Page 110 of My Best French Wedding

“That’s the magic of weddings. Two people who love each other, standing up and telling the whole world. What’s more powerful than that?”

Robbie blinked at him, a slight furrow between his brows. “That’s beautiful, man.”

“I learned it from Hildy. She once told me that you can see everything good about people at a wedding.” And some of the bad, but he didn’t need to remind Robbie of that. “Before that I didn’t really get it, you know? I thought it was just a party with funny clothes.”

Robbie leaned back in his chair. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“But doessheknow that?”

“I don’t know,” Walter admitted.

“Then you gotta fix that, stat. You don’t want to waste any more time.” Robbie stood, gathering his dishes. “Damn, that felt good.”

“The carbs?”

He shook his head. “Giving somebody else advice for a change.”

37Walter

THE DAY OF THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING

MARQUAY, France—The rising sun painted the ancient stone of the castle walls in soft pastels as Fiona Prescott married Robin Schafer in an enchanted French garden.

That was how Walter might start the story—if he were writing it. Set the scene, transition into a few tantalizing details about the clothes (“the bride was resplendent in her favorite nightgown”) and styling (“a crown of wildflowers, still wet with dew, picked by Ms. Prescott and her sister”). In the next paragraph, he’d jump back in time to Robbie and Fiona’s first meeting, followed by the obligatory mention of her famous father, so-and-so of Prescott Industries, and their upper-crust zip codes and educational achievements.

But Walter wasn’t reporting on this wedding, and neither was Hildy. They had both agreed to cover the other “wedding” instead, keeping this one hidden from the world.

He looked to his right, where Hildy was standing with a bottle of champagne dangling from one hand, lit from behind by the warm light of dawn.

“What do you think?” he asked.

She brought the bottle to her lips before offering it to him. “About the bubbles? Breakfast of champions.”

“About the Prescott-Schafer wedding.” He took a judicious sip.It wasn’t the time to overindulge. Walter needed his mind and his body to be fully alert if the rest of the morning was going to play out the way he hoped.

“Magnificent,” Hildy said without hesitation. “Wedding of the year.”

“Is it everything you imagined?”

She smiled, and his heart lurched in his chest. “It’s more.”

“Is this the kind of wedding you’d want?” In all their previous run-ins, Walter had never dared to ask. Now it seemed vitally important for him to know.

“Oh no, I’d need a much bigger castle than this. With a helipad.” Hildy pressed her lips together in a vain attempt not to laugh.

“You never thought about it?” He kept his tone light, even though he was burning with curiosity. “As many weddings as we’ve been to, you must have opinions.”

“I always haveopinions, Walter. It doesn’t mean I keep a scrapbook under my bed with ‘My Dream Wedding, by Hildy’ spelled out in fuzzy stickers on the cover.”

“That just tells me you’re too embarrassed to share. Is it a theme wedding? Are there costumes?”

“If I ever get married—and that’s a bigif—the wedding will depend on the person. It’s not like I’m plunking some rando into my puppet theater. Insert Spouse Here.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

She paused with the neck of the bottle halfway to her mouth. “Are you doing that agreeable thing again?”