Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance by Natasha Boyd (books like beach read txt) 📕

been replaced by an old lady with shaking hands who grabbed Xavier into a close hug, tears streaming down her face. Then she turned to me, and it was the most natural thing in the world for us to reach for each other, and in a moment I was wrapped in a hug full of warmth and sorrow and shared fear.

The engine turned off and the blades slowed, the roar slowly dying. My ears rang.

“Come, we will speak to the police, they have arrived downstairs,” Madame all but shouted.

Xavier nodded and stalked ahead. He looked broken, and terrified, and so utterly alone, and I wanted to support him.

Instead, I held out my arm for Madame, and she clasped it tightly while we followed.

Jorge held open a door to a stairwell with stucco walls and tile steps. The metal clanged closed behind us.

The sound of Xavier’s phone bleated loudly in the echo chamber of the stairwell. Ahead of us, he brought it to his ear, mid jog down the steps. “Allo.” He stopped dead, his hand reaching for the railing. His legs collapsed as he sat.

My stomach bottomed out. Oh fuck.

Beside me, Madame’s bony hand squeezed my arm like a vice. “Ô, mon Dieu, ô mon Dieu,” she wailed.

“Shhh,” I soothed. There was no way Xavier could hear anything if she cried any louder. “Shhh. Let him listen.”

We hurried down, stepping around him so we could see his face and try to get any kind of indication of what news he’d just received. Inside, I found myself chanting please be okay, please be okay.

His eyes squeezed closed as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

Madame laid a hand on his shoulder, and he grabbed it and held tight, taking the comfort. But by the rigidity in his body, I could tell that he wanted to kill whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Oui,” he said, the word wrenched from him like it cost him everything he had. Then he took the phone from his ear.

Chapter Forty-Three

“S’il te plaît,” Madame begged as the phone slipped from Xavier’s ear.

I watched as his entire body and spirit seem to collapse in on itself with … wait. Relief?

“Elle va bien,” he whispered. “She is okay. For now. Michello has her. He wants money. But he’ll be lucky if he sees blue skies ever again. Evan knows where he is. God willing, Dauphine will be home by bedtime.”

“Oh my God.” I breathed the words, my voice failing me. It wasn’t over yet, who knew how crazy this Michello person was, but knowing who had her was hopefully more than half the battle.

Madame and I embraced with relief, and then as Xavier stood, she grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his back.

I stepped back, hugging my arms around myself.

Xavier released his mother. For a moment he stared at me.

Desperate to reach for him, I clenched my fists at my sides.

Our eyes locked for milliseconds that felt like long minutes.

I licked my lips. “I hope you get her back soon. W-what can I do to help?”

He blinked, his eyes cutting away. “I’m going down to speak to the police, so they can coordinate with Evan. Then I will take the helicopter. Accompany my mother by car to my villa in Valbonne.” His jaw flexed. “Please.”

I swiped at my leaking eyes. “Of course.”

He and his mother had another quick emotional exchange.

His eyes cut to me again briefly, and then we were on the move again.

Downstairs, two plainclothes men who were identified as policemen, took my name but didn’t ask any questions. Madame and I left Xavier with them and followed Jorge and Madame’s housekeeper Astrid to a waiting black Mercedes in the circular driveway. Everything was happening in a blur. I clutched Madame’s hand.

“It feels wrong to leave Xavier to find her alone,” Madame said as we got in the car.

I squeezed her hand. “I know. I feel the same. Will he be okay?”

“The police will accompany him. I … yes, I hope so.” Her voice shook, betraying her terror.

“They didn’t ask me any questions,” I said, just now realizing how odd that was.

“Xavier told them you had nothing to do with it and that you were with him in Calvi.”

My eyes filled again. So he could tell them, but not me? I clenched my jaw and willed myself to understand that he was a man in panic. An apology might come later. Right now, he just needed to get to Dauphine. “He’ll bring her home, and she’ll need you there waiting for her,” I told Madame reassuringly.

I, on the other hand, felt like a burden in a family crisis. My passport and belongings were stranded on a boat in the ocean. I couldn’t leave. Although at this stage, I’d happily leave everything I owned behind not to have to face Xavier’s coldness ever again. A sigh wrenched from my emotionally tired body. I was terrified for Dauphine and desperate to see her safe. And fear and heartbreak had depleted me.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted to wake up in my shoebox room in my aging apartment I shared with my two best friends. I wanted to look out the kitchen window and see a brick wall that I knew. I never wanted to see another yacht. I wanted to walk to my favorite little coffee shop and hope that the French lady, Sylvie, didn’t remind me of Xavier. Or a little girl I’d lost my heart to. Then, for a living, I wanted to draw, create, imagine, and protect history all day.

And I wanted to go back in time—back to before—to my safe life in my small city. A place where I didn’t know how many shades of blue an ocean, or a broken man’s eyes, could be.

Madame smiled a watery smile, unaware of the turmoil and sadness that had suddenly overcome me. “Dauphine will need you too.”

“Maybe. I need to see her safe.” And then I needed to see