French Toast (The French Twist Series Book 2)

by Glynis Astie

  Suddenly my head started to spin. Holy crap! Matron of honor! I still have one more wedding of my OWN to go in less than four weeks. And this is the one I had been looking forward to the most. This is MY day. Something was going to have to be done to head off the monster. Delicately, of course.

  I hugged her. “Matron of honor! I’m thrilled, Maya. Thank you for asking me.”

  She pulled out of the hug and grabbed my shoulders. “I have a bunch of bridal magazines in my hotel room we can look at after breakfast. Oh, and when we get back, we have to start looking at venues…”

  I laughed. “Maya, one step at a time. Have you called your parents? Devon’s parents?”

  She waved at me dismissively. “Of course, we called last night. Now about the flowers, I was thinking…”

  I put my hand up. “Now it’s time to tell your extended family. Or did you make those calls last night too?”

  She shook her head. I couldn’t imagine how no one in my family would notice a rock of that size (it had to be at least three carats) on her hand, but then again, they were all really drunk.

  I linked my arm through hers. “OK then. Let’s go tell them.”

  She began to protest. “But we have so many decisions to make.”

  I stopped and put my hands on her shoulders. “Maya, you’ve been engaged for less than twenty-four hours. Enjoy what’s happened! Savor it! Once the planning kicks in, the whole things starts to feel like work.”

  She nodded begrudgingly.

  I glared at her pointedly. “And let me remind you, we still have one more Durand-Bennett wedding to go. And this is the wedding I have wanted since I was a little girl. I swear, if you stress me out in the next four weeks fussing over your wedding which is a year away, I WILL kill you. And then poor Devon will be heartbroken. Understood?”

  She had the good grace to appear shocked. “Sorry, Syd. I guess the girly girl in me finally clawed her way out.”

  I chuckled. “I’m happy to meet her, but tell her to come back in a month, OK?”

  She took my hand and smiled. “Will do.”

  As Maya and I walked back towards the terrace, I thought about all the planning she had ahead of her. The excitement and the thrill of planning the perfect day to marry the perfect man. Of knowing you were going to have a perfect life together. Personally, I couldn’t wait for the planning to be over and the actual living of the perfect life to begin. I took a deep breath. Louis and I had made it through two weddings relatively unharmed despite a myriad of challenges. We had almost made it to the wedding of my dreams. What could possibly go wrong now?

  Damn it, Sydney Durand! You know better than that! Your father told you NEVER to ask that question. What the fuck were you thinking? God only knows what kind of heinous acts are going to befall you now. Just know you brought this on yourself…

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I can’t believe it. I have actually cursed myself. After everything I’ve been through, I was the key to my own undoing. Why did I have to ask what could go wrong? What would possess me to do such a ludicrous thing? I’m going to blame lack of logical reasoning as a result of my complete mental exhaustion. Pulling off a week and a half long feat of wedding labors took every ounce of energy I had. There was simply nothing left to power my battered brain.

  Because of the enormous amount of commotion on the day of our departure, I didn’t have time to think about my reckless question from the previous day. Louis and I were embroiled in the turmoil of packing, saying heartfelt good-byes to every member of his family and of course, making sure the American branch of the family made it to their various flights. Though our trip had been an amazing (and terrifying) experience, I was mind-numbingly tired and all I could think about was the king-size bed waiting for us at the George V. Unfortunately for my poor husband, I had sleep, not sex, at the forefront of my mind.

  On our flight to Paris that afternoon, the doubt started to creep into my consciousness. As I flipped through my trashy magazines, I tried to shake off my feeling of paranoia. I mean, what did I have to worry about? It wasn’t possible to cause bad things to happen simply by thinking they couldn’t happen, right? Seriously, who really believes in superstition? Crazy people, right? Exactly! Only crazy people. Sydney Bennett was crazy. Sydney Durand is most definitely not. Sydney Durand is logical. She is intelligent. She will not be swayed by such nonsense.

  With my irrational thoughts temporarily at bay, Louis and I spent the next day and a half in heaven. We did nothing but eat, drink and relax. (After we repeatedly assured his mother we had arrived safely in Paris. A ninety minute flight away…) Louis treated me like a queen. It was AWESOME! As soon as we arrived at the hotel, he drew me a bubble bath and ordered room service.

  Once he had scrubbed me clean, he fed me a delectable selection of pastries and then settled me into the softest bed I have ever slept in for a wonderful nap. Then he took me out shopping on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées where he bought me a beautiful dress and a number of elegant accessories. We then had a late dinner (which by European standards is eleven pm) and returned to our hotel for champagne and the best sex I have had in my entire life.

  The next day was filled with more shopping, eating and touring of the most magnificent French landmarks. We spent the morning at the Louvre, had lunch at the top of the Le Tour Eiffel and spent our afternoon browsing in the Galleries Lafayette. Louis insisted I try pastries and chocolates on nearly every street we walked, so by the time we boarded the plane for San Francisco that evening I was fairly certain I was going to explode. I was so exhausted from all the walking (and all the eating), I fell asleep on the flight. This had to be a good sign; I NEVER fell asleep on airplanes. Maybe my luck was changing. Maybe everything was going to be fine! Maybe I had finally broken the cycle of insanity!

  Maybe I was on crack. Three weeks have passed since we arrived home from Paris, which means we are now three days from my dream wedding. Work has been completely crazy for both Louis and me, so we haven’t seen much of each other. I have been furiously planning for next year’s department budget, organizing open enrollment and educating the employee population on our new dental plan. Louis has been dropped into the deep end of the pool at his new job and is now spearheading a major overhaul of the company’s most valuable database. So, you know, no pressure or anything.

  But it’s not these banal work issues which have made my blood run cold whenever I think of my asinine query as to what could possibly go wrong in the remaining three weeks before our wedding. It’s the fact that these wedding plans simply KEEP GOING WRONG. It was bad enough the photographer fell through (it never gets old) while we were in France, but problems kept cropping up. It’s like I was playing a giant game of whack-a-mole. As soon as one issue had been resolved, another one popped up in its place.

  I may not make it to my perfect wedding! I may have to be carried off in a lovely white straightjacket. I can see it now; I’ll be clutching patches of tulle and ribbon as I giggle maniacally about seating charts…

  Shall I fill you in on the details? You might need this information for my commitment hearing. Are you ready? Here we go. During our first week back, which was three weeks before the wedding, I received a call from the Monterey Plaza Hotel regarding our menu choices for the reception. Apparently, there was some kind of issue with one of the hotel’s suppliers and many of the items we had chosen were no longer available. In fact, all but THREE of the items were no longer available. In light of Louis’ packed schedule, I roped Maya into going with me to sort out this mess, claiming she needed training for her own impending bridal responsibilities. It only took us EIGHT hours to accomplish our task, since Maya was far more focused on what she would like to eat at her own wedding than on what I might end up shoving down her throat at mine.

  With my nerves frayed slightly from such a lovely experience, I focused on relaxing and stupidly told myself the worst was over. I should’ve known by that point, I had seriously angered the wedding gods by being
so bold and careless with my ponderings. There was a lot more fun coming my way before Louis and I made our third and final trip down the aisle.

  During our second week back, which was now two weeks before our wedding, I received a regretful phone call from our florist. There had apparently been some kind of freak storm in…some foreign country…the details escape me…and I now had to choose almost all new flowers. The good news was she would still be able to get the vibrant purple orchids which were integral to the overall look of the wedding, since my colors were pink and purple.

  Yes, I said PINK and PURPLE, not blush and aubergine or whatever stupid ass name some wedding planner would want to give these colors. It almost broke my heart, but I wouldn’t be able to have the pale pink roses I had dreamt of being the cornerstone of my bridal bouquet for pretty much as long as I could remember. I would have to settle for pale pink tulips. It really wasn’t so bad. (OK, so it was in my mind, but what choice did I have? The show must go on.)

  During our third week back, with one week to go to our wedding, we had our immigration interview. Did I neglect to tell you we found out about this the week before we left for France? Louis and I had to venture to the San Jose Field Office of the USCIS (United States Citizenship & Immigration Services) to justify our relationship. How would we do this? By answering trivial questions, like, what color is his toothbrush? What side of the bed does she sleep on? What is his favorite color? What does she like to eat for breakfast? We also had to bring a collection of photos of the two of us with each other’s family members as well as the two of us celebrating important occasions together.

  I should have done this preparation before we left for France, but well, I kind of lost my mind with all the stress. Since I had spent the last two weeks trying to keep our wedding from falling off the rails, I had put off the daunting task of piecing together our greatest hits in a photo album. (I may not have mentioned it before - I take A LOT of photos. It’s a nasty habit I picked up from my mother.) Because of this rash decision, I spent the entire night before our interview culling through photos and putting them in an album in chronological order. I also felt the need to add colorful accents and cute words, as though I were being evaluated on my ability to scrapbook. I had truly lost my mind! What can I tell you? It really wasn’t that far of a gap to bridge.

  So, there I found myself, less than a week away from our wedding, completely freaking out for our immigration interview. Since I hadn’t slept, I had overcompensated by drinking WAY too much coffee. No matter what I did, my appearance was haggard and I had developed this nasty habit of twitching uncontrollably. The immigration officer was probably going to think I was strung out on drugs. And that our marriage was a sham. And then after all our hard work, Louis would be deported. I really should have gotten some sleep. I seem to have misplaced my ability to use logic and reason. If you find it, please let me know.

  Once we finished our interview, I felt certain I had ruined everything. I was definitely a little, um, hyper from all the caffeine, which made me far too eager to answer his questions. I often cut Louis off and was terrified I had given the impression I didn’t trust him to give the correct answers. If I were this guy, I would totally think Louis and I had some kind of financial arrangement for obtaining a green card. What had I done?

  When we arrived back at the apartment, I did my best to relax. Louis had taken the day off from work for the interview, but he raced to his laptop as soon as we got back home. He really wanted to make sure his project got off the ground as soon as possible. While he toiled away, I absently flipped through the channels. This wasn’t helping me; I simply couldn’t concentrate. I tried reading a book, surfing the internet and looking through my recipe books, but nothing could take my mind of my perceived colossal blunder with our interview.

  I closed my eyes and tried to isolate the source of my discomfort. After a few moments of reflection, I discovered I was angry. I mean really fucking pissed off. The last year had been filled with stress, whether through joyous or challenging events. I felt cheated because I had convinced myself, when I came back from France, I would be able to relax for the last few weeks before our final wedding. But no, I’ve had issue after issue and have consequently been traumatized within an inch of my life. What the fuck?!?

  This wedding is everything to me. It may seem stupid, but this is the wedding I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. Why can’t it just go off without a hitch? Why can’t I just enjoy the fruits of my labor? And I’m not only talking about planning the wedding. I’m talking about enjoying the wonderful man I married. The man I’ve searched for, for a very long time. Seriously, do you remember the succession of men I dated before he came along? It was a complete DISASTER.

  I jumped about ten feet in the air when I heard Louis’ voice.

  “Mon coeur? Are you alright?” His face was full of concern. How did he know I was completely freaking out? Could he see it in my face that I had ruined our lives?

  As I peered up at him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror in the dining room. Holy shit! I hadn’t noticed my entire body was shaking and I had tears pouring down my face. I looked like crap.

  I put my head in my hands and began to sob. “No,” I told him in-between hiccups.

  He came over and put his arms around me. “What is the matter? Are you worried about our interview?”

  I wrung my hands. “I completely messed it up.”

  He pulled me to my feet. “Stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Everything is going to be fine.”

  I exhaled slowly. “I wish I were as confident as you. I behaved like a complete idiot.”

  He put his finger under my chin and brought my gaze up to his. “You just need some sleep, Syd.”

  At the mention of sleep, I dissolved in his arms. I was tired of feeling exhausted. When would I be able to relax?

  Louis picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. He helped me into my favorite comfy pajamas and put me to bed. I was so worn-out, I fell asleep before he even left the room.

  I woke up a few hours later to find a peanut butter and jelly sandwich waiting for me on my nightstand. Louis remembered this as one of my favorite comfort foods. I smiled and glanced at the clock. I had been asleep for five hours. As soon as I sat up, I was ravenous. I ate my sandwich in about five bites (I’m such a lady!) and brought the plate into the kitchen.

  Louis looked up from his laptop, when I put my plate into the dishwasher. “How are you feeling, mon coeur?”

  I came up behind him and put my arms around his neck, resting my chin on his shoulder. “Much better. Thank you for my sandwich.”

  “You are welcome. Though I do not know how you Americans can eat peanut butter. It is disgusting.” He wrinkled his nose.

  I laughed. “Peanut butter is disgusting, but you enjoy eating sheep’s brain.” Simply saying the words “sheep’s brain” made me shiver involuntarily.

  He looked at me with a straight face. “But of course. Where is the confusion? Sheep’s brain is delicious.”

  I grimaced. “We will have to agree to disagree on this one.”

  Louis pulled me into his lap. “So, how do you feel about an outing?”

  I regarded him skeptically. “What kind of outing?” I had the distinct feeling my husband had some kind of plan for cheering me up. This wasn’t necessarily a good thing since we had very different ideas of what constituted a good time.

  He grinned. “You will just have to trust me.”

  I pursed my lips. “OK, let’s say I decide to trust you. What do I need to wear for this outing?”

  He winked at me. “Jeans and a t-shirt will be fine, Syd.”

  I examined his face for a moment. There were no clues as to what he had up his sleeve. As I got up to return to the bedroom, I pointed a finger towards him. “Remember, I’m in a delicate state, Bluey. Do not mess with me.”

  He held up his hands in mock protest. “I wouldn’t dream of it, mon coeur.”

  An hour late
r, I was standing outside Louis’ favorite motorcycle gear shop, since I had absolutely no intention of setting foot inside. My senseless husband just informed me that he’s brought me here to outfit me in full motorcycle regalia. He actually thinks I’ll get onto his death trap voluntarily. It may seem odd, but at that moment, I thought he was crazier than I was. What an accomplishment!

  It took Louis thirty minutes, but he did eventually talk me into entering the shop. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to look, right? I had always wanted those cute motorcycle boots. This would be the perfect place to buy an authentic pair. Oooh, and I bet they have a nice collection of biker jackets too. That could be fun…

  It took another two hours, but Louis eventually convinced me to purchase not only a pair of motorcycle boots and a motorcycle racing jacket with internal safety padding, but also a helmet and a pair of riding gloves. Louis loved riding his motorcycle, but he was an absolute stickler for safety. As we left the store, I couldn’t believe what I had done. Was I truly going to get on this thing?

  We arrived back at our apartment and for the next hour, I sat next to Louis on the curb in front of our complex, staring at his motorcycle. Louis didn’t say anything, he just patiently answered my questions as they came up. He went through all the dials and levers on the motorcycle with me four times and didn’t show any sign of exasperation.

  I was scared shitless, but I decided to get on the bike anyway. Louis checked my helmet, jacket and gloves multiple times and then gave me a few last minute tips. He told me the wind was going to feel pretty strong and it would be a good idea for me to position my head behind his shoulder for my first few times out to avoid hurting my neck. The first few times? A little cocky are we? He was assuming I would become an adrenaline junkie like he was. I was just hoping I wouldn’t die. Though it would serve me right if I did, for being so reckless and killing myself before my dream wedding.