Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  I hugged her closer with one arm.

  “I knew you did not like her,” Dauphine warbled. “You were mean to her sometimes. You are not mean, Papa. Why were you mean to Josie?”

  “I liked her just fine. And I wasn’t—” I broke off. “Maybe I was gruff sometimes.”

  Dauphine dissolved into tears again.

  Fuck me. My heart was twisting in my chest at the thought of Josie leaving and at seeing my daughter so distraught.

  “I did like her.” I winced. “I like her a lot.” God, if I could only explain the half of it.

  “She’s so nice.”

  “She is.” I nodded.

  “And kind.”

  “Oui.”

  “And smart.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oui.”

  “And she makes me laugh.”

  Me too.

  “And she teaches me things. And I can tell her my secrets and she doesn’t laugh. And she makes me feel safe in the night. And she knows how much I miss Maman, and she doesn’t say the stupid stuff.”

  “What stupid stuff?”

  “Like everyone says. My teachers, you, the doctor you made me talk to. They all say, it will get better. They say they’re sorry. Why are they sorry? Sorry doesn’t bring Maman back.”

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  “And … she’s my friend. My best friend. If you don’t bring her back, I will never speak to you again. Never.”

  I sucked in my lips. “Okay. Well. Now we’re going to sail around to Cap Ferrat and you can tell Mémé all about it.”

  “I’ll tell Mémé you made Josie leave. I heard Evan and Andrea talking. You fired her!”

  I squeezed my eyes closed, then let out a long breath. I wanted to deny it, but I’d as good as done it. Firstly, with sending the email a few weeks ago to Tabitha Mackenzie and never retracting it. And secondly by acting like a fucking beast last night. But in the end, her leaving was the best thing for everyone. Maybe not Dauphine, but … “You’ll get over it,” I said gently to Dauphine. “You will make new frie—”

  “I hate you!” She ran to the door and slammed it behind her.

  “I guess I have a tweenager,” I muttered, and then stared hard at the letter, my guts twisting.

  Three hours later, as the yacht made its way around the headland and into the small bay where my mother’s villa was, Dauphine hadn’t spoken a single word to me. She’d packed almost all her animals, which told me she was making a statement that she wouldn’t be coming back on the boat any time soon. My chest was aching with guilt. Despite the businesslike and light tone of Josie’s resignation letter, letting me know what a wonderful time she’d had with Dauphine and that a job opportunity awaited her back home, I couldn’t help feeling like I was doing the wrong thing by letting her go and also that she was probably really upset. Did I believe she had a job offer? Certainly, it was possible. Anyone would be a fool not to hire her. But somehow, I knew that wasn’t the reason. The reason was all me. And I couldn’t help the grudging respect I had for her drawing a line in the sand and leaving in the wake of what had happened between us.

  Evan had apparently taken Josie to the train station on the way to Sofia Antipolis, and they’d left early to beat the traffic.

  My mother was expecting us for lunch on her terrace, so as soon as Paco dropped anchor, Dauphine and I, and her bags, took the tender to the small concrete jetty where one of my mother’s house managers who doubled as security, stood waiting with Jorge, her private secretary. Jorge, skinny and always impeccably dressed, had an effeminate air and was, as far as I could tell, utterly ageless. He’d looked and dressed exactly the same since he’d started in this post over twenty years ago. Arriette used to joke that he was a vampire. My mother’s house manager, Albert, was part of a husband and wife team that did everything from groceries to maintenance and lived on the property. Albert had aged. But he still looked fit and strong.

  I threw the line up to Albert and he tied us up to the heavy iron mooring cleat before giving us a hand up.

  “Right on schedule,” Jorge praised after we’d all said our greetings. Albert and I grabbed Dauphine’s bags and headed up the stone steps cut into the cliff.

  My mother waited at the top by the wrought iron gate to her villa. She wore white palazzo pants, a brightly colored tunic top, and pearls at her throat. Her hair, still expensively blonde and shot through with silver, was perfectly wound up in her signature chignon. She threw out her hands in welcome. “Ma petite!” she exclaimed, grabbing my daughter into a tight embrace and then kissing her on each cheek. She set her back and looked her up and down. “You are a treat for these eyes. I’ve missed you!”

  After Dauphine had returned the sentiments, my mother turned to me and kissed me on both cheeks. “Come. Lunch is served.”

  We wound up to the terrace with a stone balustrade that overlooked the rocky bay below and my yacht anchored a short distance away. Her housekeeper, and Albert’s wife, Astrid greeted us and poured us some wine and water.

  Dauphine and my mother chattered away as they found their seats. Lunch was smoked salmon, salad, and baguette.

  “Please pass your father the breadbasket, dear,” my mother addressed Dauphine.

  “I’m not speaking to him. He’ll have to get it himself.”

  My mother’s eyebrows gently raised. “And what did he do to deserve this?” she asked, giving me the eye.

  I should have known we’d have to talk about the nanny again.

  “He fired Josie and sent her away. And she did nothing wrong, Mémé!”

  “And who is Josie?” my mother asked.

  “She was the American nanny I hired. She had no experience.” I bit into a piece of bread. “It all happened so last minute. And I didn’t fire her, she resigned. Unfortunately, Dauphine grew rather fond of her. I’m afraid I didn’t realize how much.”

  “Oh.” My mother patted Dauphine’s hand sympathetically. “There’ll be others.”

  My daughter sniffed. “She was my best friend.”

  “Did something happen?” my mother asked me.

  I took a gulp of rosé wine—larger than I’d intended. It almost went down the wrong way and I coughed. I shook my head. Now she was going to draw conclusions.

  “Ah,” my mother said, her head cocking to the side as she studied me. I couldn’t tell if she was amused, disgusted, or simply empathetic. “That’s unfortunate,” she said, her mouth curling. Perhaps she thought Josephine had come on to me or something. “Evan should have said something.”

  “It wasn’t her. I—” my gaze flicked to Dauphine, then back to my mother. “She just wasn’t suited. Wait, what do you mean about Evan?”

  “As I said. Unfortunate. Because she’s on her way.”

  This time I did cough. “What?” The little minx had been playing dumb. I scowled at my mother.

  “Truly?” Dauphine asked, then looked over my shoulder toward the house. “Josie!” She jumped up and ran past me.

  I whipped round, and there were Josephine and Evan being shown out the patio doors by Jorge. Josephine’s face was all smiles to see Dauphine, but by the way her skin beat bright red all the way to her ears, I could tell she was embarrassed at being here.

  I was fucking embarrassed. I glared at Evan.

  “Been trying to call you, Boss. Gave up and called Madame Pascale. The train workers strike has shut down all the lines. She won’t get to Paris in time for the flight tonight. I’ve called Marie Louise to try and get her on tomorrow’s flight. The strike should end in a few days, so we’ll have better luck later this week.”

  I’d forgotten about the planned strikes and immediately felt like shit for putting Josephine in this position. Well, even shittier than I’d felt not two minutes ago. And then suspiciously annoyed because he could have easily gotten her on a flight to Paris.

  “Come, you must meet Josie,” Dauphine said to her grandmother. Then to Josie, “Mémé speaks English.”

  My mot
her stepped forward and smiled in welcome. “I’m Madame Pascale.”

  “Josephine Marin,” my daughter’s ex-nanny responded. “Lovely to meet you. I’m so sorry for the unexpected intrusion.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll join us for lunch. We have plenty. You too, Evan.”

  “Thank you, Madame. But I will grab a bite with Jorge inside, we need to discuss some security details.”

  Then he gave me a stony look before turning to go inside. Great. Did everyone who worked for me plan on taking Josie’s side over mine?

  “As you wish.” My mother headed back to the table and motioned to Astrid who was already hurrying out with another set of silverware and glasses for the round table. Astrid moved Dauphine and me apart and put Josephine’s place setting right between us. Of course.

  “These ridiculous strikes,” my mother snapped in French. “It’s irresponsible.”

  “Well,” I said as I pulled out my mother’s chair to avoid having to do Josie’s. “They have a point, if they need more pay.”

  “I didn’t take you for a unionist,” she said, placing her napkin back on her lap.

  “Well, as a product of a privileged upbringing,” I waved my hand at our surrounding, “and knowing how good we have it, I can say that they are right to feel pissed off when the world around them gets more expensive and they never get a salary increase.”

  “Bof.” My mother flicked her wrist and switched to English. “Josie. Are there lots of strikes in America?”

  “Um. Not really. I mean there are labor unions for manufacturers but not so much for infrastructure.” Her eyes flicked back down to where she was helping herself to salmon and salad. She hadn’t looked at me once. And I realized we hadn’t even greeted each other either. God, I was a prick. How must she be feeling right now?

  “It’s an inconvenience here. A strike every time I turn around it seems these days.”

  “There’ve always been strikes. It’s part of French life,” I said, amused at my mother’s new sense of principle.

  “And you don’t mind?” my mother challenged.

  “Of course I do.” I shrugged. “But I work around the obstacle.” I offered the bread basket to Josie and then poured her some wine. I managed it all while still staying focused on addressing my mother so I didn’t have to cross gazes with her.

  “Oui,” Dauphine piped up. “Mountains are made to find a way over, not to stop your journey,” she parroted my favorite phrase I deployed on her every time she told me she couldn’t do something hard, like homework. She turned, her eyes sparkling proudly at me.

  “Quite right. You’re talking to me again?” I asked her in French

  She stuck her tongue out. “Josie is back. I’ll stop again if she leaves again.”

  If she leaves?

  I finally chanced a glance at the woman in question, but she was focused on her plate, her cheeks still blazing and had probably just heard her name in our French interaction. I suddenly realized how uncomfortable she must feel being forced to eat a meal with me after the way things were left between us. And it wasn’t like I’d made her feel welcome and invited her to stay and eat. My mother had done that. Tack on the fact that the last time we’d seen each other, she was orgasming in my arms, and … shit. I shut the image of that down and grabbed a sip of water.

  She had to be feeling humiliated and vulnerable and, if I knew anything about her thus far, angry as shit. Had I taken advantage of her?

  My stomach tightened. Even the idea of her angry was turning me on. I was a train wreck.

  I glanced back at Dauphine and my mom, only to see my mother’s eyes narrowed on me.

  I gave her a thin smile. “So, Mother. Tell us about your latest charity project.”

  The rest of lunch proceeded quickly. I tried to pay attention to my mother’s news, and soon lunch was cleared and Dauphine was dragging Josie into the house to give her a tour.

  “Alors,” my mother said as soon as we were alone. “How long were you sleeping with the poor girl before she grew a backbone and left you?”

  Chapter Thirty

  My mother’s eyes pinned me with her signature mix of disapproval and pity.

  The very worst look.

  I remembered a similar look one night eons ago when I’d slunk back home, easing my father’s Porsche back into the garage at three in the morning after stealing it to go on a little joy ride. I’d done it in a bid to impress my friends, and a girl of course, though it had backfired royally when the girl’s father had found us, her passenger seat reclined, my hand up his daughter’s nightie, and my tongue down her throat. I guess I should have felt lucky we didn’t live in the land of guns. But back then, the hot humiliation of being caught was like being held up against a wall by my throat. I drove home, carefully mind you—my earlier bravado and machismo gone, and praying like a dying man that a phone call about my behavior didn’t beat me home. Alas, my mother waited in the dark of the garage until I’d thought I was almost home free, the idle engine silenced, the dust cover eased back over the sweaty beast, before she’d flicked on the fluorescent garage light and scared the shit out of me. “You will not become your father,” she’d growled.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I said to her now across the lunch table. “I’m not sixteen. And I’m not sleeping with her.”

  “Xavier. I’m not blind. And I’m not being judgmental. At least not about what you think. There’s no wife to cheat on,” she bulldozed over the scoffing sound I made.

  Ouch.

  “But mon dieu, Xavier. Did you learn nothing from your father’s behavior? You don’t sleep with the help. How extremely uncouth. Certainly, not in your position. If a lawsuit were to happen now with everything you’ve built, or the media got wind of it—well, and not to mention how very awful it would be for Dauphine. So confusing.”

  “Again. I’m not sleeping with her,” I snapped. “That’s—that’s why I didn’t stop her when she resigned.” I felt the wince at my admission, even as I tried to remain stoic.

  “Ah, but you wanted to sleep with her.” Trust my mother to just put out there what I was dancing around.

  I blew out a breath. For all that I’d been an impossible teenager and was mostly responsible for the silver streaks she paid a fortune to have blended into her salon blonde, we’d also become close after my parents’ divorce. Grabbing my glass of rosé, I downed the last sip and filled it back up with water. God knew I needed my wits about me. “Whether I want to or not, it’s irrelevant. She’s leaving.”

  “Not until at least tomorrow.”

  “So what? It’s one night. I’m not that weak or desperate. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. How long are you here? Without some help for Dauphine, I could really use you this week. It’s busy for work, and I hate to always leave her on the boat with the crew.”

  “I’m here for five days. She can stay for all of them. Then I’m due for a board meeting in Monaco for the Roman Heritage Society. Oh, that reminds me, I must tell Dauphine. They’ve discovered a shipwreck, almost two thousand years old, right here in town down by the old Roman port. They were digging to put in a car park of all things.” Her face twisted in disgust. “Honestly, nothing is sacred with these people. Thank goodness we had the sense to insist on the archeological team being involved in the site preparation. You know they would have just bulldozed right through it, none the wiser. Anyway, I’ve put it on the agenda. We need to raise funds to preserve the thing and then put it on display. I don’t suppose you feel like being a patron again this year?”

  “As always simply let me know how big of a check to write and where to send it.”

  “You’re a good son to your maman,” she said affectionately.

  “Yes, and I’m sure it makes you the favorite board member.”

  She lifted a shoulder in tandem with her eyebrow. “It’s not the only reason. But it sure does help. On that note, I’m on the host committee again for the gala. If you could buy a table, I’ll find the oth
er nine people.”

  “Sure. Of course. But no matchmaking.”

  “Xavier, how am I supposed to invite a spare lady to make up numbers and not hope that you might hit it off? But lucky for you, I have no one in mind right now.”

  “Good. Don’t think too hard on it. I’m not ready.”

  She gave me a steely look. She’d never gotten on well with Arriette, and I suppose she thought I should be over her faster. “It’s been two years—”

  “I’m not ready,” I reiterated. “Besides, I thought you were my date.”

  She glanced off toward the ocean, the breeze blowing a strand of her perfect chignon free. “I—I may have met someone,” she said, her voice getting quiet, unsure.

  “Really?”

  She smoothed the errant strand back behind her ear, her fingertips pressing it back into her do. “I haven’t wanted to say anything. Not until I was sure. Of my feelings. But, yes. I think so.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I hope not. No offense. But he’s … Italian. I met him through some acquaintances in Monaco. He lives in Sanremo.” Sanremo was just a bit farther along the coast across the Italian border. “He’s nice. Uncomplicated. Kind. He hasn’t been here yet.”

  “Does he know who you are?”

  “He knows I have a son.”

  “Are you hiding your money?” I asked, my disbelief obvious even to my own ears. My mother loved to live a level above everyone else. At least, I thought she did. “And hiding me?”

  “Well, look at you.” She gestured her hand up and down. “You’re a behemoth in business. God knows you didn’t get that from your father. I’m happy to take credit. But I think you could perhaps … intimidate an ordinary man. Not that I’m saying Giuseppe is ordinary. Not in that way. He’s remarkable in so many ways …”

  My mother trailed off under my scrutiny.

  I pulled down my sunglasses to really study her. “Are you blushing?” I asked.

  “Nonsense!” She tossed her napkin at me. “I don’t blush.”