs to my cabin. The galley was long and narrow with high end appliances. The counters were stainless steel and spotless. It looked as though it could be the kitchen of some sleek, New York City loft. Chef was nowhere to be seen, but next to an expensive looking coffee machine, which still had a glowing red light, there was a plate, a linen napkin-wrapped set of utensils, a bowl of fresh cut fruit, and a basket of bread and pastries including a croissant wrapped in a linen napkin. Croissants. My weakness. Also nestled in the basket was a small ramekin of soft yellow butter and a tiny jar of red preserves with a checkered lid.

  First things first, I made myself some steaming fragrant coffee and added cream from a small metal jug left out. Then I plopped a croissant on the plate, as well as butter and preserves, and sat at the small banquette along the wall. Dauphine found another plate and helped herself to some of the fruit and joined me.

  “So, what’s the plan today?” I asked her, tearing an end off of a croissant and smearing it with butter and strawberry jam. I closed my eyes as I began to chew and let out a moan of appreciation.

  “You love food so much.” Dauphine observed with a giggle.

  “I don’t think you understand. In America we think we know how to make baguettes and croissants, but I can tell you for sure we do not. I’m planning on putting on some weight while I am here.” I patted my belly.

  She laughed with delight. “But they make good hamburgers in America, no?”

  “Perhaps. I’ll let you know after I have one here. So, you never answered. What’s the plan today?”

  “We go to Antibes. We will anchor in the bay. Papa has a meeting.” She rolled her eyes. “We will stay on the boat today. Paco said there might be treasure. You’ll swim with me?”

  I nodded.

  “I am only allowed if someone comes in the water with me.”

  “As long as it’s okay with your father and Paco. I’ll need to borrow sunscreen, I forgot to bring some.”

  “We have much. I will show you.”

  I finished off breakfast, draining my cup of coffee, and located the dishwasher. Like everything else in Chef’s kitchen, it was clean and empty, breakfast having already been cleaned up and put away. I loaded our plates and utensils and wiped the crumbs from the counter and the table.

  Then Dauphine led me through another short hallway and to a door. She rapped sharply and opened it. “Papa?”

  “No, Dauphine,” I hissed in a whisper when I realized she planned to go into his quarters. “It’s okay. Don’t disturb your father.”

  She waltzed into the sunlight-filled room. “He is upstairs, I was just checking. He told me I must always knock when a door is closed.”

  “Good advice.”

  The cabin we entered was clearly the master stateroom—a huge bedroom, spanning the width of the boat. A king bed centered the space. On one side, closest to us, was an office area and desk with papers piled neatly and the other had a large sofa and seating area. There was also a treadmill and some workout equipment in one corner. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and while I knew he was using a cabin downstairs to sleep rather than this one, I still entered cautiously. He obviously worked and got dressed here too, if the men’s dress shirt hanging on a valet hook in the corner was any indication. Dauphine danced across the room and disappeared through a door. I followed her into a bathroom and walk-in closet. While not huge, the bathroom was luxurious and certainly bigger than the ones downstairs.

  The closet was full of both men’s and women’s clothes. My stomach shifted uncomfortably as I looked over what had probably been Dauphine’s mother’s things that had never been cleared away. Two years and they were still here?

  Dauphine fingered several of the dresses as she passed, then whipped her hand away as if she’d remembered she wasn’t supposed to touch them. She opened a deep wooden drawer on a soft hiss to reveal an array of sunscreens. “Ici,” she said. Here.

  I selected a thirty sun protection factor. There was a hairbrush on the counter, but there were no toothbrushes or anything that made it seem like the bathroom was currently being used on a daily basis.

  I fingered the hairbrush. “Your mother’s?” I asked. But surely not after all this time.

  Dauphine nodded, and then looked toward the clothes, her face marred with a pained emotion. I doubted a ten-year-old could really define the feelings that must be stirred up by having to see this reminder of their loss every day. For that matter, what about her father? Was that perhaps another reason why he slept downstairs?

  “Do you like to braid your hair?” I asked to try and switch her attention.

  “Oui. Andrea does it for me sometimes, but I do not know how to do it myself.”

  “May I?”

  Dauphine nodded at my reflection. “But my hair is … I don’t know the word. It gets stuck?” She frowned and said something in French that I presumed meant tangled.

  “I have something for tangles.”

  “Tangles?”

  I picked up a particularly rats-nesty lock of her hair. “Like this. You have beautiful curls, but you must keep them from being knotty.”

  “You have curly hair?”

  I glanced at my reflection and made a so-so hand gesture. “Wavy. But it’s wet right now. Did your maman have long hair like you?” I asked, fingering the dark blonde curls.

  “Yes, but it was different.” Her brow furrowed as if trying to remember. “She liked my hair. She liked to use the comb.”

  “She brushed your hair for you?”

  Dauphine nodded, and her lower lip suddenly began to tremble. “She made some blonde sometimes in her hair. It’s … difficult to remember.”

  “It makes you sad to think about her?”

  She nodded. “But I’m sad also when I forget things about her.”

  “Do you have a picture?”

  “In my room at home. I should have brought one here so you could see.” She blinked rapidly, her blue eyes watery. “She was very, very beautiful. But she was very, very sad. Papa said being sad can be like getting sick. Some people die when they get too sick.”

  Jesus. Swallowing a wave of grief at her loss, I squeezed her shoulder. “He’s right.” I blew out a steadying breath. “Would you like me to brush your hair before you go to sleep tonight? I might not do it the same way, but you have such beautiful curls, we should make them shine like your maman liked.”

  The boat’s engines slowed, and the rocking grew a little more pronounced. I hung on to the door frame, my stomach lurching, and reached for Dauphine’s hand. I was glad I’d had
something solid for breakfast.

  Turning, I stopped short at the sight of Xavier Pascale striding across the cabin. “What are you doing in there?” he asked, his voice with an odd quake. “Dauphine, I told you not to come in here.”

  She inhaled sharply, and I stepped protectively in front of her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With Dauphine protected behind me, I raised my eyebrows in surprise at the tone of her father’s voice. My heart thundered like I’d been sent to the principal’s office.

  The disapproval on his face suddenly evaporated as if he’d caught himself overreacting.

  “I didn’t have time to buy sunscreen.” I held up the bottle by way of explanation of why we were in the master stateroom. “Dauphine said I could borrow some.”

  “Oui, Papa.” Dauphine slipped from behind me and grabbed him in a hug around his middle. Her shoulders shook. The tears that had been so close to the surface, ones I’d managed to keep at bay just moments before, suddenly burst out at the puncture wound her father’s anger had inflicted. She babbled words into his body.

  His head bowed down as he hugged her back, and dark brown hair flopped silkily over his forehead. Then he gently pried his daughter off his middle. She’d left wet splotches on his pale blue linen shirt. Seeing her tears, I saw his shoulders slump, guilt wracking his features.

  He cooed gently to her in French, and then looked up at me, his eyes miserable.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I’ll have Andrea add sunscreen to the purchase list.” His eyes tracked to the hem of my sundress and skimmed down my legs. He seemed to realize what he was doing and quickly shook his head. He hugged Dauphine back and then set her away from him. “Mon chou,” he said, looking down at her, his earlier frosty expression a thing of the past as he looked at his daughter. “You will be a good girl for Miss Marin, oui? Evan will take me to shore for my meeting.”