“But whatever,” she said with a determined set to her lips. “I’m good at this. I’m good at being with Dauphine. You seem disapproving of me the last week. I haven’t done anything wrong, and it bothers me when I think you might think I have.”

“D’accord,” I said.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “You have done nothing wrong.” Except climb under my skin. “Also … can you try to be more … invisible … today at lunch?” My father would be there after all.

Her eyes popped wide. “Excuse me?” Her tone took a sudden turn toward offended.

Fuck. I was an idiot. I waved my hand up and down. “You are …” I swallowed. I couldn’t say beautiful, she’d see straight through me and realize my blundering crush. Or worse, think I was a sleazeball hitting on her. “I don’t want … um.” Oh, good God. Was I this rusty?

“Am I not dressed properly?” She suddenly fussed, her cheeks flooding with pink, and her eyes unsure. “I was told I could wear a swimsuit.”

Fuck. Remorse filled me.

“No. You look fine.” Fine? She was fucking gorgeous. Unthinkingly, my hand went to her bare arm and squeezed gently for a millisecond before dropping it like it burned. “Let’s go,” I snapped. “We’re late.” I brushed clumsily past her rather than stay cooped up in that small space, mainlining her coconut scent and accidentally and perpetually insulting her.

But God, I was a beast around her.

Uncouth.

Erratic.

Horny.

Let’s just hope she was invisible to my father. And moreover, that he couldn’t tell how tightly wound I was around her.

After a moment I heard her follow me, and we made our way to the back deck. Dauphine began chattering immediately and held her braid up while Josie rubbed sunscreen on my daughter’s neck, back, and shoulders. Then Dauphine returned the favor, and I knew Josie might end up burned later, but there was no way I could offer to put my hands on her skin. I encouraged Dauphine to do a more thorough job, then when it was done we all climbed in the tender for the short ride to the beach.

I’d hardly seen my father over the last couple of years. As a child, he’d been almost mythical in status to me. He’d put in long work hours, and I had assumed our family money was due to his work. It was years before I discovered our wealth had been my mother’s, and my father was simply always a “try-hard” with a chip on his shoulder. And his time away from home had rarely been for work.