“Of course. Send your references to me, I’ll handle the background check.” He handed her a card with his email address.
When she nodded, her braids swished against her cheek and throat. “This is business, William. Nothing else. I’d advise you to treat it as such.”
“Of course,mademoiselle,”he said humbly, but inside, he was rejoicing.
5
Provence, thought Naisha.Wow.
It boggled her mind that she could be here again, back to this gorgeous, flower-strewn, sun-kissed part of France where she’d spent so many happy summers. She thought of all the vacations she and Toni had spent at a mansion several hectares away from the d’Ambly des Ayvelles estate, picking fruit off trees and immediately sinking their teeth into them. Riding horses through the countryside. Learning to bake French bread by hand, make peach and berry compotes, and how to select a good cheese.
Even after that disastrous relationship with William, she had still come back to visit her grandmother, spending less time, maybe, because by then her career as a model had begun to take off, but every time it felt like a homecoming. Grandmère Adelphine had become so loved by the people she worked for that she became almost a member of their family, and when Naisha and Toni flew back to visit, they were welcomed with hugs, kisses, and plenty of food.
When she retired and returned to Guadeloupe on full pension, Naisha visited her there as well, delighting in a different environment, one that was equally French, but tinted with the sunny charm of the Caribbean.
Her grandmother died a few years ago, and Naisha had felt the loss bitterly. She would always treasure the memories.
And now, here she was, standing on the vast, well-tended Dubois estate, looking up at the château she’d visited as a teenager. Where William used to sneak her into the small summer cottage at the end of the property, far from the reach of the servants and anyone else who would happen to amble past. It was there, in that pretty little summer cottage with tea roses, that she’d lost her virginity. William had been sweet, gentle, careful. He had been everything.
When that memory entered her head, she glanced across at William, wondering if it had returned to him, too. But he was stoic, reserved. Not even looking her way.
Willa had no such reservations. The child’s face was happy and glowing, a far cry from the somber withdrawal she often retreated into. “Have you ever been in a helicopter, Naisha?”
“MademoiselleNaisha,” William corrected wearily, as he had done the last ten times she’d said it.
Willa rolled her eyes.“Oui, Papa.”But both Naisha and William knew she’d be saying no such thing.
She winked at Willa, and Willa winked back. Then, Naisha said, “I’ve been on a few helicopter rides, yes. For my work. Once, I had a photo shoot on an oil platform off the coast of Alaska!”
Three days after Naisha had finished her shoot for Jacyn, the trio had flown down from the United States to Paris on a private plane owned by one of William’s companies. He’d been watching her carefully as she stepped on board, as if trying to glean a reaction from her or maybe gauge how she interacted with his daughter. In the circles she’d frequented as a model, this wasn’t her first private jet, and communicating with Willa wasn’t a chore.
They’d spent a few days in Paris visiting museums and sightseeing for Willa’s sake. “She needs to understand her culture,” William had insisted. But the girl had little time for culture and begged to be taken to Disneyland Paris instead. “Don’t tell Papa,” Willa had hissed to her confidentially as they rode the Ratatouille adventure ride together, “but I like this better than the museum.”
Jacyn almost felt sorry for William. He might be wealthy beyond measure, a titan in the world of business, but when he was at home, he was just another hapless single father, clueless as to how to make a tween happy.
From Paris, it was a short helicopter ride down south, back to the estate on the outskirts of Aix-en-Provence. For all of them, in different ways, it was a homecoming.
The large, ornate front door opened and servants in burgundy uniforms spilled out — shaking William’s hand, welcoming him home, and being introduced to Naisha. Willa was hugged and kissed by all of them in turn, even as she appeared too tongue-tied to say much. Naisha wasn’t surprised at how well liked the girl was by her father’s staff.
But she couldn’t help but notice how the cheerful, even exuberant child she’d met in the States had become increasingly reserved the closer they got to the family home. To what could she attribute the sudden change in the girl’s personality? Was she missing her mother? Was the large, beautiful home in which she lived filled with unhappy memories?
Willa slid her arm through Naisha’s as they walked through the imposing hallways towards William’s wing. It was hard to tell whether she was being companionable or whether she was growing more anxious and needed Naisha’s presence to comfort her.
As they walked, Naisha glanced around, assailed by the grand sense of age and history that pervaded the building. While little had changed in terms of the architecture, the décor and furnishings were discreet and modern, more in line with 21stcentury expectations. She could even see electronic locks on doors which, a century before, had been secured by large iron keys. Small security cameras neatly tucked into corners, making her wonder how closely her movements around the château and grounds would be monitored.
They were accompanied by a handsome, black-haired man called Hassan, who she gathered was the butler, but once they arrived at a far section of the building, William dismissed him with a nod.
“These are Willa’s quarters,” he said, leading them into a cluster of rooms.
“This is my bedroom,” Willa explained.
“I guessed,” Naisha said, looking around admiringly. The rooms were located on the eastern side, where the morning sun could shine in through stained glass windows. The furniture was completely modern, and yet, to Naisha’s eyes, maybe a bit childish for a girl of Willa’s age. It probably hadn’t been upgraded since she’d been a toddler.
“Is it pretty?” Willa asked with a note of hope in her voice.
“It is, but not as pretty as you.” Naisha tugged gently on Willa’s freshly re-done braids, which the child had insisted upon on their second night in Paris.
The look Willa gave her said,Me? Pretty? I doubt it, but okay.