Page 106 of My Best French Wedding

“Two weddings?”

“The little one and the big one. Private and public. The first will be for them, and the second will be for the world.”

“Including us?”

“Yes. Assuming we manage to coax the runaway bride and groom back into the fold. Then we can worry about how all of this is going to play out in print.”

“I have faith in you.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What? It was a compliment.”

“You’re being very chill about this.”

“The weddings, plural?”

“That and how I tabled our other conversation.” She was watching him closely, so Walter lifted a shoulder, affecting unconcern.

“I understand. Work comes first.”

“Really? You’re cool with pushing all that aside, no more fruitless trawling through our past?”

Walter could have pointed out that working together was how everything had started, so if anything was going to help them rediscover the harmony of the early days, it would be a joint project. But that would have been counterproductive. Hildy didn’t want to hear it right now, so he wasn’t going to rush her. If the long game was what it took, that’s what Walter would play. What was another few days compared to a decade?

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said mildly. “Plenty of new information that I should probably let simmer.”

“Like how I’m not actually the worst?”

He shook his head, not willing to cop to something he’d never really believed. “More like how you were feeling. And why. But we both have a lot riding on this, so I’m ready to lock in. What can I do?”

“You’re going to take orders from me?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You’re not worried I’m going to screw you over?”

“I thought you said we don’t have time for that.”

“We don’t,” she said.

“Speaking of collaborations—”

“Here it comes,” she muttered.

“What if we did the story together?”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Exclusivity is the whole point.”

“Is it?”

“How would that work with your job?” she pressed. “Your editor is never going to let you moonlight for another publication.”

He picked up one of the random decorative objects in the hammered copper bowl on the coffee table, pretending to inspect the surface of what appeared to be a wooden egg. “Then maybe I’d quit.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Hildy said at once. “I’m not messing up your life again. I don’t want to be your personal wrecking ball. Not that we’re talking about that!” She glared at him as if he’d tried to trick her into revisiting the subject of their past. “We can help each other by making sure the wedding happens. After that it’s every journalist for herself.”

“If that’s what you want.”