French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3)

  French Fry

  Glynis Astie

  Copyright © 2015 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: 0692424784

  ISBN-13: 978-0692424780

  To my sons, Ryan & Xander, for being my biggest fans and for making me smile when no one else can.

  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

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Connect with Glynis Astie

  Also by Glynis Astie

  Chapter One

  The scream was so deafening I feared my eardrums would burst. The guttural moan which followed was just as alarming and caused me to feel intense sympathy for the injured party. Rather shocking, and most unfortunate for me, was the fact that the source of the scream was my own raw and aching throat. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cool wall of the hotel bathroom, secretly wondering if anyone had called security. It wouldn’t be the first time. But we can return to my long list of indiscretions later.

  Right about now I would be thankful to be dealing with something as simple as a ruptured ear drum. Granted, it had been one of the most excruciating experiences I had ever been through; I would still gladly have dealt with the pain instead of the daunting task ahead of me. (And this is saying a lot considering I nearly passed out twice from the pain during the four-hour wait I endured in the emergency room.)

  I took a deep breath and willed my hands to stop shaking. How in the world was I going to explain this to Louis?

  I closed the toilet lid and sat down with a heavy thud. As I buried my head in my hands, I accidentally knocked the offending article onto the marble floor. I peered up and watched it skid across the length of the room, coming to a stop right next to my fluffy hotel slippers. A hysterical giggle escaped my lips before I could stifle it. Louis had been trying (to no avail) to teach me to skip stones all week and I managed to skip the pregnancy test across the room with an unintentional nudge of my elbow. At least I had remembered to put the cap back on and, therefore, hadn’t splattered a trail of urine around the room. This simply would have added insult to injury.

  Take a deep breath, Sydney. Everything is going to be fine. When Louis comes back from his Jet Ski run, you’re going to sit him down and tell him. Just like that. With no preamble.

  I got up and started to pace the room. How did this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Everything had been going so well! Louis and I had finally gotten back to a good place…and now…I have to scare the crap out of my husband on the last day of our honeymoon.

  It’s not as though Louis were easily spooked. He had lived a life filled with considerably more adventure in his twenty-four years than I had in my, ahem, twenty-eight years. (Yes, I robbed the cradle.) But we had known each other for barely a year. We needed more time to be the two of us, rather than the three of us.

  I went into the bedroom, crawled onto the bed and promptly curled myself into a fetal position, my long brown hair forming a protective curtain around my face. Maybe the test was wrong. There is such a thing as a false positive, right? Though I hadn’t had my period in seven weeks, this could easily be the result of the pre-wedding stress rather than an actual pregnancy. We had pulled off two weddings in the last five weeks. The first of which encompassed a trip to France to meet Louis’ very LARGE family as well as every single resident of his home town. (Population: four hundred.)

  Something tells me I need to back up a little. (You know, so you might have a chance of understanding what I’m babbling on about.) OK, maybe more than a little. Here’s the breakdown: just over fourteen months ago, I locked eyes with the incredible Louis Durand for the first time. He had come to the Bay Area for a short-term assignment in the San Jose office of his Paris-based software company and I was lucky enough to meet him in a bar, of all places. We spent the evening flirting and buying each other drinks. Six weeks later we were engaged!

  I don’t blame you for being surprised. I shocked the hell out of myself by proposing to HIM. Prior to meeting Louis, every decision in my life had been carefully considered and painstakingly analyzed. The concept of “flying by the seat of my pants” was something I would never have considered. But then he came into my life and something clicked. I knew my waiting was over. I knew I had found the one.

  I’m not going to say life with Louis has been easy. It has been tumultuous and more than a little scary, but it has been worth it. So what if he was laid off from his job while I was planning my, I mean our, dream wedding? So what if we had to get married in a civil ceremony to avoid his deportation? And did it really matter that our actual wedding ceremony took place in the most hideously decorated town hall in existence? (Picture any room in the Brady’s household—on steroids—and you’ll have a small inkling.)

  In the end, we had three, count ’em, THREE weddings. The aforementioned civil ceremony in my home town of Haverstraw, New York, the French wedding in Louis’ home town of Le Caylar, France, and our originally planned wedding in Monterey, California. We had somehow managed to get through his lengthy job search, the endless series of hoops to jump through for his mother’s dream wedding in France and the countless mishaps associated with my dream wedding in California. Only yesterday, as we sat watching the sun set over the beautiful island of Oahu, Louis and I had been discussing how much we were looking forward to settling into a quiet married life.

  Now our dream was being threatened by the very real possibility of a tiny invader. It isn’t that I don’t want a baby; Louis and I are excited at the prospect of starting a family, but we had planned on waiting a few years. Why does everything about our relationship have to proceed at warp speed? Haven’t we lived through enough excitement in the past year?

  I sat up on the bed, closed my eyes and tried to meditate. I focused on my breathing and tried to picture my “happy place.” I felt my shoulders relax as I visualized a peaceful beach at sunset. The explosion of color was breathtaking. I felt the soft breeze blowing through my hair as I wiggled my toes in the sand. Ah...

  The sound of the door unlocking snapped me out of my brief reverie. My eyes flew open and settled on the most beautiful sight in the world. Louis was wearing his favorite bright blue bathing suit and the biggest smile I have ever seen. He had a towel around his neck, but was still dripping water in his wake, causing his body to glisten in the sunlight streaming from the window. I was momentarily distrac
ted from my unpleasant task by the sight of all six feet two inches of his beautifully sculpted body. Mmm…

  Stop it, Sydney! This is exactly how you got yourself into your current predicament!

  Louis approached me with a spring in his step, his gorgeous blue eyes shining with excitement. “That was awesome!” The size of his smile didn’t diminish. “I jumped the biggest wave!”

  I had to laugh at the expression of his exhilaration. My husband is the very definition of an adrenaline junky. He had been a paratrooper in the French army, had bungee jumped off every tall landmark in Paris and now has a racing motorcycle as his primary mode of transportation. How he ended up with a tight-ass like me is a quite a mystery. (Seriously, if you shoved a lump of coal up MY ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond. Ferris Bueller rules!)

  I cringed inwardly as I imagined what the requirements of being a father were going to do his sense of reckless abandon. I began to wring my hands as I wondered once more how I was going to tell him his life was about to change forever. AGAIN. He was going to rue the day he met Sydney Bennett.

  My sudden change in mood must have shown in my face because Louis approached me quickly, his eyebrows knitted with concern.

  He stroked the side of my face. “What is the matter, mon coeur?”

  I never tired of his pet name for me. Hearing him call me “my heart” always made me feel better. But in this case, the beautiful name spoken with his sexy French accent wasn’t enough. I bit my lip and stared into his adoring eyes. How could I tell him this? How could I tell him we were going to be parents? There was no way he was going to be ready for this. I certainly wasn’t.

  Suddenly I was having trouble breathing. Rather than falling into my familiar pattern of hysteria, I forced myself to take a more reasonable approach. I slowly breathed in and out, while reminding myself I had a partner in crime. Louis and I were partners. We would deal with this together.

  I squared my shoulders. It was now or never. “Um, Bluey…” I felt my lip starting to quiver after using my favorite nickname for him. His eyes are THAT gorgeous.

  He wrapped his arms around me. Even though I was now fairly wet, I felt infinitely better. I held on to him for dear life, resting my chin on his shoulder for extra comfort.

  After a few minutes, Louis pulled out of our embrace and regarded me with determination.

  “Syd, tell me what is going on. Right now.”

  I forced myself to meet his gaze, tears filling my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  Poor Louis seemed totally confused. “For what?”

  I rubbed my temples. “I, um, well…I’m...” I closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure I could handle the look in his eyes when I croaked, “I think I’m pregnant.”

  Silence. Hmm. Not a good sign. It was rare for Louis not to have an opinion to share. On any topic. And I do mean ANY topic. He is the only man I know who can provide a detailed lecture on anything from snaking drains to buying the right thong for your body type.

  I carefully opened my eyes. Louis was standing so still I was afraid he had gone into shock. I know what I said about being reasonable, but his frozen state shifted me into panic mode. How do you deal with someone who is in shock? I’m sure I had known at some point. Damn it! Louis is the one with medical training! He was a volunteer fire fighter in France. (I know, I know; there are very few things he hasn’t done. I think of him as the French MacGyver.)

  While I contemplated firing up Louis’ laptop to troll the web for treating symptoms of shock, he slowly began to show signs of life.

  He cleared his throat. “How did you end up taking the test?”

  Really? This is what you want to know? It definitely wouldn’t be my first question, but then again, I’m not a man.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Dad made a joke about it during our father-daughter dance at the Monterey wedding reception. And when I realized I hadn’t had my period in nearly two months…”

  He ran his hands through his hair and I could see they were shaking. I felt a pit of anxiety form in my stomach. Very few things rattled Louis.

  His obvious uncertainty made me nervous, which led to some rather unfortunate babbling. “It was stupid, I know, but it stuck with me. I kept trying to push the thought aside, since I figured I was stressed from the wedding planning and meeting all your relatives.”

  He stared at me blankly, as though he were still trying to figure out how in the world this could have happened. Been there. Done that. Catch up, Bluey.

  I started pacing the room. “Finally, I decided the best thing to do would be to take the test and know for sure that I wasn’t pregnant. But then I took the test and…”

  He sighed. “It was positive.”

  I stopped walking and nodded.

  He frowned. “But you’re on the pill.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Duh. But it’s only ninety-seven percent effective.” At least I think that’s true. I bit the inside of my cheek to thwart a laughing fit when I realized I was referencing this statistic from the movie Nine Months. Here’s to hoping the screenwriters did their research well.

  Louis took my hands in his. “Let’s not panic.”

  I gave him a halfhearted nod. I knew he was right, but a lifetime habit of panicking was hard to kick. Panicking has always been my go-to reaction in times of stress. I knew it wasn’t logical, but I hadn’t been able to stick to any other method. Something told me my new condition would force me to develop better coping mechanisms.

  He put his hands in the air. “Humor me, Syd. Let’s go buy another test.” He started to walk towards the door, water spraying from his bathing ensemble with each step.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Louis?”

  He turned around distractedly. “Yes?”

  I walked into the bathroom and picked up two additional pregnancy tests. “I’ve already taken three.” I paused, attempting to swallow my fear. “They’re all positive.”

  He looked at the tests and back up at my face. Utterly bewildered, he asked, “I’m going to be a father?”

  I leaned against the counter for support. “I’ll have a blood test when we get back to California, but I’d say the chances are pretty high.”

  We stood for a few moments pondering the pregnancy tests, as though they contained some hidden answer to our petrifying question. Were we ready to be parents?

  Louis reached for my hand and squeezed it. As I tried to calm the swirling vortex of terror which had formed in my chest, I realized he was shaking with laughter. Pardon my French, but what the fuck?

  I turned to him with an incredulous stare. “What, pray tell, is so funny?” I was fighting a nearly overwhelming desire to throttle him. Was it possible for pregnancy hormones to kick in this early? Perhaps it was simply the naked fear that was turning my thoughts to violence?

  He peered up at me with tears of mirth in his eyes. “My mother is going to be deliriously happy!”

  Suddenly, my heart stopped. Louis is an only child, with a retired shopaholic mother who just happens to have the scariest taste in clothing EVER. Oh God. She is going to clean out every store in France of the most garish baby clothes imaginable.

  I struggled to remain calm. As my heart began to race, I found myself gripping the counter more tightly. My knuckles turned white and I could feel the blood pulsing through my fingers.

  Louis touched my shoulder. “Syd?”

  I focused my watery eyes on his. “Yes?”

  He smiled encouragingly. “It is going to be OK.”

  Tears started spilling down my face. “Are you sure?”

  Louis drew me into his arms and chuckled. “I wish I could sound more confident, but I think we are going to be fine. Think about everything we have gotten through so far. We are an unstoppable team.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to focus only on breathing instead of the five alarm fire threatening to take over my mind. I squeezed my eyes even tighter when my initial efforts were foiled by visions of myself covered in p
ureed peas. I HATE peas. When do babies start eating jarred food?

  I know very little about babies—other than what I’ve learned from babysitting for my perfect niece, Sam. Since my older sister, Kate, is a new mom, she takes on most tasks herself and I function more as a mother’s helper than an actual babysitter. Being a mother’s helper is kind of like being a figure head. You have the title, but none of the power.

  Why didn’t I babysit for babies when I was a teenager? Why did I insist on only caring for children who had already been potty trained? Truth be told, I had been grossed out by the prospect of changing diapers—but now I didn’t know how to change a diaper! I guess it was time to get some practice in on Sam. Since my little angel was nearly six months old, I doubted Kate would mind. She seemed in need of a serious break.

  Louis’ voice broke abruptly through my massive brain spasm. “Sydney!’

  I quickly opened my eyes and fixed my attention on his face. “What?”

  He rubbed my shoulders. “Please, TRY not to worry.” He grinned at me. “I know you want to kill me for saying that to you, but you really must try now. Too much stress on your system is not good for the baby.”

  Not good for the baby. I let his words sink in. Not good for the baby. This would become my new mantra. Instead of thinking purely of my own well-being and telling myself life doesn’t have to be perfect, I will have to focus all my energy on not being a crazy person for the good of my unborn child.

  I exhaled slowly and counted to ten. Then I put my hands on either side of Louis’ face, gazed into his eyes and said, “How do we arrange a personality transplant?” I winked to show him I was joking.

  Louis burst out laughing. “Mon coeur, I love you so much.”

  I slid my arms around his neck and nuzzled into my favorite spot under his chin. “I love you too.”

  Louis cleared his throat. “I am going to have a quick shower and then I am going to take my beautiful wife to lunch.”

  I snorted. “You better enjoy the beauty while you can, Bluey, because I’m going to become fat and ugly before you know it.”