“Were you laughing at me?” she asked sleepily. “Upstairs when I come back from les toilettes.”

“No,” I answered, surprised. “Why would you think that?”

She picked at the stitching on Paddington. “It happens at my school sometimes. When I leave the classroom, the girls they laugh loudly. And when I come back in, they stop.”

My breath stuttered as emotion flood me unexpectedly. I blinked and slowly exhaled. Reaching out, I brushed the silky hair off her forehead. My mind went blank at how to comfort her.

“I think it is because of my name. Dauphine. Nobody has this name.”

I cocked my head. “What does Dauphine mean?”

“I do not know the word in English.”

“It sounds like Dolphin to me. And who wouldn’t want to be named after a Dolphin.” Still, I slipped my phone out of my back pocket and translated Dauphine. There was no translation, so I typed, “what is a dauphine in France?” “Ahh,” I said as the answer loaded. “So you are the female heir to the French Royal Throne.” Actually, not really that far from the truth if the tabloids were to be believed. At least that’s how people saw Xavier Pascale.

“But I’m not. Papa said my maman wanted to call me this. And now that she is not here I do not want to change it. But it is so, so stupid.” She rolled over, snuggling into her pillow.

“I think it’s pretty. It’s like being called Princess.”

“And this is not good. The girls at school are mean about it.”

I blew out a breath, realizing most platitudes would be a lie. I was also humbled that this little girl had chosen to share her personal pain with me, and I’d only just met her. “I have known girls like that too,” I said, instead. “Boys too. It’s hurtful. But luckily there are many more people in the world who are nicer, kinder, and better friends. They can be hard to find. Like treasure. But when you find them, keep the friendship safe. It is very, very precious.”

I leaned down and kissed her forehead, 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.