French Wanker : A Hero Cub Novel

by Victoria Pinder

  She changed lanes. “That’s a lot of details you left out.”

  She went fast. Good, but my heart was still in Monte Carlo, and my lips tingled to kiss him again. “Quentin—the doctor—he was handsome, a great kisser, smart, sweet, loyal. He called me his new girlfriend right away. No hand wringing and wondering how he felt. He was like the hero of every romance movie I’d ever seen all wrapped up in one perfect person.”

  “And you’re here?” We made it out of the tunnel, and she got in the right side to go to the north shore. “Was he ugly or married or something tragic?”

  The ring? My palm still had that strange magnetic feeling to it. “No, he’s not married. His fiancée died from cancer.”

  “So, he’s sexy and sad and lonely. Was he penniless?”

  “No. He has money. He bought me this amazing dress from a shop in Monte Carlo.”

  “Yeah, I got nothing.” We made it to the side of town I lived on. “He sounds wonderful.”

  “It’s not about what he bought me.” We turned on my tiny street toward my single-family home. “He dared me to be different, and he made me happy and relaxed and, for the first time in my life, complete.”

  “So…” she said as she pulled into my driveway. “You’re back to pack, and you’re moving to France?”

  “No, my life is here,” I said and hopped out of the car. “I have to start looking for a job.”

  “Are you joking?” She followed me as I unlocked my front door. “What fucking life are you leading?”

  I bought this house so that one day I might have a family. I’d figured Marlon was going to move in and we’d be happy enough. “Like I have friends, a home and yeah, the new job I need to find, but I know how to.”

  “Right, so you can throw yourself in your job and not care what happens to you.” She crossed her arms and stared at me like I was insane. “And where you and I get together every week, drink wine, and complain about our jobs and not finding a good guy like the one you left?”

  That summed up the day-to-day dreariness pretty well. “I have my family.”

  She made a tsk sound. “And they are adults busy with their lives. You don’t see them often, and you can fly home for a few holidays or events. So why are you here and not living a fairy tale?”

  Sabrina was ripping apart every argument I’d fought inside my soul for hours. I laughed as I repeated another answer I’d constructed. “I don’t speak French.”

  She took out her phone and showed the app she was using to learn Spanish. “There are apps to teach you, classes you can take or maybe your handsome, rich, available French doctor can give you private lessons.”

  I put my shoes away and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

  She followed me into the kitchen and helped herself to an apple.

  I guess I was wrong. I had friends to share fruit with, but that wasn’t the same at all as having someone lay beside me.

  “Let’s go over Marlon.”

  “Ugh.” I took out two bowls of ice cream. I scooped for us and waited for her to start the conversation.

  “How was he there and on your flight?”

  I handed her a bowl. “He was arrested in Monte Carlo. According to the stewardess, he had the choice of prison or getting out of the country, never to come back.”

  “What the fuck did he do?”

  I dipped my spoon in my dessert. “He threatened a woman physically, but she kicked his ass.”

  “At least it wasn’t you,” she said and continued to devour the mint chocolate chip.

  I finished my scoop and walked to the sink. “It might have been if not for Quentin.”

  She put her empty bowl beside mine. “And he protected you. Seriously, if you don’t get on a plane and go to him, I’m going to go myself and see if he’ll fall in love with me.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “You don’t want him.”

  “I… can’t talk about it.” Sabrina was larger than life. One day she’d find the perfect man for her and leave. I washed out the dishes and set them to dry. “Look, thanks for bringing me home.”

  She headed to the door and waved as she said, “If you need a ride to the airport, call me.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I followed her and hugged her as she left.

  For a best friend, I had a good one. I unpacked my laptop, turned on my TV to stream music, and found some light jazz. Then I tapped my couch I’d settled on and searched, American marrying a French citizen.

  No harm in checking, right?

  I laughed as I started researching my “what if” fantasy.

  I’d walked away, afraid to tell him how I felt.

  Honestly, I’d been terrified he’d never love me. I hadn’t thought about how empty my life was until the huge room we were in just made me feel cold and sad. “I’m sure this search will just be bad.”

  And there it was. We couldn’t be together right away if he somehow flew to me. And if I flew to him, and in some alternative universe he asked me to marry him, then I was looking at six months of doing nothing but sitting at home. I stared at my white ceiling. “Right, exactly. I can’t work right away. I don’t know the language. And he doesn’t love me.”

  I almost closed the computer and then remembered I’d told myself I’d look Quentin up. He probably had more money than just being a doctor. He traveled with a tuxedo and stayed at that hotel I’d never book. I could afford a night, but my budget would be squeezed. He hadn’t blinked.

  So, I typed what I knew. La Trimouille. Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer. Vineyard.

  And then my skin had a buzz to it. “No fucking way.” I read every word carefully of the vineyard with his name on it in the “about us” section. Noble family that goes back to the 11th century who served in the crusades… Married royalty in Naples… Staunch royalists during the revolution, forced to flee, but then returned and fought with Napoleon as generals. The family claimed lands in the south. Started a vineyard and their wines sell around the globe. I jumped out of my seat. “What the fuck… This isn’t a vineyard, it’s a global empire.”

  And aristocratic at its heart. My lineage wasn’t nearly so fancy. My ancestors were survivors, not castle dwellers.

  My heart pounded now. He was rich. I should just search him out. I typed the obvious as it came to me, Quentin La Trimouille. Doctor.

  The articles were sparse but basically all read the same, Engaged to Cecilia Le Champs. Award-winning doctor.

  I clicked his ex’s picture. She really did look like the French beauties of the movies. Small, childlike wonder in the eyes, all black outfit.

  I’d never be anything like her. I closed the screen. “I shouldn’t have looked this up anyhow.”

  Searches only made my heart hurt.

  I headed to my kitchen and opened the wine drawer. I took out my red and laughed as I saw the name, Trimouille, printed on my bottle. I told the picture that must be his vineyard, “Oh look, you’re here. I stocked you in my wine shelf, and I didn’t once connect these dots.”

  I poured a glass and saluted the air around me with a toast. “Well, Quentin, you’re probably the best man I’ll ever meet in my life. I am in love with you, and I’m a fucking idiot for not telling you.” I pulled the glass closer and said, “Salut” like he was here.

  And then I sipped. From now on, this was all I had—this emptiness in my soul. I could buy every bottle at the store with his name on it. Maybe someday I’d feel better about coming home.

  This was my life, right? Living happily ever after with a rich, handsome doctor and moving to France wasn’t an option. I’d walked away.

  Chapter 17

  Quentin

  My parents had seemed excited this morning. Every other time my brother Blake was ever mentioned, the next day was an awkward morning when we discussed our headaches.

  Today we’d spoken about politics and world affairs like we had answers to the world problems. This meant instead of isolating themselves, they’d read the news and formed opin
ions.

  After coffee and croissants and fruit, I headed into town. I read the doctor’s files in his office as he saw a woman in the adjoining room about her wrist.

  People from a hundred kilometers or more came here to see the closest doctor. Our small town was the closest place to be seen, and if I didn’t take over… my grandmother, my parents, their neighbors, and friends were without any healthcare, except maybe someone who telecommuted in.

  As the patient left, I remembered Kara’s note. She’d hoped I’d be a doctor and maybe she’d like this. Saving Marlon gave me hope that I might help others again.

  The older doctor with white hair came back, and I shook his hand. “I’ll start working with you next week.”

  His huge smile shone in clear relief. “I’m sure everyone will be grateful that you’re here now. We’re a small town, but our people need you.”

  Good. It was done. I pressed my hand to my heart as the paperwork would take time. “We’ll work together next month, so you can introduce me.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  I headed to the door. Honestly my shoulders were a little lighter.

  Being a doctor was all I ever saw myself as for years.

  Since leaving Paris… I’d been an idiot. The only good thing that happened to me was Kara, and I let her slip away.

  I walked slowly through the vineyards I used to race through as a boy.

  The air was fresh here. If I were a better man, I’d be on a plane, begging the woman I love to marry me.

  As I arrived, I opened the door to tell my parents. “Maman. Papa—J’e—” I swallowed and stared into the familiar bright blue eyes of an old friend. I blinked and asked, “Simon, you must have left early?”

  “We did.” He stood from my mother’s dining room table. “Quentin, you weren’t here when we arrived. Bridget, Calliope, and Nigel are taking a tour of the vineyard.”

  I quickly noticed his coffee cup was finished, and my mother had more prepared. I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured us both another cup. “I’m glad you’re here. I needed to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “A couple things…” I relaxed and wished Kara was somehow here, too. But she was in America, forgetting about me. I leaned closer. “The pep talk the other day.”

  His eyes widened, and he tilted his head as he analyzed me. “So, you changed your mind?”

  I smiled and ran my hand through my dark hair. “I… yeah. I’m not returning to Paris. I’m staying here.”

  His glare spoke volumes. “Your heart is in being a fucking a doctor.”

  I spoke slowly and deliberately. “And I’m taking over a local practice. The people in my town need medical help.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he scooted backward in his chair. “So, you’re retiring to country life and keeping the stethoscope.”

  “I became a doctor to help people. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”

  “And Kara?”

  I ignored how tense I got and said, “She’s gone.”

  Simon finished his coffee and then tapped the table. “You called and told her how you feel?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She was clear; I was only a vacation for her,” I said as I remembered her letter in my wallet.

  Simon’s family, including children’s voices were heard, and we both stood to leave. “Take a chance and put your heart on the line.”

  I stared at the wall as it made talking easier. “I can’t disappoint her, too, like I did with Cecilia and Blake.”

  “Blake?”

  I slumped into the seat next to him and kept my head down. “I left the life vest on and dropped it in our garage. I should have left it in the boat.”

  He tapped my knee. “You were a kid. He knew it was there.”

  He’d known? I squeezed my eyes shut, and I was six again and running with my friends, wearing the life vest. “If I’d not been careless, he’d be alive.”

  Voices outside grew closer, but Simon leaned closer and kept his voice down. “If he’d been patient, we’d have gone back to your house and gotten it. He knew it was in the garage and didn’t care.”

  My voice cracked. “He did?”

  “Simon?” Bridget called.

  Simon jumped up. “I was there. I spent years with that guilt.”

  I stood, but it was like a small weight fell off my back. “He’d not want that.”

  He gave me a once-over. “Look, I have to go. But if you need to talk more, I’m open.”

  “Thanks.” We flung the door open, and a young boy jumped into his arms and hugged him. Bridget joined him, holding two little girls’ hands.

  “Glad you stopped by,” I said.

  “Call anytime,” he said and then greeted his daughters.

  I backed away from the family reunion. My heart twisted; I’d never have that.

  And I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my brother today.

  Blake was a ghost in my life these days.

  So had been Cecilia.

  I headed back to my small house as my parents took their guests to my brother’s grave.

  The walk was short, but as I opened the door, the lights were on in the kitchen. I headed inside and saw my grandmother cutting onions and tossing them in a hot frying pan. I went and kissed her cheek. “Grand-mére, what are you doing here?”

  “Checking on you,” she said and blushed as I hugged her.

  I took out the potatoes and began to peel them as I told her about my day. “I agreed to be the town’s local doctor, so you’ll be seeing me whenever you need something.”

  She put the chicken on the hot pan and closed the lid. “I trust you as long as you stop being so melancholy.”

  I continued peeling more potatoes and putting them in the water. “I thought I was taking a turn for the better now.”

  She stopped taking out the spices. “I want to meet this Kara.”

  I playfully bumped into her shoulder. Grand-mére seemed smaller now than I remembered. “She’s in America. Want to fly to Pittsburgh?”

  She gave me a pointed look and picked up her spices to mix in a bowl. “I’ll go and hold your hand if you need me to.”

  I put my finished potatoes on the stove. “What are you talking about?”

  She let out a long sigh and added her spices to the chicken she’d mixed. She once said it was better to mix them together. “You were spoiled all your life I suppose and too coddled. Cecilia loved spending your money, which was why she never complained about her health. And if we’re being honest, you were far too good-looking for your own good.”

  I glanced at the pot. “That’s not polite.”

  I chopped some carrots, and she cupped my cheeks. “You didn’t learn that sometimes you need to chase a woman if she’s important to you.”

  I added the pieces to the lunch being prepared. “Kara was special.”

  She bounced on her feet. “If that’s true, then why are you here with me?”

  She added butter to her cooking… just a drop, but it was always her favorite ingredient.

  “Because you love me unconditionally.” She patted me on the back and waved goodbye. “Well, I won’t be around forever.”

  I kissed her cheek and walked her to the door.

  Then I finished preparing my lunch. As the sauce and chicken cooked, I imagined Kara beside me, sitting with me.

  She’d probably hate farm life.

  But the idea of telling her ran through my head. It didn’t matter if the image of running to America to ask her to marry me for real played in my mind.

  I checked on my cooking and then snapped my fingers. She’d given the hotel her information. I left the kitchen for my bag and asked myself, “Where is my receipt?” I checked in the pockets and found it. Her name and address in Pittsburgh were labeled.

  I returned to the kitchen and my lunch. I grabbed a bottle of wine, but nothing felt right.

  Maybe I was too spoiled and hadn’t told her how I felt. This might be t
he stupidest thing I’d ever done, but I called my travel agent, Gisette, who was also a local woman in town who’d be my patient soon. After hellos I told her, “I’d like to book a ticket to Pittsburgh.”

  “Certainly, do you have your ESTA?”

  “No,” I said and took out my tablet.

  Gisette said, “The Electronic System for Travel Authorization can take up to three days to approve your background, Quentin.”

  I typed in my information and missed the days it was effortless to travel. “Hold on.” I typed my credit card. “There. I paid my fee. Done.” The screen said it can take up to seventy-two hours, but then I had the green light. “I have the confirmation. I can text you the numbers.”

  “Excellent. When do you want to leave?”

  My heart sped up. I was probably about to make a complete fool of myself. I hadn’t told her I loved her and wanted to marry her. Now it was time. If I could be a doctor again, I could risk my heart. “When’s your next flight?”

  I heard her typing. “You’ll have to make a connection.”

  That didn’t matter as much. “I want the fastest ticket to get me there the soonest. First class, if possible.”

  She stopped typing. “I can get you on tonight, sir.”

  “Excellent,” I told her and then read her my credit card information.

  I hung up the phone, ate a little, and cleaned the kitchen. Tension racked my body, but this was the right choice.

  I texted my parents my plans and packed my bags.

  As I headed downstairs, my parents and my grandmother were waving at me. I went over and hugged them. “Maman, Papa. I will call you soon.” And then I hugged my grandmother. “I put the leftovers from lunch in the refrigerator.”

  “Humility is a good look for you,” she said, and I stilled. “It’s the best way to get the girl you love. Good luck.”

  She was right. I knew it. I had to try. Kara was in my heart.

  I took my old car and headed to Marseille for a flight to Paris when my phone rang. My heart stopped, and I hoped it was Kara until I saw the number. I put my phone on my dash and answered. “Desiree?”

  “Quentin, I heard you replaced my sister already.”