“I liked her just fine. And I wasn’t—” I broke off. “Maybe I was gruff sometimes.”

Dauphine dissolved into tears again.

Fuck me. My heart was twisting in my chest at the thought of Josie leaving and at seeing my daughter so distraught.

“I did like her.” I winced. “I like her a lot.” God, if I could only explain the half of it.

“She’s so nice.”

“She is.” I nodded.

“And kind.”

“Oui.”

“And smart.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oui.”

“And she makes me laugh.”

Me too.

“And she teaches me things. And I can tell her my secrets and she doesn’t laugh. And she makes me feel safe in the night. And she knows how much I miss Maman, and she doesn’t say the stupid stuff.”

“What stupid stuff?”

“Like everyone says. My teachers, you, the doctor you made me talk to. They all say, it will get better. They say they’re sorry. Why are they sorry? Sorry doesn’t bring Maman back.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“And … she’s my friend. My best friend. If you don’t bring her back, I will never speak to you again. Never.”

I sucked in my lips. “Okay. Well. Now we’re going to sail around to Cap Ferrat and you can tell Mémé all about it.”

“I’ll tell Mémé you made Josie leave. I heard Evan and Andrea talking. You fired her!”

I squeezed my eyes closed, then let out a long breath. I wanted to deny it, but I’d as good as done it. Firstly, with sending the email a few weeks ago to Tabitha Mackenzie and never retracting it. And secondly by acting like a fucking beast last night. But in the end, her leaving was the best thing for everyone. Maybe not Dauphine, but … “You’ll get over it,” I said gently to Dauphine. “You will make new frie—”

“I hate you!” She ran to the door and slammed it behind her.

“I guess I have a tweenager,” I muttered, and then stared hard at the letter, my guts twisting.