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

because I loved architecture and buildings. But I hung on to the lightness in my chest. Somehow in the arduous trek toward trying to get promoted, I’d gotten a little burned out.

I turned, treading water, and looked toward the gray rocky edges of the bay and up at the few mansions from modern to old-worldly stone that clung to its edges. Here and there steep steps were carved in stone among rugged green brush. I imagined the feats of engineering architects of old had to devise in order for these palatial cliff-side dwellings to stand the tests of hundreds of years. I wondered if the more modern ones would have such longevity. If we were still anchored here later, I’d love to sketch the houses. I hadn’t quite broken the habit of carrying a sketchbook with me everywhere I went that had been drilled into me by one of my first drafting professors.

I heard Dauphine call out to me.

I turned in time to watch her settle herself at the top of the slide, and then push off. She screeched the whole way down, her small body dumping into the water in a splash of gangly limbs. She came up gasping, making us both laugh.

“Not so graceful,” I said. “But it looks fun.”

“Your turn.”

“Will you wait for me here?”

She shook her head, feigning fear at being left alone in the water.

“I didn’t used to like being in the water by myself when I was younger either. Not even in a pool. Come on, I’ll race you.”

Dauphine giggled and squealed as she half doggy-paddled and half swam breaststroke furiously to the swim deck.

I pretended to try to keep up with slow strokes through the water but let her win.

Paco was watching us from an upper deck, chuckling. He’d finally lit his small cheroot, the smoke a faint apparition circling his head.

For the next couple of hours, we jumped, swam, and raced each other. Dauphine tried to convince me that it was okay to stop messing with my bikini top, as apparently many French women simply went topless. For a hot second, I imagined walking around the boat topless with her father’s eyes staring at my breasts. “I’m not French,” I explained in a choked voice, trying to shake the image.

“Yet!” She grinned. “I will make you more French, and you will make me American.”

I gave her a weak laugh.

We tried the snorkel gear, but Paco asked us not to go too far from the boat since Evan had taken the tender, and if we got into trouble by the rocks, he wouldn’t be able to get to us as the main boat was so large. Still, being able to float along the surface of the crystal-clear water at a depth of what I assumed to be about thirty to forty feet was mesmerizing. It was incredible to see the sandy and rocky bottom and the small silver fish with yellow tails that darted about here and there. Sadly, we also saw several pieces of half-buried glass, aluminum, and plastic trash. Dauphine saw it first, and motioned to me, before pointing and then making a crying action at her mask with balled up fists. I loved that this bothered her. It bothered me. I made a heart symbol with my thumbs and forefingers and pointed at her.

Eventually our hungry bellies called us back to the boat, and we lay on the swim deck to dry off in the bright sun.

I hadn’t had such carefree fun in quite some time. My skin was dusty and tight with salt, I was thirsty, and my eyes stung slightly, but I felt so at peace. I let out a long sigh and turned my face to Dauphine. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“Pourquoi?”

How to explain in a way she’d understand. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed swimming so much,” I told her, but it didn’t come close to expressing the joy and relief in my chest.

She grinned, clearly pleased with my gratitude.

“Lunch is ready,” Andrea called from above us.

Dauphine leapt up.

Shading my eyes, I sat up and squinted to see Andrea. “Be right there. Are we eating outside or should we change first?”

“Outside. We’ll eat on the lower back deck since Mister P is off the boat.”

I stood and followed Dauphine, climbing the short built-in step ladder.

Andrea handed us fluffy navy and white towels.

Paco sat at the head of the table on the back deck and Chef at the end. Rod, Andrea, Dauphine, and I filled in. There were a couple of large baguettes, hams, and salami, cheeses, and a large Salade Niçoise with green beans, boiled eggs, olives, and tuna over luscious green leaves. Chef pointed at the large bowl. “No anchovies for the little princess.”

“Merci,” Dauphine told him and stood, leaning over and giving him a big smacking kiss on the cheek.

Chef looked so taken aback that we all burst out laughing.

He grinned ruefully.

Andrea poured everybody some sparkling San Pellegrino water. “So,” she said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “We've all been wondering what you said to Mr. P to make him laugh so hard last night.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling heat rising up my throat. I glanced sideways at Dauphine, and she looked at me with interest. Last night she had thought that we were laughing at her. I looked nervously back at the four sets of curious eyes. “Um,” I stammered. “It was just something silly. I hardly remember.”

Andrea and Chef looked disappointed and unconvinced at my non answer.

“What happened?” Rod asked.

“Something Ms. Marin said made Mr. P lose it.”

“Call me Josie, please,” I said.

Rod quirked an eyebrow as he slathered butter on a piece of baguette and laid a circle of salami on it. “It’s been a while since he’s had something to laugh about.”

“Well, whatever it was,” said Andrea, “It was lovely to hear him laugh. Right, Dauphine?”

Dauphine nodded with her mouth full.

“So how did each of you end up working for Monsieur Pascale?” I asked, desperate to divert