French Toast (The French Twist Series Book 2)

by Glynis Astie

  French Toast

  Glynis Astie

  Copyright © 2014 by Glynis Astie

  Cover design by Megan Eisen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Tikinou LLC at publishing@tikinou.com

  ISBN: 0615974880

  ISBN-13: 978-0615974880

  To my mother, Joann, for always reminding me that anything worth doing will be challenging.

  And to my father, Alfred, for helping me to laugh through it.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Glynis Astie

  Also by Glynis Astie

  Chapter One

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Could she? I opened my eyes, looked over at Louis and tried to smile. I can only imagine the look which registered on my face, but I highly doubt it was anything remotely positive. Louis had just finished telling me about his mother’s latest plans for our wedding. I took another deep breath and reminded myself, yet again, I had agreed to let her plan the wedding in its entirety (with the exception of choosing my wedding dress). Why would I agree to something so completely insane? It might have had something to do with the fact that this would be our third wedding.

  Indeed, I said THIRD wedding and no, I don’t have an Elizabeth Taylor complex. And I can prove it! Allow me to give you the short version. After a disastrous romantic history dating back to college, I, Sydney Bennett, was swept off my feet by the incredible Frenchman, Louis Durand. Louis was in California on business, but following our first week together, he accepted a transfer from his company’s Paris office to the San Jose office.

  To the great shock of our families and friends, we became engaged a few weeks later. We began planning a beautiful wedding in Monterey for the following September, only to be thwarted by Louis’ unexpected job loss in January. In order to avoid his deportation, we were married shortly thereafter in my home town of Haverstraw, New York. So my dreams of a beautiful wedding wouldn’t be crushed, we elected to have the originally planned event in Monterey as well. Everyone needs gorgeous wedding photos! The first wedding was definitely more practical than gorgeous.

  One would think two weddings would be more than enough for one couple in love, but due to Louis’ status as an only child with an extremely large extended family and his mother’s dream of a wedding which his whole town (population: four hundred) would attend, we simply had to have one more wedding. Besides, a wedding in the beautiful French countryside sounded amazing, right?

  This way my family and I would have the opportunity to experience the wedding customs of Louis’ country as he and his family would experience the customs of ours at the wedding in Monterey. (The first wedding was kind of light on customs as it was predominantly a vehicle to keep Louis in the country.) My mother and siblings were thrilled at the prospect of a trip to France, while my father bemoaned his need to set foot in traitorous territory. He’s German and likes to complain. Although I knew he was practically drooling at the prospect of the gastronomic experiences in his future.

  While three weddings did afford a certain amount of stress, in the end, I think it helped me. My mother had planned the first wedding (in the span of one week), I was planning the second wedding (in the span of one year) and Louis’ mother was planning the third (in the span of Louis’ lifetime). This allowed for all parties to end up with a wedding they were happy with.

  I must admit, the idea of having three different wedding dresses is kind of fun. Hey, now! There’s no need to judge! The three events are very different levels of formality. The first was an informal town hall wedding, the second would be a formal evening wedding and the third would be an afternoon wedding in the French countryside. If you really think about it, you’ll realize having three wedding dresses is an absolute necessity.

  Now that my seemingly ludicrous statement of three weddings has been explained, we can return to the problem at hand. Louis has informed me of his mother’s purchase of an ensemble for me to wear to the rehearsal dinner. (Honestly, this is becoming comical. This will be our THIRD rehearsal dinner.)

  Let me remind you of Simone’s very...particular fashion sense. All the garments she wears are short, tight, brightly colored and/or bedazzled. Given she is now sixty years old, my hat goes off to her. I hope I have the guts to wear miniskirts into my sixties. Having said that, I have never been one to dress quite so....um...how do I put this? My taste is slightly more conservative than hers.

  Louis was nearly in tears from laughing so boisterously while he described the dress to me. Simone had chosen a gold sequined halter mini dress with red satin roses on the straps and red satin ruffles along the bottom of the skirt. She also saw fit to purchase red satin stilettos with matching red satin roses on the toes. I resisted the urge to strangle my husband and began to pace the room.

  Clearly I made a serious error in judgment when I allowed Simone to make all decisions for the wedding except for my wedding dress. In my defense, I really didn’t think her purview extended to my wardrobe choices for pre-wedding events. It was becoming quite obvious I had a lot to learn about her.

  I attempted to slow my heart rate and let my mind wander. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the planning of our third wedding but me. This was mostly likely because I was the only one who would have to go through a number of humiliating experiences. Not to mention my complete focus on planning MY perfect wedding.

  I know it sounds horrible, but I was invested in the second wedding, my real wedding, while I was merely a participant in our third and final, French wedding. I had yet to meet my mother-in-law and had no way to communicate with her since she doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak French. I kept meaning to sign up for lessons, but never seemed to find the time. Planning a wedding is very time consuming! I can barely fit in going to work.

  Every day seemed to bring a new tale of woe for me and Louis was enjoying himself far too much for my taste. I was absolutely convinced he was making secret phone calls to my dad during the day, so they could enjoy my impending mortification together. My dad may have put Louis through the ringer when he first met him (as any father would upon finding out a “shifty French yokel” was going to marry his daughter after only knowing her for a few weeks), but now they were thick as thieves.

  The more details I hear about the French wedding, the more scared I become. I realize when you think
of a wedding in the south of France, scary is not the word that comes to mind. I think the more details which come to light will lead you to understand just how scary it can be.

  The first hint of apprehension came when Louis informed me there would be four days’ worth of activities leading up to the wedding, two of which would take place without the support of my family. (Apparently, some traditional French events were not meant for Americans, except the one who was seeking passage into the family.) I didn’t think to ask any questions at this point, since we had just returned from our first wedding. My head was still trying to adjust to the idea of Louis as my HUSBAND and I had a million details to nail down for our Monterey wedding. (Yes, this is wedding number two; try to keep up!)

  As I felt the familiar descent into anxiety, I closed my eyes and tried to calm down. My French was terrible and I was going to be surrounded by literally hundreds of people I didn’t know, who had ridiculously high expectations of the woman who had captured Louis’ heart. How could I possibly keep from embarrassing myself while being on display for FOUR days? Especially when I barely spoke the language and there would be so much wine involved???

  I decided to let it go since I knew there were many French customs surrounding a wedding and it was my responsibility as Louis’ wife to indulge his mother’s desire for each and every one of them. I knew all too well I had to make epic concessions to her since she wasn’t able to be there for our first (and legal) wedding. She had settled for viewing the ceremony via web cam and it simply wasn’t the same as being there in person.

  Especially when we are talking about the wedding of her only son to a woman whom she had yet to meet. A woman who had caused him to move to another country - far, far away from her. She had also generously allowed for the French wedding to take place last, thereby reducing my stress level as much as possible. At that point, I would have had my dream wedding and would just be acting out someone else’s.

  A couple of days later, Louis told me a few of his former girlfriends would be attending not only the wedding in France, but also a number of the pre-wedding events. He explained how close his mother had remained to them, since she had known them for so long and the town was so small. I took yet another deep breath (I really should practice meditation with all of the deep breaths I take) and resolved not to be insecure, knowing Louis loved me and he was already my husband. This was the mature choice, wasn’t it?

  Well, I also resolved to look as good as I possibly could. I had seen photos of his former girlfriends and they were all incredibly beautiful. I was smart enough to know I was going to have to try twice as hard to impress everyone due to my status as an American. At the very least, I was going look gorgeous while I was doing it!

  While my mother and my sister, Kate, were sympathetic to what I was going to have to go through, my friend Maya thought it was HILARIOUS. Big surprise. She has always enjoyed laughing at my expense. In fact, she enjoys it so much she’s going to attend the French wedding as well so she can take pictures of my humiliation to cherish for posterity. And maybe share with a few friends. Possibly a few strangers, just for fun. (Don’t laugh! It actually happened once.) I think she plans to blow up the photo of me in the gold sequined dress to hang in her office. I already get strange looks from her coworkers due to photos from an unfortunate night in New York City. I still don’t know how I ended up in the river, but I’m sure she had something to do with it.

  In direct contrast to my discomfort, Louis has been completely content throughout the French wedding planning process. He would be able to have a wedding surrounded by his family and friends, in his language, with his beloved cuisine. (Though he loved some American food, he felt we were light years behind France in terms of culinary skills.)

  The entirety of our relationship thus far had taken place in the context of my country, my family, my friends and my culture. He had picked up his entire life and moved it thousands of miles for me, married me before anyone in his family had met me and had agreed to have my dream wedding before his own. The time had come for some of the focus to be on what he wanted.

  It was for this reason, I kept my own discomfiture from him at the mention of the gold sequined dress. This third and FINAL wedding was really all about him and his family and if I had to endure a few fashion faux pas to keep everything running smoothly, then so be it. He had certainly gone through enough for me. Though we can have a discussion of my budding neuroses later. Right now, we have a wedding to finish planning…

  Chapter Two

  My first month as Madame Durand was absolute bliss. Louis had still not found a job and was therefore devoting all his time to pampering his new wife, including orchestrating an unforgettably romantic Valentine’s Day. Thankfully, I earned enough from my job as a Human Resources Representative to cover our rent and basic expenses. Until he found a new job as a computer programmer, we would have to be very careful with our extraneous expenses and our entertainment budget was nonexistent. I guess it was a good thing we were newlyweds and wanted to spend most of our time alone in our apartment.

  Kate was a little less than understanding when it came to the amount of time I spent with Louis. She had not been a newlywed for quite a few years and had little patience for not only my lack of presence, but also for my dreamy state when she managed to pin me down. Kate was seven and a half months pregnant and took the expression “raging hormones” to a whole new level. Her poor husband, Nick, was beside himself, since he had never encountered such a beast in the form of his wife. Kate was by definition perfect and this new iteration of her personality was not welcome. I kept reminding him, her transformation was only temporary and his loving wife would be back before he knew it.

  Unfortunately for me, he seemed to need constant reassurance of this fact as well as consultation on a multitude of female “needs” which Kate had assigned him. I sighed when I saw his cell phone number pop up on my work phone for the fifth time that day.

  “Hi, Nick! Did she not like the slippers we picked out?” My sister’s revolving footwear desires were really starting to irk me.

  “Slippers are fine. Moving on to item twelve on the list.” Ah yes, the infamous list. The contents changed every day, with Nick receiving email updates from Kate on an hourly basis. She had been placed on bed rest two weeks ago and Nick was slowly losing his mind. I took a small sense of satisfaction in finally seeing a few signs of normalcy from this seemingly flawless couple.

  “What’s item twelve?” I rolled my eyes. What could she possibly need now? She had everything under the sun already.

  Nick hesitated. “Um…” I heard papers shuffling in the background. Was he still trying to locate item twelve?

  “Nick? Are you OK?” I was trying to imagine what heinously embarrassing thing she had asked him to procure this time.

  He cleared his throat. “I really don’t want to say this.”

  I suppressed a giggle. Nick had had to describe many feminine products to me over the last few weeks in a bid to arrive home with the correct item. “Just get it over with, Nick. You’ll feel better.” How bad could it be?

  A muffled sound came over the line. “She wants….cream.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “OK. What kind?” Kate was really particular about her creams. Only certain ingredients, certain brands from certain stores; you get the idea.

  “Well…it’s cream for your…um….your….feminine parts.” He sounded completely mortified.

  I thought for a moment. “Which feminine parts are we talking about?”

  “How many are there?” He choked out.

  “Did her doctor prescribe it for her?” I was totally confused. He really needed to man up and tell me what it was. Especially since he couldn’t deal with purchasing it himself!

  “No! She wants cream for her…for her…” He started to cough.

  I had reached my limit. “Nick! Say it!”

  “Nipple cream! She needs nipple cream!” A huge chorus of laughter erupted from
Nick’s end of the line.

  I couldn’t help cackling, but quickly tried to cover my slip by clearing my throat. I don’t blame Nick’s coworkers for busting a gut over such a gem. “So, do you know what kind?” A few more giggles escaped before I could stop them.

  I could only imagine the look of humiliation on Nick’s face. “No idea. Maybe you could call her?”

  I frowned. As a most unfortunate side effect of her pregnancy, my perfect sister had become a perfect bitch. It was all too bizarre. Speaking to her at this point in time was along the lines of trying to charm a dragon.

  The laughter eventually died down on Nick’s end of the line. He sighed. “Please, Syd? I don’t think I can call now after the razzing coming my way. Talking to her will make it so much worse. You have no idea what she asks me to say to her.”

  I thought it over. He did have it way worse than I did. At least I had an office door I could close. Working in Human Resources afforded a few niceties which didn’t befall most computer programmers, as important as they may be. “OK. I’ll call her, but it’ll have to be later in the day. I have to get to a meeting in about ten minutes.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone.

  I brought out my stern voice. “Nick, I’ll call her as soon as I can. I’m running the meeting I mentioned, so I can’t be late.”

  “OK.” He sounded resigned. “Please don’t forget.”

  After I promised him five more times I wouldn’t forget, I hung up the phone. Imagine my surprise when it rang as soon as I put the receiver back in its cradle.

  I lunged for the phone, nostrils flaring. He really had to get a grip. “Nick! I told you I would call her as soon as I could! I can’t think about my sister’s nipples right now!”

  A slightly feminine guffaw emanated from the other end of the line. “Honey, if you’re ever thinking about your sister’s nipples, then we have a serious problem.”