“Not just shopping … we are going to the market! Papa said we can go today to the market in Antibes. It is not as good as the one in St. Tropez, mais … that is okay. You will love it! It is my favorite thing!” She was practically bouncing in her seat.

Confused at Dauphine’s excitement, I looked at Andrea for help. “A market has her this excited?”

“Well, the markets in France are a pretty big deal in the summer. Antibes is one of the best. Well, the covered market is there all summer, but they have a street market too where they close down the streets and vendors come from all over to set up their stuff.”

“Like a farmer’s market?”

“Sort of. But better. They sell everything. Even amazing antiques. The one in St. Tropez is famous but pricey. But after you’ve done this stretch of coast a few years, you realize that a lot of the same vendors travel to each place. You can buy linen dresses from Italy, amazing cheeses, unique jewelry, leather bags, cover-ups, flowers … you know what? I can’t do it justice. You’ll understand when you get there.”

“You aren’t coming?”

“Nah. I’ve been to lots. I have no room for any more clothes. Besides, I have a ton of stuff to do on the boat. Chef always goes though, to pick up supplies.”

Rod and Chef emerged from the crew stairs.

“Where am I going?” asked Chef.

Rod helped himself to a plate and sat down opposite me. “Mornin’.”

I nodded at him.

“The market,” Dauphine answered Chef through a mouthful of croissant. She swallowed. “You can get a beautiful new bikini, Josie. Then you don’t have to worry about your top falling off all the time.”

There was a beat of silence where heat traveled up my throat to my face, and eyebrows around me raised.

“Well,” Rod said, giving me a wink. “None of us would mind if you wanted to go topless. All the French ladies do. It’s one of my favorite things about France.”

Chef cuffed him over the head. “That’s a stereotype, and you know it.” He growled at the same time I felt the breeze of the door to the salon open behind me.

“Rod.” Mr. Pascale’s voice was an arctic rumble.

In front of me, Rod’s face suddenly went purple as he swallowed whatever he’d put in his mouth whole.

“Viens ici,” said Mr. Pascale’s low voice behind me. I turned to see him holding the door open and gesturing through it with one hand, his eyes like icicles trained on Rod.

Rod nodded with a gulp. “J’arrive.” He slid out of the banquette. “Sorry, Josie,” he mumbled at me as he passed.

“I—it’s fine,” I said. “I know you were just joking.”

His eyes darted from me to his boss.