French Toast (The French Twist Series Book 2)

by Glynis Astie

  It took us a good twenty minutes, but we managed to capture Poupette. Once she determined who we were, she covered us in doggy kisses and happily jumped in the back of the wagon. Uncle Luc laughed heartily as he drove us back to the house. Louis and I were a little, ahem, worse for the wear following our wild dog chase.

  Upon our return, we found a large crowd waiting in front of the Durand home, all eager to start the wedding reception. There was a collective gasp once Louis helped me out of the wagon. I quickly surveyed our appearances, hoping we weren’t the source of the shock. A cursory glance gave me the answer to that burning question. No such luck.

  Louis’ hair was tousled, his suit was wrinkled, he was covered in a coating of dust and his shoes were caked in mud. My hair had stayed perfectly in place (Kate is a rock star!), but the bodice of my dress was covered in muddy paw prints, the hem of my skirt was coated in mud and my stockings were ruined.

  Before anyone had the chance to make a comment, Michel burst into laughter. Poupette had leapt into his arms and was smothering him with kisses. The entire wedding party was so moved by this reunion, Louis and I had a moment to breathe.

  Louis put his arm around me. “You are crazy, mon coeur.”

  I smiled up at him. “For taking off after a dog and ruining my dress? Or for ensuring your mother will hate me for the rest of my life?”

  He laughed. “She will no doubt be pretty pissed. But it does not matter, Syd. What you did for my dad was…just…so YOU.”

  I kissed his nose. “Is that a good thing?”

  As he was about to answer, my father approached us. “Good-O, Duck! I love what you’ve done with your dress.”

  I blushed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Dad.”

  He kissed my forehead. “You’re a firecracker, Syd. The Durand family is lucky to have you. Right, Louis?”

  Louis shook my dad’s hand. “We are indeed, Mr. Bennett.”

  My dad grinned at us. “You two have made it through quite a lot in the last year. I’m impressed you stuck it out. And as you know, Duck, I’m not impressed easily.”

  Louis and I grinned at each other. We had absolutely been through a lot and had lived to tell about it. I had no doubt we were about to add to our already impressive repertoire of tales with our impending French wedding reception.

  I gently wiped the tears from my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Louis cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Bennett. That means a lot to us both.”

  My dad grinned. “You’re welcome.” Then he turned to me. “Now, Duck, I believe all your hard work in France has earned you a bottle or two of wine. You may as well make this a night to remember. Plus, I need some new stories for my buddies at the senior center. Last year’s drunken airplane episode has gotten old…”

  I really love my dad.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Durand-Bennett wedding was one of the wildest scenes Le Caylar had seen in some time. And it was going to be perfect, if Simone had anything to do with it. (She was a woman after my own heart.) To that end, once she had gotten over her initial shock of Louis’ and my appearance, she moved into damage control mode. There was no way we were going to kick off her coveted reception in our current disheveled states. She had Louis change into a backup gray suit and covered my mud laden bodice with a rather complicated wrap of a beautiful pale gold scarf.

  I had thought my skirt was a lost cause, but Simone whipped out a roll of three inch wide gold sparkly ribbon and went to town with a needle and thread. I couldn’t believe it! Within five minutes, she had bedazzled my skirt into submission! When she steered me towards a mirror, I was in complete shock. The dress looked completely different than the one I had chosen, but it was just as beautiful. Maybe I needed to have a little more faith in my mother-in-law and her accessorizing prowess.

  After I thanked Simone profusely for her remarkable design work and Maya worked her usual magic with my makeup, Louis escorted me to the wedding reception in his parent’s backyard. Backyard is a bit misleading of a term considering the family owns over nine hundred acres of land, but it is an apt description nonetheless. There were tables of guests as far as the eye could see, punctuated with three dance floors, two bands, a choir and endless buffets of delicious food. Simone had outfitted the entire setting with twinkly white lights and more flowers than I had ever seen in my life. Given that it was now three in the afternoon and it didn’t get dark here until after nine at this time of year, the presence of the twinkly lights led me to believe this party was going to carry on for a long period of time. It was clear this reception was going to be legendary.

  The cocktail hour was indeed a sight to be seen. A few of Louis’ old buddies from his bartending days in college agreed to take shifts the bar, mixing drinks and putting on crowd-pleasing shows a la Tom Cruise in Cocktail. There were lights, flames and choreographed dance moves. The few moments I caught were highly entertaining and oddly enough, somewhat erotic. After viewing a couple of exchanges involving a “volunteer” from the surrounding audience, I understood why Louis enjoyed being a bartender so much in his younger days. The women quite literally fell into your lap…

  Any of my past drinking stories were put to rest collectively by my family. It would appear all those, except for Nick, who was in charge of Sam, felt it was their duty to show Louis’ family that the Americans could keep up with the French. They were so woefully wrong. The hangovers they were going to experience tomorrow would be EPIC. I didn’t think my father would be physically able to mix his hangover remedy, even if he were able to find the ingredients.

  Let me set the scene for you. I think you’ll enjoy this almost as much as I did. (Payback is a bitch, yo!) Louis took Charlie and Zoe along with him to the Get 27 table. Get 27 (pronounced “jet”) is a particularly potent French liquor which tastes like mint with a strong aftertaste of ….lighter fluid? Jet fuel? (Ha!) It’s also bright green. I would liken it to gasoline-flavored mouthwash. Louis once told me, the advantage of this type of alcohol was if you overdid it and hurled, your breath would be minty fresh. I was fairly certain both Charlie and Zoe were going to share this experience at some point in the evening.

  My mother and Kate joined Louis’ aunts at a table with a selection of wine from Uncle Luc’s vineyard. My mother conducted herself in a similar fashion to the wine tasting earlier in the week. It was too bad that instead of taking care of her as she did then, Kate elected to drink right along with my mother. The two of them became sloppy drunk before the entrees arrived and ended up doing the tango. With each other. (Don’t ask.) It was a good thing Kate had planned ahead and pumped some breast milk for Sam. She didn’t need to learn about the wonders of hangovers at such a tender young age. There would be plenty of time for such things in her teenage years.

  I’ve saved the absolute best for last - my father. He made the grave error of joining Louis’ uncles at the Pastis table. My father LOVES the taste of Pastis. Since this is the “flavor of the South” (of France, that is), all men who grew up there learned at an early age how to handle this particular alcohol. Sadly, my father had not. Since the rest of my family was drunk with a capital “D”, Nick had his hands full with Sam and I was performing the last of my wedding responsibilities, he was left to his own devices. It was not pretty.

  After the wedding cake had been served, I found him under a table clutching a bottle of Pastis in one hand and a plate of cheese in the other. He was, of course, singing as he has a tendency to do when intoxicated, but instead of his go-to choice of old army marching songs, he was singing... well…a rather explicit Prince song. I have no words to describe what it’s like to hear your father sing the lyrics to Get Off, so we’ll just skip that part. Since I had exposed him to Prince in the first place, I felt it necessary to redirect his song choice as quickly as possible. After several false starts, I was able to coax him into a rousing rendition of New York, New York. A much better choice, but he’s probably headed for YouTube’s Top Ten videos as well.
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br />   Amidst my family’s massive drunken episode, Louis and I made rounds to tables upon tables of guests, picking up food and cocktails as we went. This task took FOUR HOURS. (With a few short bathroom and checking-on-drunk-family-members breaks squeezed in between.) And that was having speed round conversations with each group of table inhabitants.

  I guess this makes sense considering there were over four hundred people in attendance. Phew! I was lucky enough to smile and nod for the most part; Louis really had to do all the heavy lifting. His voice was a bit hoarse by the time we were through, but the grin on his face was everlasting. I think our marriage felt more real to him once he had shared the pomp and circumstance with his all his French peeps.

  Louis pulled me aside towards the end of the evening to tell me, many of his family members had been impressed by my “balls.” Intrigued by his statement, I asked him to elaborate. He smiled as he informed me, not only did he receive consensus I had rightfully earned my place in the family by the level of commitment I had shown since my arrival, but also, his relatives wanted to congratulate me personally on my “Americaness.”

  Apparently, my crazed rescue of Poupette without regard to the fate of my wedding gown was viewed as reckless though well-intentioned – the epitome of the American way. I laughed as I ascertained my new French relatives didn’t consider all American traits to be undesirable. It seems having “balls” is a good thing here as well. As long as it’s used in small doses…

  I received more pats on the back that night than I care to admit. It was rather painful in a dress with an open back, but in the end it was worth it. I had broken through the barrier and was now a RESPECTED, card carrying member of the Durand family, even if I couldn’t completely understand them. But I knew I would get there one day. And I looked forward to it with relish.

  I felt an immense sense of relief as the evening came to a close. Over the last week and a half, I had cleared every single one of the hurdles which had been put in front of me. There had been MANY; they had all felt ridiculously high and I had repeatedly thought I wouldn’t make it. Whenever I had felt these doubts, I simply thought about everything Louis and I had been through and knew if I could get through all the uncertainty, pain and self-doubt of the past few months, I could get through anything. We Durand women are extremely resilient, you know.

  The cherry on top of the evening? As the last family members were leaving the wedding, we were able to solve the mystery of Poupette’s disappearance. Monique approached us with an air of triumph, holding a bottle of champagne and three glasses. She grinned as she told us the dog-napper turned out to be an old girlfriend of Michel’s. Marie had traveled three hundred miles for the wedding and was bitterly disappointed when Michel wouldn’t betray Simone for her. So, as her supreme act of vengeance she stole his favorite dog. (The bond between a French man and his dog is ironclad.) Poor Poupette had been trapped in Marie’s mother’s cellar overnight.

  You may be wondering how Monique was able to come to this brilliant conclusion. I sure was. It would seem Monique observed Poupette to have a negative reaction to Marie during the reception. (Because, of course, all seven dogs were in attendance of our wedding reception.) It didn’t take long for her to pry the truth out of Marie using a little empathy and a whole lotta wine. Forget the tourist trade, I think Monique has a career as a detective in her future.

  The next morning was a true sight to be seen around the breakfast table. Every member of my family, save Nick and Sam, looked to be a sickly shade of green. Very little food was consumed and there was a propensity of head clutching and moaning. I decided it would be rather unladylike to behave in a smug manner, as they had often behaved towards me during one of my classic hangovers, and offered them each a glass of Simone’s hangover remedy. I have not a clue what was in it, other than a small amount of Get 27 (hair of the dog that bit you, my friend). The distinctive odor and tinge of green made it unmistakable.

  Thankfully none of the Bennett family drunkards had to board a plane until the following day. Everyone had taken advantage of their trip to France as a jumping off point for further European travels. My parents were on their way to both Germany and Norway. My father was planning on looking up a few long lost cousins in Munich and my mom was very much looking forward to a visit with her close friend in Norway. Nick, Kate and Sam were off to merry old England and Charlie and Zoe had planned a romantic trip to Italy. And, of course, Louis and I would leave tomorrow morning for our one night in Paris. The anticipation was killing me!

  After helping Simone with the dishes, I ventured out to the terrace to find the broken shells of my family. Kate was sitting in front of a large pile of crackers which she appeared to be sharing with both Zoe and Sam. My mom had regained some of her color and was having a pleasant chat with Nigel, Grace and Devon. Charlie and my dad were sitting stoically in silence staring at some unknown item on the horizon and Louis was keeping Nick company as the only other non-hung over person present. Maya, it seemed, was missing.

  I smiled at the collective group and approached my father. “Are you alright, Dad?”

  He didn’t respond. Uh oh. Is he in some kind of trance? Both Charlie and I tapped him on the shoulder and he slowly came to life.

  He peered up at me. “Duck. What’s the good word?”

  I put my hand over his. “I’m fine, Dad. How are you?”

  He coughed. “A little worse for the wear since last night.”

  Charlie laughed. “No kidding. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

  I winced. “Did Simone’s hangover remedy help at all?” I really hoped it had some kind of positive effect. It both looked and smelled disastrous. Why else would you drink such a nasty concoction?

  My dad pursed his lips. “Couldn’t tell you. I still feel like a bomb went off in my brain.”

  I began to cackle uncontrollably.

  Charlie rolled his eyes at me. “Laugh all you want, Sydie. It won’t be long before you’re on the other side of this equation.”

  My laughing subsided. “Don’t I know it, my brother! I’m happy to be where I am for the moment.”

  My dad carefully got up from the table. “I have some business to attend to.”

  Charlie sighed as my dad walked towards the house. “I hope no one needs to use the bathroom for a while…”

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, have you seen Maya?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Not since last night.”

  Maya had made quite the spectacle of herself during the wedding reception. Thankfully it wasn’t for drunken shouting this time. She and Devon had taken salsa lessons shortly before we left for France and the two of them had wowed the four hundred plus guests with a scorching performance. Honestly, simply seeing the two of them side by side was an experience in itself, since they were both obscenely attractive. But watching their obscenely attractive bodies move in such a manner was…indescribable.

  I kissed Charlie on the top of his head. “I’m going to check in with Devon.”

  Charlie nodded and resumed his staring straight ahead. It was almost like he was seasick. Ugh.

  A quick conversation with Devon alerted me to Maya’s location. I had to ask him to repeat himself since I thought he said she was in the garden. OK. Maya doesn’t do dirt. Especially dirt which may or may not contain some type of animal excrement. You know how much her shoes cost!

  A few minutes later I was looking upon a most bizarre sight. My good friend Maya, a well-known nature hater, was gazing dreamily at Simone’s enormous flower garden with the most ridiculous grin on her face. My mind raced in different directions all at once. Was she still drunk from last night? Had she not slept? Was she on drugs? What the hell was wrong with her?

  I gasped. It couldn’t be. I ran over to Maya and grabbed her left hand. Staring back at me was the largest, most perfect diamond I’ve ever seen.

  “Holy shit, Maya!” I giggled gleefully and scooped her into my arms.

  Her entire being was li
ght. I had never, in the nearly twelve years I had known her, seen her this happy. From everything you’ve heard, you must be shocked. I mean, Maya is pretty much a sourpuss at heart. A loveable sourpuss, but a sourpuss nonetheless.

  I put her down carefully and she grinned at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m getting married, Syd!”

  I jumped up and down. “I know! I’m so excited!” Suddenly I stopped jumping. I pulled her over to a large rock and sat down on it. “Wait! Tell me everything.”

  She joined me on the rock, laughing all the way. This new, HAPPY Maya was freaking me out a little. But in a good way. It was just going to take some getting used to.

  “So, when we finished dancing, he went to get us drinks.”

  I nodded. “Before or after cake?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused. “Does it matter?”

  I shook my head. “Only trying to discern when it happened.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You have to focus on the important details, Syd!”

  I shushed her. “Then get on with it!”

  She smirked. “So he came back with two glasses of champagne, found a remote table for us to sit at and popped the question.”

  I was shocked. “Just like that?” No preamble? No, I’m such a lucky man to have met such an amazing woman like you, blah, blah, blah…(We all enjoy those blahs, don’t we?)

  Maya nodded. “Just like that.” She put her ring in front of my face for emphasis. Yes, Maya, I know a ring like that (and a man like Devon for that matter) does not need unnecessary preamble.

  I grinned like an idiot at her. “I’m so happy for you!”

  She clapped twice quickly. “There’s no time for happiness, Matron of Honor. We have a lot of work to do. Why do you think I’m out in this garden? There are flowers to be selected, color schemes, table linens, invitations…”