surprised that this little girl had wormed her way into my heart in a matter of hours. I turned the bedside lamp off. “Sleep well, princess.”
“Bonne nuit,” she said sleepily.
Standing, I moved to the doorway.
“Peaux-tu laisser la porte ouverte?” she asked, nodding at the door.
I complied, leaving the door open. My brain had obviously tucked away more French than I’d thought. I didn’t think I could speak it, but I was happy with how much I seemed to be understanding. I’d go ahead and use the language app on my phone every morning and try to get up to speed.
In my cabin, I brushed my teeth and washed my face in the small bathroom and changed into my favorite soft t-shirt and sleep shorts. It seemed like a lifetime away that I was flinging clothes into a bag and rummaging around for swimsuits. Turning off the light, I slipped between the crisp, soft sheet and the cozy duvet. Lights, chatter, and music filtered through my open window. The hall was dark outside my cabin door, which was open because there was no way I could sleep with it closed.
As tired as I was, mentally and physically, the time change was already playing tricks on me. I looked at my watch, making out the dim glow-in-the-dark hands. It was five in the afternoon at home.
For the first time in two days, I dragged in a deep breath and felt my chest loosen. Even stuffed into a cabin just above the waterline on a boat, I felt a sense of freedom I’d never experienced. I turned the feeling over in my mind, trying to understand it. How long had I felt tense, stressed, and boxed into a package? Great school, serious degree, lucrative job prospects. Always making sure I was doing something my father would have been proud of. Something my mother could brag about. As much as I could get upset with my mother at her decision to marry Nicolas, which had turned into a disaster, she had raised me to be able to take care of myself. I’d been doing just that before I’d fallen off track, in her words, by quitting.
But there was beauty in the fall. I didn’t have to be a certain way to please anyone but myself here. No one knew me. No one had any expectations of Josie, the woman. I was not the daughter of a disgraced Charleston socialite, nor the stepdaughter of a dishonest con man. God love Charleston, but the city had a memory like an elephant and a weight of judgment just as heavy. But here, for just a few weeks, I was not an architect desperately trying to carve out my own space in the male-dominated field. And there was a certain freedom in being someone new. Albeit temporarily. A girl with a blemish-free name and no history.
Standing up to Xavier Pascale today, and being true to myself, had been a gamble. But the result was maybe I’d earned a tiny modicum of his respect, and that felt good. I could make the best of the situation here, be the best damned nanny anyone had ever had, and fully embrace the chance I’d been given. That included shutting down my ridiculous attraction to my boss.
I closed my eyes and replayed our evening. Unfortunately, the attraction I’d felt for him was hard to beat back. But he’d made clear in no uncertain terms that it was my problem to deal with. And he seemed like he was the type to respect a power imbalance and never act inappropriately toward someone who worked for him. And I knew there was no way I’d compromise my job of taking care of sweet Dauphine or cast a stain on Tabitha’s agency she’d worked so hard to build.
The boat rocked gently, and before long I was dozing. The deep bass of a disco beat in the port thrummed faintly almost in time with my heart. I wondered what the nightlife was like in France and if I’d get a taste of it. Thinking of that made me miss Tabitha and Meredith.
I awoke sometime later, fully alert. The sounds of the port had subsided. Pale waving lines danced like ghosts along the cabin ceiling from the reflection of the water. I strained my ears, hearing a footfall on the steps and then outside my bedroom. I turned my head, seeing a figure in the hall. Mr. Pascale. He fumbled with the latch holding my door open,