As I listened, something tickled the back of my neck. At first, I thought I was imagining it—curiosity playing tricks. Then came a buzz, loud enough to rival a drone. Mosquitoes?
I shifted, cursing the insect kingdom for their love of artificial lighting, and waved my arms around. I probably looked like a traffic cop after too many coffees.
When the buzzing thrummed past my ear again, there was no room for restraint. I went full windmill. Within three seconds, my flailing arms caught on one of the fancy “beach themed” wind chimes hanging from the roof. The sound of my tangle resembled a herd of baby goats running over piano keys.
Fighting off an overload of desiccated coral and seashells, I let out a solid, “Oh, for the love of…”
A light snapped on inside, and a head appeared round the door. Maxime, complete with trademark scowl.
“The seaside,” I said, priding myself on my restraint. Extracting myself from the wind chime, I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I just adore the beach. Don’t you?”
A second head appeared behind him. Sophie. But she wasn’t glaring at me like her father. Instead, she wore a faint smile. In the gloom, I couldn’t tell if it reached her eyes.
Maxime straightened. “Please, join us.” He gestured into the kitchen. Judging by his stiff posture, it was more command than invitation.
I entered at a snail’s pace. As I crossed the tiled floor, my jaw dropped. The kitchen was stunning—distressed timber, soft furnishings, pale tones. None of it matched Maxime’s rugged, man-of-the-sea aesthetic.
A massive driftwood table took centre stage, while a wide cooking range stretched across one wall. Above the sink hung a chandelier—not crystal, but a cascade of shells and sea glass. Given my recent incident outside, I decided to steer clear of anything that dangled.
I admired it as I passed—then smacked into a chair, sending it scraping sideways with a clatter.
I could’ve sworn Maxime tutted.
What was wrong with me? I was usually unflappable. Today, I couldn’t seem to move without getting in trouble.
I swallowed a sigh, pulled out the chair, and sat down with forced composure.
“So… what have I missed?”
They both stared at me from the doorway.
I looked at Sophie. “Have you come up with a plan of things to do while you’re here?”
She moved to join me at the table.
I rested my hand on its top, tracing the knots of wood. “I can’t imagine you want to sit around all day doing nothing for the next month.”
She sat down, side-eying me, her face deadpan.
I ran my gaze over her porcelain skin. She looked so much like her father, minus the tattoos and stubble, of course. Dark, slightly wavy hair, straight nose and pouty lips.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Swim, read.Breathe.” With her last word, she turned to Maxime and sent him a pointed look.
I chewed the inside of my cheek.Noted.Sophie wasn’t one for being micro-managed or molly coddled. No problem. I could play the relaxed, “fun” nanny.
“Your mother mentioned some schoolwork,” Maxime said, leaning against the kitchen counter.
I chewed on my lip. He looked so pretty bathed in the soft multicolour of the glass light.
Sophie blew out a breath through her nose. “Papa, please. I’ve only just arrived. It’d be nice to have a few days to relax.”
When a line appeared between Maxime’s brows, my spidey senses tingled.
“I’m sure it would, but I know your Maman has other plans. She sent me a very,very,long email outlining exactly what she expects.”
Sophie blinked, her eyebrows lifting as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She tilted her head, mischief sparking in her expression. She locked gazes with her father and his face softened.
At Maxime’s loosening. My skin prickled. Had I just witnessed something important? A moment in history? A slight thawing of relations? A mutual understanding in some kind of long-running standoff? Time would tell.
