“She brushed your hair for you?”

Dauphine nodded, and her lower lip suddenly began to tremble. “She made some blonde sometimes in her hair. It’s … difficult to remember.”

“It makes you sad to think about her?”

She nodded. “But I’m sad also when I forget things about her.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“In my room at home. I should have brought one here so you could see.” She blinked rapidly, her blue eyes watery. “She was very, very beautiful. But she was very, very sad. Papa said being sad can be like getting sick. Some people die when they get too sick.”

Jesus. Swallowing a wave of grief at her loss, I squeezed her shoulder. “He’s right.” I blew out a steadying breath. “Would you like me to brush your hair before you go to sleep tonight? I might not do it the same way, but you have such beautiful curls, we should make them shine like your maman liked.”

The boat’s engines slowed, and the rocking grew a little more pronounced. I hung on to the door frame, my stomach lurching, and reached for Dauphine’s hand. I was glad I’d had something solid for breakfast.

Turning, I stopped short at the sight of Xavier Pascale striding across the cabin. “What are you doing in there?” he asked, his voice with an odd quake. “Dauphine, I told you not to come in here.”

She inhaled sharply, and I stepped protectively in front of her.

Chapter Fourteen

With Dauphine protected behind me, I raised my eyebrows in surprise at the tone of her father’s voice. My heart thundered like I’d been sent to the principal’s office.

The disapproval on his face suddenly evaporated as if he’d caught himself overreacting.

“I didn’t have time to buy sunscreen.” I held up the bottle by way of explanation of why we were in the master stateroom. “Dauphine said I could borrow some.”

“Oui, Papa.” Dauphine slipped from behind me and grabbed him in a hug around his middle. Her shoulders shook. The tears that had been so close to the surface, ones I’d managed to keep at bay just moments before, suddenly burst out at the puncture wound her father’s anger had inflicted. She babbled words into his body.

His head bowed down as he hugged her back, and dark brown hair flopped silkily over his forehead. Then he gently pried his daughter off his middle. She’d left wet splotches on his pale blue linen shirt. Seeing her tears, I saw his shoulders slump, guilt wracking his features.

He cooed gently to her in French, and then looked up at me, his eyes miserable.