Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  “I don’t know. I had a brief brush of notoriety when some stuff with my stepfather went down.” I traced a drop of condensation down my glass, and then took another small sip and swallowed. “It turned out he’d been investing huge sums from Charleston families—our friends and neighbors—in an elaborate Ponzi scheme. It was hard to escape the press and the shame. Even though my mom and I had done nothing wrong. I don’t think I’d like to be scrutinized like that again.”

  He seemed to ponder my answer. “That’s … difficult,” he said.

  “Papa!” Dauphine appeared, Evan close behind.

  My shoulders relaxed. I hadn’t realized how on edge I’d been sitting with Xavier on my own, being pinned by those eyes that seemed to see right into me. And it occurred to me that even though we’d left the market so Xavier could make a phone call, he hadn’t touched his phone.

  “Josie,” Evan said. “I’ll accompany you and Dauphine back to the boat. Xavier has a meeting.”

  “Oh.” I took one more sip of lemonade and then stood. “Of course.”

  Dauphine grabbed her Orangina, asking if she could carry it in the bottle. Then Xavier handed me the package with the baguettes, cheese, and honey, with his eyebrows rising above his sunglasses in challenge. “Try not to eat it all at once? At least save me some.”

  I thanked him awkwardly because I was so touched and surprised and frankly shocked he was teasing me and giving me gifts of food, which was basically the fastest route to my heart, then the three of us headed back toward the market stalls. I tried to enjoy the glimpses of the old town that I could see past the market setup and relished the feeling of being on firm ground.

  But soon the port and the water were in sight.

  It had been a fun day and I felt as though I’d finally gotten a glimpse of the real Xavier Pascale, and it hadn’t done a whole lot to squash my attraction.

  That thought sent a ripple of panic through me. This situation was just a tad too seductive to be safe. As soon as I got back to the boat, I would work on my resume. The sooner I had a plan to get out of here on time, the better.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I gasped for air, sitting straight up as the pressure in my chest woke me from a fitful sleep. Moonlight streamed a blue glow across my bedding. The boat rocked gently, and all was quiet. I opened the small window and dragged in a lungful of warm salty air.

  And another.

  The water lapped and tinkered.

  It wasn’t enough. I slept with the cabin door open every night, but even that didn’t stop me from waking with a gasp every now and again. This week, I’d taken to tiptoeing up the stairs to the top deck and peeking carefully around to make absolutely sure I was alone. Only then could I inhale lungfuls of fresh, cooler, night air to tide me over. I never stayed long. After a trip to the upper deck, I’d often fall into a much deeper and undisturbed sleep until morning.

  Exiting my cabin, I quickly glanced in at Dauphine. She lay almost sideways across her bed, covers all kicked off, gangly legs off the edge, and her fingers clutched tight around the trunk of Babar the Elephant. I smiled and shook my head. I’d move her when I came back down.

  I slipped silently upstairs, level after level, pulled by the fresh night air I could almost taste. Stepping out onto the top deck, I was met with a night sky that had exploded in black ink and diamonds. I breathed out a soft, “Wow,” and filled my lungs again, more consciously this time as I crept forward toward the railing and the velvet darkness where the horizon lay. Xavier was right, out here on the ocean one could really breathe the easiest. The deepest. Especially at night. I concentrated on my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth. Trying to get my fill. My hands gripped the railing.

  After a few minutes, I tilted my head back and tried to make out familiar constellations, wondering how different they’d be from what I saw back home. France was also in the Northern hemisphere so technically, I should be able to make out familiar patterns.

  As my eyes drew more accustomed, I could see the cloudy swath of the milky way start to take on more definition and pick out some individual stars.

  A breeze picked up and lifted the small hairs on my arms. The scent of salt spray, teak oil, and eucalyptus danced on the breeze with notes of smokey scotch. Scotch?

  My skin prickled. The back of my neck specifically.

  I whipped around and gasped.

  My eyes, now accustomed to the dark, made out the long form of a man reclining on a lounger.

  Xavier cradled a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand on his abdomen, his other behind his head. His eyes watched me, lazily. Like a very, very, attentive jungle cat.

  The sight of him made my mouth go instantly dry and shattered the peaceful relief I’d found. “W-what are you doing here?” I asked, lamely. And how long had he been watching me?

  There was such a long pause, I became self-conscious. I was wearing sleep shorts and a spaghetti strap tank, more than I’d wear to swim in, but suddenly it didn’t feel like enough. “It’s your boat, of course, you’re here,” I babbled. “I just didn’t expect you. Andrea said you were gone this afternoon. You didn’t eat with us. So …” My words trailed off. I looked around. Faint lights from some of the high up cliff houses twinkled in the dark and across the water behind him. Whatever peace I’d found up here was gone. I took one long last deep breath of abundant air. “So, I guess, um, I guess I’ll just go …”

  “You know the origin of Marin means sailor or seafarer?” His accented voice was rough and soft, stopping me. His long legs, in shorts, were crossed at the ankle. His feet were bare. And the sight of them more than anything gave me an odd sense of intimacy.

  I swallowed.

  “And Joséphine … well, she was a wily and cunning empress.”

  “Napoleon’s wife,” I confirmed, licking my lips nervously. The last few days he’d been cordial, if not that chatty, eating meals with Dauphine and me, but things felt different tonight. I also hadn’t really been alone with him. Dauphine was always around. Now that it was just us in the dead of night, it was painfully obvious what a good buffer she’d provided.

  He raised his glass and took a long sip. There was no clinking of ice. He was drinking neat. “And so … you have a French name. A French name that would also imply you like the ocean. Yet, you are not French. And you hate boats.”

  “Actually, I am descended from the French Huguenots,” I whispered, my voice seeming to have failed me. “My father spoke of our history all the time when I was a girl.”

  He offered nothing but a cocked head.

  “Trouble sleeping?” I asked, trying to change the subject, then inwardly cursed myself. I shouldn’t be trying to talk to him. Leave, Josie. Go back to bed. He was clearly in a mood.

  “Trouble sleeping?” He echoed my question and gave a soft laugh. “Toujours,” he said. Always.

  When I looked closer, he was far from predatory. He looked … beaten. Weighed down by sadness. He hid it well during the day. But here, now, I had an inkling I was seeing him in a way most people normally didn’t. His alone time. His solitude that he chose to spend looking at the stars and numbing himself with whiskey.

  I stepped back toward the railing again and rested my elbows, leaning my weight back. My heart beat erratically in a way I hoped my relaxed posture hid. “Does the whiskey help?”

  Waves lapped softly against the hull, the sound of the water soothing in the quiet night. I had no idea what time it was. Well after midnight, I was sure.

  He didn’t seem inclined to answer.

  I inhaled deeply. “After my father died, my mother … she would do this. I’d find her some nights when I was sneaking in the back door at three a.m., sitting alone at the window in the dark sunroom. Staring blindly, sipping neat.”

  “Whiskey?”

  I nodded.

  “A woman who knows how to get the job done.” There was a long silence, then, “So you know what it’s like.”

  “I do.” My throat sudd
enly felt crushed tight with remembered grief. When I could breathe again, I added, “It was a sudden heart attack. One day here. The next gone forever.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for yours.”

  “How long will Dauphine remember?” he asked.

  “Forever.”

  He winced at my honest answer, so I hurried on. “But the pain gets less. She’s a bit younger than I was, so maybe it’s better. Less memories. I don’t know.” I turned my head so I couldn’t see the pain in his face and blinked. The black water glittered.

  Xavier took a long and deep sip of his drink. The dull thud of his swallow seemed loud in our silence. “But you have many memories. I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.”

  “It’s good, I suppose. Now that time has passed. We would go for walks every Sunday afternoon. The French Huguenot Church was Gothic revival, but then we would walk around and he’d point out the Greek, the West Indian influences, and the colonial British.”

  I closed my eyes and enjoyed the air moving along my skin and the lap of water. It helped calm the deep buzz low in my belly where the muscles refused to relax. Where they seemed to feel the pull of Xavier the most. Something I couldn’t control. And was trying to ignore with my babbling. “I learned to pay attention to the details of a building that speak to the observer without being loud. Like a whisper in their minds. It’s what drew me to architecture. It felt like I’d be closer to my father.” I trailed off. I’d probably put him to sleep with my boring building talk.

  “What were you doing sneaking in at three in the morning?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “You said you saw your mother when you snuck in at three in the morning.”

  “Did you never do the same?” I volleyed back. “I liked dancing. Were you a very good boy growing up?” I teased.

  His eyes narrowed and became hyperfocused on me.

  My throat closed in response.

  “I was bad.” He took a deep inhale through his nose. “Very, very bad.” His accompanying chuckle lessened the coiling tension. “My parents fought.” He paused then and took a drink of his scotch, almost biting it through his teeth. “My father strayed. My mother was bitter. I stayed out of the way as much as I could. That resulted in lots of unsupervised time and poor decisions. The kind only an angry, horny teenage boy with money to burn can make.” He took another sip.

  The moment felt like a gift. I doubted he really wanted to share this history with me, and perhaps tomorrow he’d regret it. But for now, I accepted the offering with gratitude.

  “I met Arriette then,” he said, and I held my breath. “We were the wild ones. After university we got back together. Then, I grew up. It took me a long time to realize she never would. Her demons were too deep. I thought marriage would help tame her. It did not. I thought having a child would help her. Help us. But it seemed … it seemed to make it worse. Or perhaps it was me who made her worse. I don’t know. The more I tried to save her, the deeper she went—”

  His words stopped abruptly. And I felt inexplicably guilty as he seemed to realize how much he was sharing. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to say something. I didn’t know what. Reassurance?

  “You must go.” Monsieur Pascale’s sudden rough bark made me jump, and my eyes snapped open.

  His eyes were dark and his glass empty. Deliberately he set it down on the deck to his side.

  I gave a small frown. “Why? I’m not—”

  “Parce que je veux te baiser. Parce que je veux que tu me fasses oublier.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His face hardened. “It means you need to get the fuck downstairs.”

  My mouth dropped open, heat flooding my chest and face. I was pretty sure that wasn’t what he’d said. But if that was the more palatable version, I felt even more like shit.

  “Go,” he growled.

  “Fine.” Pushing off the railing toward the stairs, my heart pounded. “Asshole.” I couldn’t help hissing the word under my breath as I started down the steps.

  He gave a bitter laugh, letting me know he’d heard me. “It’s best to remember that.”

  I hadn’t meant him to really hear me. But what had just happened? One minute he was opening up, the next he was snarling. Why had I agreed to this job, again?

  Calming my breathing, I counted to ten as I went downstairs. He didn’t have to be so damned rude.

  Although, I’d blundered in on a really raw and private moment he was having. I supposed he was snapping at me like a wounded dog would. Not meaning to inflict pain, but not being able to see past his own. Perhaps he’d been about to lose it and hadn’t wanted me to see. Or was suddenly embarrassed at realizing how much he was sharing—vulnerability making him attack.

  I made it the last few steps toward my cabin as I became sure he’d simply been protecting himself.

  I was still offended.

  But from his point of view … I sighed, knowing I’d apologize tomorrow. I’d make sure he knew his secrets were safe with me.

  Or was it better to pretend it hadn’t happened?

  Ugh.

  My brain was too tired now to think about it. But I knew I wanted to know him more. Even when he was cold and cutting. And that alone was a dangerous thought.

  Dauphine was still sprawled sideways across her bed, and the sight of her fizzled my upset like a popped balloon, and I was again reminded that everyone on this boat was hurting in some way. And my job was to take care of her, not get to know her father. Letting out a long deep breath, I gently shifted her and pulled the duvet over her. “Bonne nuit, sweet girl.”

  Then I went to my own cabin and climbed into bed and replayed everything over again. I heard the French words he snapped at me in my head, though I didn’t know what they meant.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The morning sky was cloudless, the breeze still cool, and sun sparkled across the deep blue of the water in a bay off an island called Île Sainte-Marguerite. The water was especially clear and magical here, and because it was a nature preserve, the fish were incredibly abundant. I’d downloaded an ‘Introduction to Marine Biology’ course for Dauphine and me to work through together and planned to bring it up later today.

  The last few days had begun to form a sort of routine. While her father worked in the mornings, Dauphine and I would have breakfast, then do her reading for school followed by me teaching her some yoga poses. Then we’d follow her curiosity, which most often led to her asking me about architecture. I was super tickled she had such an interest, and in the course of explaining and sketching elements for her, I found my original passion coming back. It was also fun to realize our time together was also like French lessons for me and English lessons for her as we bumped into concepts we couldn’t easily talk about because of the language barrier.

  In the afternoons, usually after lunch, Xavier would come and find his daughter. Sometimes we all swam, but more often than not I’d take the opportunity to give them some time alone and retreat with my sketchbook or do a couple of online continuing education courses I’d always meant to do but never seemed to find the time for at home.

  When Xavier left the boat for in person meetings, I’d encourage Dauphine to stay out of the sun and we’d watch movies, play board games, or cards before dinner with the crew. In the evenings, we’d compete to see who could wish on the first star. It was blissful in so many ways. But it was also clear that whatever fragile camaraderie Xavier and I had built up after our rocky start, it had shattered the night on the deck. And I wished I knew why. He wasn’t rude, but he wasn’t exactly friendly either. And he definitely avoided being alone with me.

  I missed Charleston, my mom, Meredith, and Tabs, in theory—even elements of my job, of course—but I’d grown so attached to the crew, the rhythms of boat life, and obviously, Dauphine. My best friend in the world right now was a ten-year-old girl. And Andrea, of course.
She was fun too, and she and I had grown closer over the last week, chatting after Dauphine went to bed.

  Finally on French time, I’d actually woken up earlier than usual this morning. So before leaving my cabin, I spent some time emailing my resume to the few architectural firms I knew of in Charleston. And then, biting my tongue, I’d applied to some farther afield. I didn’t want to leave Charleston, but I was slowly starting to realize I might not have a choice if I wanted a job in the field I’d spent eight years training for. It would be a step down in prestige, and many of the firms were responsible for some outright monstrosities. But beggars weren’t exactly choosers. And as gorgeous as this little sojourn on the Mediterranean was, I was well aware I needed to get back to reality at some point. I quickly read through the requirements and submitted for a senior position at a firm called Kendrick & Rutledge in Columbia, saying a quiet prayer of forgiveness for going over to the dark side of office park and strip mall architecture, and then closed out the connection.

  After another delicious breakfast, I laid my hands on my belly at the table in the galley, wondering how long until the carb fest would catch up.

  Andrea noticed and chuckled. “I was going to offer you this last piece of baguette, but I’m guessing not.”

  I groaned. “Back home, yoga and spin kept me toned while at my desk job.”

  “At least you’re swimming a lot,” she said.

  “True. But perhaps Dauphine and I should step up the yoga too.” I’d found a YouTube yoga class on Dauphine’s iPad that was a perfect mix of beginner and advanced.

  Dauphine slathered a huge dollop of strawberry jam on her baguette. Apart from a small tantrum last night when she’d found out her father was going to be off the boat for another business dinner, she was actually such a delightful little girl. We’d spent the evening making up K-Pop dance routines, styling each other’s hair, and generally doing everything to get her over her father not coming back for the night. I hadn’t slept well. I’d snuck up to the top deck, being sure to check I was alone first, to get some air. The sense of claustrophobia when I woke in the middle of the night was not getting better. Lying back on the lounger Xavier had been on that one night, and watching the stars, I realized I also missed the energy that permeated the boat when Xavier was around. I found it, I found him, addictive. The little bit of him I knew, made me want to know much, much more.