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

mouth out with water several times so as not to ruin the taste of breakfast. Me, living in the South of France?

All that gorgeous architecture. Amazing food. A wonderful man. A wonderful family. A vision of my mother and Mrs. Pascale sipping wine on her patio and discussing art flashed through my head. But what if we broke up and I’d moved to the other side of the world? My chest grew tight. I’d be alone and I’d feel so dumb.

I grabbed my phone that was tucked into the back pocket of my jeans and sent a group text.

If I moved to France, you would visit right?

Or if I had to come back because it didn’t work out, you wouldn’t think I was an idiot?

Am I crazy to move to France to date a guy?

Not that he’s asked me to go.

I’m freaking out.

I chewed on a piece of skin next to my thumb nail as I waited for an answer to any of the five rapid fire texts I’d sent. There was a knock at the door.

“Josephine? Are you okay?” Xavier asked, concern and something else in his tone.

“I-I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll be right down.”

IS ANYONE AWAKE???? I texted.

Mer: Bitch. Seriously? Is it not enough that you get a hot French billionaire to fall in love with you, but now you have to wake us up at the crack of dawn to crow about it?

Sorry. I’ll wake up for you when you need relationship advice. Please help.

Mer: Go to France and fuck his brains out, and ask him to marry you, and have lots more little Frogs. Yes, we’ll miss you, and yes, we’ll visit. Good night.

Tabs: ditto.

“Ugh!” I muttered. I splashed cool water on my face and finger combed my hair and then opened the bathroom door.

Xavier sat on the end of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, dread on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face morphing to slight disappointment when he saw I was fully dressed. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

A flush spread across his cheeks, his lips were pale. “Do you want to leave?”

I swallowed and shook my head. “No.”

“Do you … regret anything between us?”

“No. Never. Never,” I repeated with a frown.

“So you still want us, Dauphine and me?”

I blinked and nodded. “Yes. But logistically, I—”

“So what happened in the bathroom? I get the sense you were freaking out?”

“I was. Well, a bit. I asked Meredith and Tabitha what I should do.”

“About what?”

I licked my lips. “Whether I should move to France.” I winced. “So we can date. Not that you’ve asked, and I’d never—”

“And what did they say?”

“What?”

“What did your friends say?”

“Um …” I slipped my phone out my back pocket and unlocked it, then handed it to him.

His eyes grew wide as he read Meredith’s response, and a smirk curved his mouth. When he looked back at me, his eyes were burning. He gave my phone back. “Does anything about your friend’s suggestion freak you out?”

I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “No.”

He pressed his lips together, as if containing a reaction. “Not even the ‘more little frogs’ part?” He raised his fingers in air quotes. “Which I have to say is mildly insulting.”

“No,” I whispered after a short pause and tilted my head. “You?”

His eyes dropped to my mouth as he contemplated my question. “No,” he said at last. His eyes flicked back up to mine. And the gravity of what we’d both just admitted was like a silent explosion. Promises and hope and a future filled with love and laughter and a bigger family suddenly bloomed in the ether between us.

I exhaled, a giddy smile splitting my face even while I tried to bite it back.

He stood. “Good, then come. Dauphine has a question she’d like to ask you.” He held out his hand and I placed mine in his. He kissed my wrist and then led me down the stairs.

Halfway down, I looked up from following my feet and saw the dining room table with food and flowers and champagne. “I-I thought you said you’d eaten and saved me some. Not—” I glanced to Xavier, only to see him looking toward Dauphine. She was waiting, holding an envelope out in her hands.

My name was etched in her chicken scratch across the front. I let go of Xavier’s hand and stepped toward her. “What is this?” I asked.

She covered her mouth and jumped up and down twice.

I took it and carefully tore it open and removed the card. It was written by her in French.

Josie,

S'il te plaît, veux-tu être ma belle-mère?

Je t’aime,

Dauphine.

I was frozen.

“You can turn it over. It is in English on the back,” she pleaded and turned my hands.

“Josie,” I read aloud. “Please will you be my stepmother, I love you, Dauphine.” I choked out the last word. “Oh, honey.” Did Xavier know that his daughter had done this? What if he wasn’t quite ready despite our understanding upstairs? I whipped around to look at him. “Oh,” I gasped.

My eyes landed on Xavier, down on one knee, and my hand came up and covered my mouth.

He held out an open box, a crooked smile on his face, and inside was nestled a brilliant single diamond ring.

Next to me Dauphine jumped up and down.

“Joséphine,” Xavier began, his voice rough. He cleared it. “Joséphine, you are the empress of my heart. You own me. I know it’s been fast. But I have never been more sure. You have made me believe in love again, and I cannot imagine a world in which you are not by my side—”

“Et moi,” Dauphine interrupted.

I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Desolé, mon chou. Ahem, I cannot imagine a world in which you are not by our side as part of our family.” His blue eyes gazed at me and into me, fathomless and earnest and full of more love and trust and hope than I could ever have thought myself worthy. “I love you, Josephine Marin. We love you. I