35. Chapter 35
Chapter 35
Elsa
I was in a bad mood. I had just crossed my twenty-seventh week of pregnancy, and my doctor had informed me that my glucose numbers didn't look good. I had to become careful with my diet, or I could risk getting gestational diabetes.
This was complete nonsense!
I was a baker. I ran a bakery—it was all flour and sugar here, everything that was apparently bad for my baby and me.
As I stomped around the Délices d'Elsa, muttering to myself about the cruel irony of it all, Duncan walked in.
"Hey, beautiful." He came over and gave me a kiss.
"Don't hey, beautiful me," I snapped, crossing my arms. "I just found out I have to cut down on all carbs, including flour and sugar."
"What? The blood test results are in? Is the baby okay?" He put his hand on my stomach.
"The baby is fine," I muttered.
"What happens if you can't control your sugar?" he asked.
"I get something called gestational diabetes, which isn't a good thing for me or the baby."
He pulled me into his arms. "We'll make sure you eat right then. You just need to drink a shit ton of water and eat," he pulled back to look at me, "what can you eat?"
"It’s not what I can eat, it’s all the things I can’t," I whined. "I'm allowed fruits, vegetables, and meat. I'm even allowed very few carbs. Merdé . I'm a baker, Duncan. A baker!"
He looked at me sympathetically, trying to hide a grin. "I can imagine that's going to be tough."
"Tough?" I huffed. "It's going to be a disaster! How am I supposed to test my recipes if I can't even taste them?"
Duncan put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I'll test them for you. I'll make the sacrifice."
I almost laughed but kept up the act of being upset. My husband was adorable. I know, I know—nobody who looked at Duncan would ever think that. Even Emilia admitted she’d been intimidated by him until she got to know him. But with me, he was so sweet, so affectionate, so loving.
"Sacrifice? Right?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't have a problem, but I could . I'm supposed to meet with a dietician and all that."
"Okay. I'll come with you, and I promise, baby, we'll figure this out." He kissed my forehead. "Does this mean you'll always have a problem with your glucose?"
"Just until the baby is born. Once the baby is out, I'll be back to normal," I informed him. "We'll know more after we speak to the dietician."
"Fuck that," he growled. "I'm going to make some calls and get all the information we need now . I'll get someone to put a diet plan together, and we'll have meals delivered and—"
I kissed him to shut him up. "You're supposed to make me feel better, not go into a tizzy yourself."
He let out a deep breath. "I love you," he breathed.
I licked my lips. "I know. I think I know." I blew out a breath. "I don't know how to feel."
It was confusing. I loved him. However, I was still nervous about him sliding back to the Duncan who wanted me to bug Vincent's house, the cold man who I hadn't seen since but knew existed within the man holding me right now.
He nodded somberly. "How about we put feelings on the back burner? Let me take you out on a date tonight."
I raised an eyebrow. "A date? Where?"
"Surprise." He stroked my cheek. "You know, you're stunning. I look at you, and I'm always floored that you're my wife, my love. It's still as awe-inspiring as it was that first night you came into my suite at the Ritz, wanting to dispose of your virginity."
My cheeks flushed. "That was a good night."
"It was a great night," he said, putting his hands on my stomach. "We made her ."
"We did."
"Do you have thoughts about a name?" he asked. I was surprised that we hadn't discussed that yet, but then we were busy with many other things.
"Yes." I felt self-conscious. This was our child , but I had made some decisions about her name, and I hoped he'd agree. "I was thinking of Solène Marcella Sainte-Croix Archer."
His eyes softened and went moist. "I love it. No Moreau?"
I shook my head. "Not a name I want my daughter to be associated with. As long as Papa does what he does, he will always have enemies. A lot of people know now that I'm his daughter—but that doesn't mean I have to plaster the Moreau name on myself or my child."
"My mother will be delighted." He leaned his forehead against mine. "Thank you, ma douce ."
"For what?" I wrapped my arms around him, my stomach bumping against his.
"For loving me, for teaching me to love you, for our Solène, for being you ."
He was making it very hard for me to resist him, and truth be told, I wanted to find every excuse I could for us to be back to where we were during the early days of my pregnancy.
I didn't want to think about it, so I changed the topic. "This date? What should I wear?"
"Anything you want. But pack a bag to stay the night."
I arched an eyebrow. " Monsieur Archer, where exactly are you taking me?"
"It's a surprise," he said with a mischievous smile. "Just trust me."
I licked my lips. "I do, Duncan."
But doubts still assailed me. Growing up with Jean-Luc Moreau as a father meant that faith in people was a precious commodity, and I was very careful about who I gave my affections and confidence.
"Good." He gave me a quick kiss. "Now, I better go make arrangements. A car will pick you up at around six at your apartment."
"Will you be in the car?" I asked.
"I'm afraid not, ma chérie . I will be working hard to make sure you have a perfect evening." His eyes went from happy to sad in an instant. "I realized just a few days ago that I've never taken you out anywhere."
"Sure, you have. We've been out for dinner and—"
"I never took you out on a date."
I patted his shoulder. "For me a date is us being together. When we cook together and watch television; when we talk—all of that was as you Americans like to call it: dating ."
"Let me make it up to you."
"There's nothing to make up," I said easily, "But I'd love to spend the evening with you.”
The car took me to the Ritz. I laughed to myself as one of the staff members took me to the suite where I'd first met Duncan all those months ago when we made Solène.
When I entered the suite, memories flooded back, and I found Duncan waiting for me with a warm smile.
"Surprise," he said softly.
I couldn't help but smile back, feeling both nostalgia and excitement. "What are you up to?"
He kissed me softly. He did that a lot these days. But I missed my man inside of me. The hard and demanding one.
"Come with me." He took my hand and led me through the suite to a private elevator. We ascended to the rooftop, and as the doors opened, I gasped.
The rooftop, which I didn't even know existed, was transformed into a magical haven. Fairy lights twinkled all around, casting a soft glow over the intimate setting.
There was a beautifully set table for two, surrounded by flowers. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, adding to the enchantment of the scene.
"Duncan, this is just…as you Americans would say, wow ," I whispered, feeling tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
He squeezed my hand, guiding me to the table. "I wanted to do something special for you; to show you how much I love you."
No one had ever put in so much effort for me. It was charming, and though I knew Duncan was wealthy and could easily afford these things, it was the thought that mattered. Even if he had done something simple and cozy in my apartment, I would have been just as touched.
Once we were seated, he poured non-alcoholic pear cider for me, Champagne for himself, and we toasted.
"To my beautiful wife." Duncan touched his glass to mine.
"To my handsome husband," I countered.
"Now, I did my research about gestational diabetes. Chef Bettencourt has prepared—"
"The who?" I gasped, almost tipping my drink glass. Duncan grabbed and steadied it.
"Chef Bettencourt is a Michelin—"
"I know who he is," I screeched. "Has he cooked our meal tonight?"
And that's when I saw the Chef! The revered Chef Bettencourt, who had two Michelin stars to his name and an eponymous restaurant.
" Bonsoir , Elsa."
I gaped at the man, and Duncan laughed. " Ma douce , close your mouth. You're going to let some flies in."
I snapped my mouth shut. "Chef, j'adore votre cuisine et je n'arrive pas à croire que vous soyez ici." Chef, I love your food and I can't believe you're here.
"It's my pleasure," the Chef said in English. "Duncan and I are old friends. He helped me find some art for Restaurant Bettencourt and my private collection. So, when he told me about your glucose problems, I told him, I could make you a meal, and you won't even miss the bread or sugar."
He said it with arrogance, but he had the skill to back that up.
"Chef, I'll eat pretty much anything you'll serve." I put my hand on my belly. "This baby has no idea how lucky she is to eat your creations."
Chef looked at Duncan, nodding appreciatively. "I think you've won some points with your wife because of me, non ?"
"I certainly have." Duncan looked pleased with himself, as he should. "She'd mentioned how the best meal in her life was at your restaurant, and I knew only one person who could top that… you ."
Chef, who was in his late forties with a head full of hair under his bandana, chuffed with pride. " D'accord !"
"I can't wait, Chef," I said, bubbling with excitement.
A private dinner put together by Chef Bettencourt! Oh my God! Not even in my dreams could I have come up with a gift like this.
We began with a blue lobster and green bean salad, dressed in a coral vinaigrette. I confessed that I didn't miss the usual baguette I enjoyed with my salads because this dish was pure perfection. The freshest ingredients came together with fantastic balance, creating an unforgettable dish.
"You're enjoying yourself," Duncan remarked amusedly as I used my finger to scoop up the remaining dressing on my plate and, in a very unladylike manner, licked my finger.
"This is Chef Bettencourt," I exclaimed, "I must leave nothing on the plate."
"I'm sure the kitchen will be pleased. I don't think soiled plates have ever been returned to them this clean," Duncan teased.
For the fish course, the Chef served delicate oven-cooked turbot and tender fennel with a beurre blanc sauce.
"I wish I could drink wine," I griped as I picked up Duncan's glass of a Grand Cru Chassagne Montrachet and sniffed it.
"You can take a sip," Duncan assured me.
I shook my head, putting the glass down. "One sip won't be enough." I stroked my belly. "But once this baby is out, could we have Chef cook for us again?"
He took my hand, looked into my eyes, and said, "Anything you want, ma douce . You ask for it, and if I can give it to you, it's yours."
I licked my lips. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Anything?" I challenged.
"Anything." He picked up his wine glass and toasted me.
"Tonight, I'd very much like to be ah… how do you Americans say… oui , fucked six ways to Sunday. Merci ."
He spluttered out the wine he'd just taken a sip of. "Jesus, Elsa."
I grinned. "You kiss me. You make me come. But I'm pregnant, Duncan. I need—"
"To be fucked six ways to Sunday?" he grinned.
"Yes." I suddenly felt shy because his eyes were gleaming with arousal. "But after the meal, okay? Because I'm not missing one bit of this food."
The next course was a casserole of veal sweetbreads, my favorite. Each bite was heaven, and thankfully, the courses were small. Otherwise, I'd have trouble fitting it all in. I wouldn't stop eating, oh, absolutely not. Still, it wouldn't be easy, what with our daughter insisting I use the bathroom often.
"Okay, this is pretty impressive," I admitted, smiling at Duncan between bites of smoked duck served with caramelized onions. "I thought my life was over when that stupid nurse told me I had to be careful or I'd get gestational diabetes."
He reached across the table and took my hand. "I know you've been worried about your diet and the baby. I just wanted to show you that you can still eat amazing food."
"Only Chef Bettencourt won't be cooking every day," I teased.
"If you want that to happen, maybe not Bettencourt, but he can find another chef who'll—"
"I was joking!" I patted his hand with mine.
"You tell me you want something and I'll get it for you."
I believed him. Lord, but I did. He had made amends. He had. He regretted what he'd done; I knew that. He loved me; I could see that.
After dinner, Chef Bettencourt brought out the dessert—a beautifully crafted, sugar-free chocolate mousse.
"I think you'll find this quite satisfying," he said, placing it in front of me.
I took a bite and closed my eyes, savoring the rich, creamy flavor. " Oh, mon Dieu! C'est la nourriture des dieux, Chef ! "
"Food of the gods, indeed," Chef smirked. "Anytime, Duncan, you want to make your wife happy, you call me. D'accord ?"
After the Chef left, I stroked my belly, now full of the best food money could buy, and a baby who was thankfully resting for the moment.
Soft music had been playing all night, and as I looked out at the beautiful city of Paris, the music picked up. The familiar strains of Que reste-t-il de nos amours by Charles Trenet floated through the air, bringing a nostalgic smile to my face.
Duncan extended his hand toward me, his eyes full of love and warmth. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I took his hand, feeling a flutter of happiness despite my growing belly. "Of course.” I allowed him to lead me to the center of the rooftop.
We swayed gently to the music, the soft lights of Paris twinkling around us. The Eiffel Tower stood tall in the distance, its lights reflecting in the Seine. It was a perfect moment, almost dreamlike.
"You know," I began, resting my head against his chest, "Mamman used to love this song. She would hum it while she cooked or when she was just in a good mood. It always made me feel safe and happy."
Duncan smiled, his hand gently caressing my back as we moved to the rhythm. "I know," he said softly. "Thierry told me."
Tears of joy welled up in my eyes as I looked up at him. "Thank you."
He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. "I love you, Elsa. More than words can say."
We continued to dance, the music wrapping around us like a warm embrace. Despite my pregnancy, I felt light on my feet, buoyed by the love and tenderness that surrounded us.
As the song came to an end, Duncan held me close, his eyes reflecting the twinkling lights of the city. "You and our baby are my world," he whispered. "I will always do everything I can to make you happy."
I smiled. "And you make me happier than I ever thought possible." I took a deep breath and gave him the words that I knew he wanted to hear. "I love you, Duncan, and I want us to live together again."
He nuzzled my cheek. "I've got news for you, baby; we already are."
I chuckled and rested against him. "Yes, we are. But now I don't have to pretend to be asleep while I use your body to have an orgasm."
He laughed, and it was a clean and happy sound. "And I don't have to pretend to rush to the bathroom so I can jack off because you get me so hot. But tonight, we're going to sleep here, where it all began."
"When I was a hooker?"
He pulled away so I could look at him. "No, baby, when I fell in love with you."