pulled out the empty journal I’d been meaning to write in all week and gazed at the gorgeous cover photo of a man and woman kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. I’d been in love with France since I was a little girl, and now here I was, living out my dream of marrying a sexy, sweet, adoring Frenchman and honeymooning in the most romantic city in the world. But there were clearly some lessons I had yet to learn about how marriage works, and specifically about how marriage works
in France.
If I was confused, I’m sure there were tons of other women just like me who could use a dose of wisdom and humor as they settled into their French marriages.
And so, as I sat alone in my Paris honeymoon suite, drinking wine and missing my new husband, I began composing chapter one of
The Girl’s Guide to Tying the French Knot.
SEVEN
“Helloooo,” cooed a familiar voice from the other side of my hotel door. That didn’t sound like Lexi… it sounded like—
“Fiona! Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”
Lexi and Fiona tackled me with hugs as they barged into my hotel suite.
Fiona and I had become close friends while taking classes together at the Sorbonne in Paris, and she’d recently moved to Lyon with her doctor boyfriend and my former English student, Marc.
“Lexi called me after your shopping trip this afternoon and tempted me to take the train up to Paris for the night. She had a feeling you might need us.” Fiona squeezed my shoulder, her sweet British accent making me smile.
I glanced over at Lexi, surprised and so thankful for her thoughtfulness.
“Lexi was right. If you girls hadn’t have shown up, I may have spent the night in the hospital with a wine and chocolate overdose.”
Lexi led Fiona into the suite and picked up one of the empty bottles and two crumpled chocolate bar wrappers. “I would say so, honey. Good thing we arrived when we did.” Then she eyed me in my oversized
I Love Paris
T-shirt and black yoga pants. “You’re not looking so hot. What happened after our shopping trip?”
“And where’s Luc?” Fiona added.
“It’s a long story, and I want to tell you girls all of it. I really do. But I need to get out of this hotel.”
“Is
she
still staying here?” Lexi asked.
“Who?” Fiona said.
“You didn’t tell Fiona about my run-in with the ex?” I asked Lexi.
Fiona stared at me, clueless.
“No, I figured it was your story to tell,” Lexi said. “But I had a feeling that tonight might not go so well. Let’s get you dressed so we can hit the town. This story will go
much
better with a cocktail.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
Armed with two high-heel-clad friends, I strutted through the hotel lobby comforted by the fact that if there happened to be another ex-wife sighting, this band of stilettos would know
exactly
what to do. Regardless of the minor fallouts I’d had with Lexi and Fiona in the past year, I knew without a doubt that these girls had my back.
I only wished I could say the same about Luc.
After a swift walk up Avenue George V, we arrived at Bound, a chic bar full of twenty-somethings sipping expensive cocktails and staking out their next date. We headed straight to the bar and ordered three of those expensive cocktails for ourselves. This was no time to mess around.
Once we were settled in our corner table, cocktails in hand, the girls raised their eyebrows at me expectedly.
“So did I hear this correctly from what you said earlier… you met Luc’s
ex-wife
?” Fiona asked.
I swirled my pretty blue cocktail around in my glass and took a massive sip before catching the girls up on some of the insane events of the day. I told them about the dress disaster, about Brigitte and Vincent’s bizarre relationship, and about Vincent’s sleazy advances. But when I got to Nicolas pulling up in his sports car and insisting that I get in, Lexi almost shot across the table.
“You were
inside
Nicolas Boucher’s car? And you’re just telling me
in France.
If I was confused, I’m sure there were tons of other women just like me who could use a dose of wisdom and humor as they settled into their French marriages.
And so, as I sat alone in my Paris honeymoon suite, drinking wine and missing my new husband, I began composing chapter one of
The Girl’s Guide to Tying the French Knot.
SEVEN
“Helloooo,” cooed a familiar voice from the other side of my hotel door. That didn’t sound like Lexi… it sounded like—
“Fiona! Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”
Lexi and Fiona tackled me with hugs as they barged into my hotel suite.
Fiona and I had become close friends while taking classes together at the Sorbonne in Paris, and she’d recently moved to Lyon with her doctor boyfriend and my former English student, Marc.
“Lexi called me after your shopping trip this afternoon and tempted me to take the train up to Paris for the night. She had a feeling you might need us.” Fiona squeezed my shoulder, her sweet British accent making me smile.
I glanced over at Lexi, surprised and so thankful for her thoughtfulness.
“Lexi was right. If you girls hadn’t have shown up, I may have spent the night in the hospital with a wine and chocolate overdose.”
Lexi led Fiona into the suite and picked up one of the empty bottles and two crumpled chocolate bar wrappers. “I would say so, honey. Good thing we arrived when we did.” Then she eyed me in my oversized
I Love Paris
T-shirt and black yoga pants. “You’re not looking so hot. What happened after our shopping trip?”
“And where’s Luc?” Fiona added.
“It’s a long story, and I want to tell you girls all of it. I really do. But I need to get out of this hotel.”
“Is
she
still staying here?” Lexi asked.
“Who?” Fiona said.
“You didn’t tell Fiona about my run-in with the ex?” I asked Lexi.
Fiona stared at me, clueless.
“No, I figured it was your story to tell,” Lexi said. “But I had a feeling that tonight might not go so well. Let’s get you dressed so we can hit the town. This story will go
much
better with a cocktail.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said.
Armed with two high-heel-clad friends, I strutted through the hotel lobby comforted by the fact that if there happened to be another ex-wife sighting, this band of stilettos would know
exactly
what to do. Regardless of the minor fallouts I’d had with Lexi and Fiona in the past year, I knew without a doubt that these girls had my back.
I only wished I could say the same about Luc.
After a swift walk up Avenue George V, we arrived at Bound, a chic bar full of twenty-somethings sipping expensive cocktails and staking out their next date. We headed straight to the bar and ordered three of those expensive cocktails for ourselves. This was no time to mess around.
Once we were settled in our corner table, cocktails in hand, the girls raised their eyebrows at me expectedly.
“So did I hear this correctly from what you said earlier… you met Luc’s
ex-wife
?” Fiona asked.
I swirled my pretty blue cocktail around in my glass and took a massive sip before catching the girls up on some of the insane events of the day. I told them about the dress disaster, about Brigitte and Vincent’s bizarre relationship, and about Vincent’s sleazy advances. But when I got to Nicolas pulling up in his sports car and insisting that I get in, Lexi almost shot across the table.
“You were
inside
Nicolas Boucher’s car? And you’re just telling me
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