Broken French: A widowed, billionaire, single dad romance Natasha Boyd (i read books .TXT) 📖

I followed her route, my eyes glued to my running shoes, making sure I didn’t misstep and holding the warm metal railing. It swayed, and I almost lost my digested baguette. I wasn’t able to cross any expanse of water without holding on for dear life. God, why had I agreed to this again? What if I got seasick and vomited for six straight weeks? I didn’t think I got seasick, but I hadn’t had much experience to find out. This nausea, at least, was probably just nerves.

An attractive woman, also dressed in a white uniform, perhaps a bit older than me, with an athletic physique and blonde hair slicked back into a tight bun, had emerged from inside and now reached for my hand to help me.

Grabbing on to her gratefully, I stepped off the gangplank on to the spacious boat deck.

“I’m Andrea, the chief steward. You’re the new au pair, right?” Were all his employees British?

“I am.” I held out my hand. “Josephine Marin.”

“Miss Marin, lovely to meet you.”

“Actually, call me Josie, please. Long journey, my mouth isn’t connected to my brain right now. ”

“I’m sure.” Andrea looked past me with a smile. “Monsieur Pascale. Bienvenue. Welcome. Any problems?” Her eyes scanned out to the port where Paco and Evan took luggage out of the Mercedes.

I turned.

Xavier Pascale nodded to Andrea and to me. “No. It seems we avoided them,” he said in perfect accented English. “Please show Miss Marin to one of the staterooms on deck two.”

“Avoided who?” I began, but Andrea was responding to her boss.

“No problem, sir,” she said. “We have taken the liberty of moving you to the master stateroom now that the nanny is here.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I’ll stay on deck two as well. For now.” Wait, all three of us would be next door to each other? How many rooms were there? I hoped to goodness I had a window or I would have a massive panic attack.

Andrea bobbed her head. “As you wish. Apologies. I should have checked first.”

Monsieur Pascale immediately took a set of stairs up to another deck and disappeared.

“Come along,” Andrea said after she introduced me to Paco, the captain. “I’ll get you settled and then get you up to date on the care and feeding of Dauphine Pascale and what’s required of you.”

Chapter Eight

As we walked through the interior of the boat, my gaze bounced all around. The huge windows on both sides offset the darker nature of the mahogany and modern brass fittings and fixtures. The built-in sofas were cozy, luxurious, off-white, with a scattering of throw pillows that seemed to pull color from the art. There was a huge twelve-seater dining table.

“The paintings …” I stammered. “I mean, are they real? Surely not at sea?” I couldn’t help but blurt as I followed Andrea. The carpet looked lush and soft despite being a tightly knitted weave. It was probably some sort of marine-grade fiber meant to withstand the realities of life at sea while looking like it could protect the precious toes of the one percent.

Andrea slowed. “Most of them are high end reproductions of the art the Pascales have at their estate in Valbonne. And they’re protected. It’s a fine film covering them that allows for the natural colors to show through but protects the canvas from mildew and the paint from ultraviolet rays. Everything is protected. The fabrics are stain proof. Of course, with a child on board and the odd inebriated guest, one has to take precautions.” She turned to me fully while stepping backward. “You drink?”

“Uh, I won’t be an inebriated guest if that’s what you mean?”

She grinned. “Nah. Didn’t mean anything by it. We keep the drinking for terra firma and keep it extremely low key.” She turned back around and began down a set of stairs, dipping her head to the side even though she’d have easily cleared the space. “But when you have a night off, you should come out with us. The crew, I mean. Most nights you’ll probably eat with Dauphine and Mr. Pascale.”

I climbed down after her. My chest immediately tightened in the smaller, darker space. I forced myself to breathe slowly. I could do this. I had to do this.

“It depends on Mr. P’s schedule.” She opened the latch on a lacquered wooden door to her right. “This is you. Dauphine is to your left. And temporarily Mr. P. is …” She nodded ahead toward the cabin opposite mine and her voice lowered. “He’ll be in there. Since Mrs. Pascale passed away, Dauphine has sometimes had trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Mr. P likes to be close to his daughter. I guess until you settle in, he’ll want to stay close by.”

Poor little girl. “Understandable. So, is it okay to ask? What happened to Mrs. Pascale? And why the security concern when we got to the port?” I stepped in through the wooden door to what was to be my cabin. There was a small—oh my God, tiny—window. But the room was more spacious than I’d imagined. The bed was queen-sized and covered in luxurious white bedding and pale pink and gray throw cushions. I drew a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asked as she noticed my breathing.

“Never done well in confined spaces,” I admitted and tried to force a grin. “Nor on boats. But I’m guessing exposure therapy is my only choice right now.”

She widened her eyes. “Just be glad you aren’t in crew quarters stacked like a sardine on a bunk in which you can’t sit fully upright. And you have your own head.”

“Head?”

“Bathroom.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

She rested a hand on my arm. “You didn’t. Relax. And I’ll have to tell you the story of Mrs. P when we get our night off if it coincides. But my hope is Mr. P will tell you himself when he goes over what’s expected of you.”

I nodded. “Can I