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

by the urge to touch her—to close the strange gap that seemed to have sprung up between us. I reached out and took Josephine’s hand, warm and soft, and held it gently on the seat between us atop the manila folder Sister Maria had given me.

Josie looked down at our hands, then up at me. She smiled tentatively. “What’s in the folder?” she asked.

“My project with Sister Maria.”

“Can I see?”

I pursed my lips, unwilling to let go of her hand, but then shrugged and did so. “Of course.”

She took the folder and opened it.

“I haven’t looked yet, myself,” I said as we both looked at the front page, which was a list of names and ages.

Josie frowned and turned the page to the first kid. A picture of a young boy with dark hair and eyes, about twelve was stapled to the top corner. “Is this … a report card?” she asked and turned the page to another kid. This time a bit older. Then another and another.

“Yes. They are not orphans exactly, but they have been separated from their parents. Most of them are from North Africa and Syria. They are targeted to be recruited into a life of crime or worse. So Sister Maria and I work with the local governments and the NGOs to locate them and give them a chance for schooling and a future of some kind, and we also try to locate their families through the refugee camp network.” I swallowed, embarrassed suddenly. I didn’t know why. Maybe I just felt exposed. Like I was trying too hard. Or boasting about my charity.

Josephine’s eyes were on mine, fixed and unreadable.

“I like to see their grades. Maybe give them a further opportunity in time. It’s … it’s not an investment in any way,” I went on as if she’d accused me of something. “It’s just something I do. I think it’s important. I was given so much. And I—”

“Stop,” Josie said. Then she looked away and out the window, hiding her face. She closed the folder and set it back between us.

My heart pounded. What the fuck was that? I didn’t expect her to worship me or anything, but you’d think I’d just shown her the plans for a nuclear power plant that was going to displace a colony of baby sea turtles. A little acknowledgment that I was at least a decent human being would have been nice. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“No.”

“What did I do?”

She turned to face me. Tears on her cheeks, gutting me, her eyes translucent green. “Nothing. I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s absolutely wonderful. I didn’t mean to make you think otherwise. I’m just tired. I get emotional when I’m tired.”

I lifted my hand and touched the water on her cheek. She closed her eyes.

Debating for a split second, I gave into an instinct and chanced a rejection. “Come here,” I said, and meeting no resistance, hauled her across the back seat onto my lap where she burrowed against my chest. I let my face fall into her thick, luscious hair and held her close, breathing her in deeply. My heart raced as I realized how nervous that small simple move to reach out to her had made me. And how relieved I was that she hadn’t resisted.

After a whirlwind taxi tour of the major sights inside the Calvi city walls, I had the driver drop us at a small restaurant in the port that employed its own fishermen who went out every morning. It was early afternoon, and Josie and I shared a bottle of rosé and I ordered a late lunch of bouillabaisse and Josie had fresh fish, rice, and seasonal vegetables.

Her fingers were halfway across the table, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass. Without thinking I reached out and took her fingers in mine and found myself holding hands across the table, something I hadn’t done in years. Not since Arriette and I had first met.

It was so natural to want to touch Josie, to be with her. To laugh and to talk. She asked me all kinds of questions about my business, and I shared my work with the alternative energy project power plant that was currently being built near where I lived. I told her about the invention of microfilm that could withstand a cataclysm and last for two thousand years and how everyone wanted to record their technology or their industrial secrets and hide it on the microfilm in a bunker in Iceland in case the world ended. I wasn’t bragging. She was fascinated and I let myself talk.

I told her about my successes and also my failures. I told her about Arriette’s brother and how he’d felt like he deserved Dauphine’s inheritance from her mother. About how I always felt like he was a threat out there and that was why my security around Dauphine was always so high.

“Wow, would he hurt her?”

“I … I don’t know.”

Josie’s face grew troubled. “Has Dauphine met her uncle?”

“When she was small. I doubt she remembers him.”

“It might be worth showing her a recent picture, so she knows to sound the alarm if he approaches her.”

“I don’t want to scare her. But it’s probably a good idea.” I shook off a shiver. “Let’s talk about something else. What about you?”

“What about me?” She smiled, her eyes dancing. “I’ve already told you everything.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “What are your plans when you go back?” I asked.

The question hit the atmosphere between us like a meteor hitting Paris. Fuck.

Josie jerked like she’d been slapped, her eyes closing tight. Her fingers in mine moved to untangle, and I grabbed hold of them tighter. “Wait,” I said.

I needed to say something. To take it back. But … I wasn’t asking her to stay. She didn’t plan to stay.

Words and needs and demands and denials rose up and crashed silently around in my throat.

Her fingers went limp in mine, which was somehow worse. “It’s fine, Xavier. We’re both aware