Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance

by Natasha Boyd

  “It is my last night.” I felt my resolve caving.

  “Well then.”

  Looking around, I realized I would have to stay holed up in here all evening and probably wouldn’t sleep a wink come bedtime. And I certainly wouldn’t be visiting the top deck. God knew, I didn’t want to be anywhere else on the boat and bump into Xavier Pascale when he couldn’t stand the sight of me and I made him so uncomfortable. “If I come with you, any chance you won’t judge me if I decide to have a few or hundred drinks.” Even as I said it though, I knew I didn’t want to be hungover while making the ride of shame to the airport tomorrow.

  She laughed. “No judgment from me, I promise. I may even join you in a few. Come on.”

  I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the only thing I could find. It was the plain black linen t-shirt dress I’d bought at the market in Antibes, but it was short and nicely cut. With the right accessories it could double as a little black dress. I also pulled out my makeup bag. “Give me five minutes?”

  Andrea broke out in a wide smile. “You betcha. See you on the back deck. We won’t leave without you. Don’t wear heels, the cobblestones are a nightmare.”

  “Don’t have any.” I shrugged. “See you in a few.”

  My hair had dried into waves I was getting used to since I hadn’t seen a hairdryer since I’d arrived. It helped that I’d wound my locks into a low bun while it dried. Being in the sun every day, the copper tones had really lightened and caught the light as I separated the waves. I applied some light make up, focusing mostly on my eyes. The tan I’d built up over the last few weeks negated the need for much else. I slipped the dress over a black bra and panties, put on some dangly earrings that sparkled, and my black flip flops. It would have to do. I grabbed my small cross body purse, lip gloss, phone, and some money and left my cabin to go say goodnight to Dauphine before I left, only to bump right into her and Xavier coming down the stairs.

  My cheeks throbbed as I was once again swamped with embarrassed heat. I couldn’t look at him, so I dropped my gaze to Dauphine, and then bent to her level. “Bonne nuit, my little mermaid,” I said and kissed her cheek as I felt the weight of her father’s gaze on me. “Sweet dreams.”

  “I am going to see mémé tomorrow!” she crowed. “I must pack my clothes. And then you can read to me too later, after Papa?”

  My heart squeezed. God, I’d miss her! I shook my head. “I’m going out with Andrea.”

  “Where are you going?” Xavier’s harsh tone jerked my face up to meet his gaze.

  “I have no idea.” I telegraphed don’t-fuck-with-me vibes as hard as I could.

  His jaw flexed. “Be safe.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Like he cared. “I think I’d like to have a few drinks and … dance,” I goaded. “Is that safe?”

  His nostrils flared briefly. But he tamped down whatever he’d been about to say. He gave a curt nod that seemed like he’d rather do anything but agree with me.

  “You look so beautiful,” said Dauphine. “Doesn’t she look pretty, Papa?”

  I smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

  “Oui,” came her father’s gruff voice.

  I glanced back to him, my smile fading as his eyes seared into mine briefly.

  I blinked.

  “Excuse us,” he ground out and urged Dauphine forward. I flattened myself to the wall as he passed me, my eyes closed, and allowed myself a last surreptitious inhale. Wood. Man. Amazing that this condescending, control freak of a man could still make my lady parts do a tap dance. Even with my eyes closed, my body could feel the moment he was safely past me. I wondered how cell-deep awareness this strong could be one-sided. And I wondered if I’d ever experience it again in the rest of my life. My analytical brain couldn’t make sense of it.

  I turned and hurried up the stairs without a look back.

  On the back deck, the sounds of the port restaurants and the balmy evening breeze soothed my frayed senses. Paco sat on a deck chair holding a skinny brown cigar. A gun and a copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls rested on the table next to him.

  Wait.

  I spun back around so quickly, I hurt my neck. “Is that …?”

  He casually glanced down. “A gun? Yes.”

  I swallowed. “Okay.”

  Right. Of course, someone would need to stay and guard the Pascale family. “Didn’t know that was a thing in France to just be casually packing. And Hemingway?” I arched my brows, playing off my shock.

  “Sorry to be so cliché.” He chuckled.

  “That’s not what I’d call it,” I said and caught Andrea’s amused expression.

  Evan had finally ditched his starched uniform and was dressed in a t-shirt that hugged his impressive physique and a pair of worn chino pants. His hands slipped into his pockets and he shrugged. “I need to do a couple of things in town for an hour or so, so Paco will be guarding the fort.” I was relieved he was coming with us as I was hoping to find out what he’d discussed with Monsieur Pascale.

  Chef and Rod were already off the gangplank and ambling down the pier toward the security gate that would let us out of the marina and into the throngs of the port nightlife. Apparently, they were getting along now.

  I teetered down the gangplank, hitting terra firma for only the second time in a week, and grabbed Andrea’s arm. “Good lord. I have sea legs,” I moaned. “I feel like I weigh ten tons. Please tell me this is a known phenomenon and not that I ate that much pasta and baguette.”

  Evan steadied me from the other side, looking concerned. “I hope you don’t have mal de débarquement.”

  “Mally what?”

  “It’s like reverse sea legs. People can get dizzy, their center of equilibrium is off from being on a boat for a long period. Hopefully it’s just an episode and will wear off soon. You didn’t have it at the beach club, right?”

  I thought back. “I felt heavy and tired when we first arrived, but not dizzy. And it didn’t last.”

  “Just hang on to one of us as we walk.”

  “Wow, you’re serious. This is a thing?” I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “I feel drunk without the fun.”

  Evan left us then and hurried ahead to catch up with Chef and Rod. By the end of the pier, I felt marginally better but realized I’d missed my chance to talk to Evan.

  “How’s your head feel?” Andrea asked.

  “Good. Fine. So, is it just me, or did you notice Evan made himself scarce before I could ask him about going to speak to Monsieur Pascale on my behalf?”

  “Yeah. I did. Coward.” She rolled her eyes. “It can only mean he doesn’t have an answer yet. I’m sorry.”

  My stomach sank. “It’s fine. It’s not like it would have changed my mind about leaving.”

  “But maybe you can corner Evan later and get the details?”

  I nodded.

  “Great,” she said, her uncomfortable smile morphing into a joyous one. “Now let me take you to my favorite little boutique off the square and then we’ll go get some drinks. And then I’ll persuade you to stay.”

  The cobblestones were tightly packed and so were the throngs of people. I clung tightly to Andrea’s arm. There were singles, couples, families, and groups of fiery young men and tittering young girls. The outfits ranged from a day out on the water to fancy reservations for dinner.

  Music and the clink of glass and hum of chatter emanating from the street cafés and restaurants lent a festive mood to the atmosphere. The evening felt full. Vibrant. Unmarred by the silly stresses of family worries or low paying jobs. Or the humiliation of failing at being a nanny. Real life didn’t seem to exist here.

  A family with two little toddler darlings dressed in matching Vilbrequin and Gucci gesticulated wildly as they talked and walked and browsed the shop windows. After several little shops, I’d put a marginal dent in my credit card with some cute items for Meredith and Tabs, a gorgeous linen scarf and a necklace with peacock feathers for my mother.

  �
�Come on," Andrea said and squeezed my arm. “There's another little boutique I want to pop into up ahead. But first, I’m buying you a real French crepe.”

  The smell of warm batter and caramelized sugar had already grabbed my attention and made my stomach growl. She dragged me to an open window across the street and ordered two lemon and sugar crepes that were served to us in sticky goodness, dripping out of wax paper. The tart and sweet flavors exploded across my tongue and I devoured the delicious treat.

  “Ohmygoooood,” I mumbled with my mouth full. “Shmazing.”

  Andrea laughed. “Right?”

  When we were both done, Andrea pulled out a couple of wet wipes from her purse, and we cleaned off our fingers and lips. Then we made our way farther up the road.

  Tucked into an alley no more than five feet wide was a little store. There was a planter full of colorful flowers below the picture window. The antique wooden front door, with peeling light blue paint, was propped open. Several pretty summer dresses hung from it and swayed in the breeze. The smell of baked waffle cones and coffee drifted from the busy ice cream shop on the corner.

  Andrea greeted the saleslady who seemed to remember her from previous trips, and they chatted in French. Andrea pointed at me, and they both looked me up and down. “She has a new shipment of gorgeous dresses that haven't been seen by anyone,” Andrea addressed me. “What size are you? Actually, don’t tell me American sizes, they’re nauseatingly small. I’ll always remember Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman telling the personal shopper that she was a size six, and everyone watching in the common room at uni let out an audible groan." She laughed. "Oops. I'm dating myself, aren’t I?”

  I smiled. "I know the scene you’re talking about. If only we had Richard Gere and his unlimited credit card. That would make this trip even more fun. Or better yet, our own unlimited credit cards, no men required.”

  The sales lady disappeared into the back and came back out with her arms full, and Andrea and I spent a fun half an hour trying on little flirty dresses.

  The last one I tried on was a simple but stunning short dress in a golden silky material that seemed to float around my body like a “wisp of sexiness,” to use Andrea’s expression. It was so thin, it ought to be see through but wasn’t quite.

  “It’ll be a crime if you don’t buy that,” she said persuasively.

  “You know,” I said wryly. “I think you’d get on with my friend Meredith. I can almost hear her telling me to buy the dress even though I have absolutely no idea when I’d ever wear such a thing. Are you sure you’re not channeling her right now?”

  “Ha. Clearly a sensible girl.”

  “But not a very sensible dress.”

  “Wear it now.” She shrugged, her eyes gleaming. “Nothing is sensible in St. Tropez.”

  “What? No.”

  “Yes!” She clapped her hands excitedly. “There’s no better time. You’re all tan and gorgeous. It’s your last night.” Her smile dimmed a little. “We should make it count. I don’t normally party, but I think we should at least go hit up Les Caves. It’s famous. All the celebrities have visited over the years. You can’t be young and beautiful in St. Tropez and not go to a nightclub. Now that’s a crime.”

  “Um. What happened to sensible, chief steward, Andrea?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “She hasn’t had a night out in a long time. And in case you haven’t noticed, hasn’t had much female companionship lately either. And I’m seething that this could be your last night. So I say we make it one to remember.”

  “I don’t have the right bra for this. The material, while not see through, felt thin as gossamer. The delicate spaghetti straps were marred by the black bra straps underneath.

  “So take the bra off.”

  “Andrea. Wait. Are you Andrea? Meredith, is that you?” I stepped forward and rapped lightly on her head with my knuckles. “You are insane.”

  “You’re young, you’re perky, and you know no one here. Not that anyone would judge you. People sunbathe topless here, for God’s sake. Come on. I’ll get this emerald green one.” She held up the first dress she’d tried on that I’d tried to persuade her to buy.

  “You hustler,” I griped. “You were going to get that all along.”

  “Nope.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, I was debating. But now I will if you will. Come on. We’ll tell Evan we’re going to the club so no one worries about us. But let’s go have a dance for a few hours. Let’s feel like the awesome powerful gorgeous women we are. Maybe we’ll even be hit on.”

  “You ever thought about starting a motivational podcast?” I deadpanned.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Fine. Yes. But I don’t care if I’m hit on. I’m over men right now.”

  Andrea clapped again.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I reached under the dress and tried to unsnap my bra. “And I’m still not convinced you are actually Andrea.”

  “I’m going to get offended if you say that anymore. Am I really such a stick in the mud?”

  “No. Sorry. Just … sensible?”

  “This is the most sensible idea I’ve had in ages.”

  I rolled my eyes with a laugh and slipped my bra out from the dress under one arm. I winced when I saw myself in the mirror. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.

  “You are stunning,” Andrea responded from behind a curtain where she’d disappeared to put her dress choice on. “You need a stunning dress and a stunning last night. I can’t bear to think you’ll go home with such a bad taste in your mouth from one of the most divine places in the world and one of the loveliest families I’ve ever worked for.”

  I snorted at the last one.

  “No, seriously,” she said as she whipped the curtain aside. “I don’t know what’s gotten under Mister P’s skin lately. But he’s a good man. One of the best. Now, let’s call Evan and let him know the plan. I’m sure he’s back on the boat by now. His primary protection duty is to Mr. P and Dauphine after all. And then you and I can go get us a glass of champagne.”

  We paid the sales lady, and she fussed around us a couple more times, clipping out a label and folding up our own dresses into shopping bags. Then I linked arms with Andrea and let her drag me out on the town.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was either the dresses or the intention to have fun, but from the moment we left the store, eyes followed us appreciatively wherever we passed. I collected the looks like gold shillings and felt like a million dollars by the time we made it back to the bars and restaurants along the quayside. We headed for where Rod and Chef were sitting at a café, so we could ask them to take our shopping bags back to the boat.

  A loud wolf whistle pierced the air, making both Andrea and me jump and drawing even more eyes. In the same instant I realized it came from Rod.

  “Gorgeous, ladies!”

  “God, Rod. You are such a builder,” complained Andrea. “Can’t a girl walk down the street without being harassed?”

  “You love it. Now come here and sit with us two geezers and make us look good.”

  Chef chuckled at Rod’s antics, and I was glad to see they actually did seem to get along.

  “Sorry, lads. We can’t. Josie and I are off to the nightclub. Les Caves.”

  “Did you get enough to eat?” intervened Chef, like a gruff dad.

  “We had crepes,” Andrea assured him. “Anyway, take our shopping, would you? I’ve texted Evan, but let him know you saw us and we’re fine, and if we’re not home by one a.m., would one of you come looking for us?”

  “After midnight?” sputtered Rod. “What about my beauty sleep?”

  “God knows, he needs it,” Chef muttered.

  “Oi.”

  “Boys, boys. Rod, you’re always up late. Yes or no?”

  “Yes. Fine. Why can’t we come with you?”

  Andrea laid a hand on Rod’s sandy hair. “Next time, yeah?” Then she grabbed my arm and we waved goodbye
as we left them.

  Tucked into a corner behind a row of restaurants off the main port was a small dark doorway flanked by two palms and a red rope with brass fittings. There was a line that snaked around the corner into the alley. A wide man with square shoulders, shaved head, and a non-existent neck stepped out of the darkness. His face was set in a hard scowl.

  “Umberto!” Andrea greeted, and he burst into a grin that transformed him from scary mother fucker to ball of sugar.

  They fired a string of greetings at each other in … “You speak Italian?” I asked Andrea. “That’s Italian, right?”

  Andrea shrugged bashfully. “I know a few words. This is Umberto. Umberto, this is Josie. Dauphine’s nanny.”

  “Of course.” He smiled and shook my hand. “And you, my dear. You are also bellissima, like my Andrea! Come in, come in!” He unhooked the heavy rope and ushered us past him, and we stepped into a dim and quiet vestibule where a heavy base beat was barely audible.

  “How do you know the bouncer? I thought you didn’t party much,” I asked.

  “Oh, we dock here off season too, and we let his kid come and hang out and play on the boat. Umberto and Paco know each other from way back. I think they crewed on the same boat back in the day. It’s a small world in the hospitality industry, especially in the mega-yacht world.”

  “You call yourselves yachties, right?”

  “Sadly, yes.” She pushed open an interior door. “Anyway, you ready?”

  I nodded.

  Music and laughter blared out. The music was something from the nineties but over a dance beat. Inside, the club was dimly lit. There was a central oval area surrounded by red velvet covered benches and round tables occupied by small groups of people. A long bar backed with smoky antique glass covered one end of the room and at the other was a white light-tiled dance floor and a DJ booth. It didn’t feel overly busy, but we still had to edge in at the bar. Andrea flagged down the bartender and in seconds I had a coupe of champagne, eighties style.

  “This place is so old school, I love it!” Andrea yelled. She held out her glass to clink and we both toasted and then drank. The DJ began a dance mix of “Gangsta’s Paradise” and we hit the dance floor.