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

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.

“I’m giving a list to Evan later. Is there anything you need?” Andrea asked from across the breakfast table, bringing me out of my reverie.

“Actually,” I glanced at Dauphine who wasn’t paying attention, but I dropped my voice lower anyway, “I’ve been meaning to ask how you deal with … periods?”

Of course Dauphine reacted to my lowered voice and zeroed her gaze in on us. I had to hope her English hadn’t improved that much yet.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure it’s on the boat.”

My expression must have remained unconvinced or uncomfortable looking because Andrea laughed.

“I live for asking Evan to pick up the most obscure and/or embarrassing things to see if I can shake that unflappable demeanor. Lay it on me. Special-order-sized tampons?”

“La la la,” said Rod, loudly walking into the galley with his fingers stuck in his ears. Over the last few days, I’d pegged the deckhand as the class clown of the group. And he’d been ridiculously courteous to me since his comment about me going topless. He loved to make lame jokes, but even he had his limits apparently. And tampons were his limit.

I chuckled at his expression and turned back to Andrea.

“Having your period on board is a real pain,” she said. “I started getting three-month shots last year. Works great for me. Expensive though.”

“Okay, I’m out,” grumbled Rod and left the room, coffee in hand.

“Isn’t all birth control?” I asked

“Luckily in France, despite being a traditionally Catholic country, they’d rather provide contraception than abortions, and they understand gender equality and access to healthcare when it comes to things like that. Actually, in a lot of things.”

“God, in America they don’t want people having abortions or cheap access to birth control. Makes zero sense.”

“Ahh, the patriarchy alive and well. You on the pill? Maybe you can go back-to-back on a pack to avoid having your period just this once.”

I was on the pill, so I guessed I could consider doing that.

“What’s a period?” asked Dauphine.

“Tes règles,” Andrea explained, translating it to the French.

Dauphine shuddered, her eyes wide. “I do not want to get that. The girls at school say you have blood. Is it true?”

I slipped an arm around her small shoulders. “Every woman gets them. It will be a sign you are growing up.”

“Is it with pain?”

“It can be a little, yes.”

“Then I do not want to grow up. And I do not want them.” She frowned as if remembering something. “Last year one of the girls, Cécile, I think she got them and everybody was laughing at her. She cried.”

“It’s okay, when it happens for you, you don’t have to tell your friends, just tell your—”

Shit.

“Papa,” Andrea jumped in. “Or me.”

“Or me,” I added. “You have my phone number, and you can call me whenever you need to.” And I found that I meant every word. I’d only been here a week when Dauphine had cornered me and asked me very seriously if we were real friends, and if I would call her when I was back in America. I’d given her my American number and told her to use it anytime.

I shared a look with Andrea.

Dauphine sat in troubled silence and continued to eat.

“Anyway, put whatever you like on the list for Evan,” Andrea said to me. “We’ll see how he handles it.” She stood and took her coffee cup to the dishwasher. “And put at least one outrageous thing on there. I swear, one of these days I’ll find something he can’t get me.” She gave a smirk. “That man sure is resourceful.”

“Anything going on there?” I asked with a sly glance at Dauphine to make sure she didn’t get my meaning.

A cloud passed over Andrea’s face. “No,” she said emphatically, but somehow I didn’t quite believe her. “I don’t … date. I can’t. You sure you don’t want this last piece of baguette?”

“Ha. No chance.”

“Oh, before I forget, you and Dauphine are accompanying Mr. P for lunch today. You are all going to Le Cinquante-Cinq. It’s a famous beach club.”

Dauphine clapped with joy. “Today?”

“We are?”

Andrea smiled at Dauphine’s excitement.

That didn’t leave us a whole lot of time. “Come on, Dauphine. It’s time for our morning yoga class.”

She hurriedly stuffed her last bite of baguette in her mouth.

“Oh,” I said. “Is Evan picking us up to go to the beach club? What time should we be ready?”

Andrea shrugged. “I’ve given up trying to get Evan to pin down times. Let’s say, be ready by noon. He said it’s safer to be unpredictable. ”

“Which drives me crazy,” said Chef, entering the kitchen.

“You and me