Page 12 of My Best French Wedding

“Maybe not while we’re drinking.”

“We’re in Bordeaux. We’re not going tonotdrink the wine. It would be rude. Besides, they should see us living our best lives. It’s aspirational.”

Corinne narrowed her eyes. “You’re surprisingly calm about being away from the magazine.”

“We’re away from theoffice,” Hildy corrected. “The magazine is with us always.”

“If you say the words ‘in our hearts,’ I’m not responsible for my actions.”

“Fine.” Hildy made a heart sign with both hands anyway, just to see Corinne’s eyelid twitch. There was nothing like day drinking in a fancy ultramodern museum after minimal sleep to give you a sense of reckless abandon.

Corinne frowned at Hildy’s wineglass. “Are you almost finished?”

Hildy obediently chugged the rest, hoping a French gendarme wasn’t going to march up and arrest her for failing to savor every sip.

“Because we have limited time here, so we need to keep it moving.”

“I got the judgy subtext the first time,” Hildy assured her. “But thanks.”

Despite their intense predeparture strategizing, they’d managed to arrive in France with starkly different visions for the first stage of the trip. Hildy assumed their primary agenda during these two days would be making sure French women hadn’t made a massive evolutionary leap on the fashion front that had yet to reach American shores and then updating their own wardrobes accordingly.

Ha! Corinne was far too busy dragging her from reflecting pool to fountain and then on to another ancient stone gate. Even their meal breaks had parameters.

“We should taste as many walnut products as possible,” Corinne had informed Hildy on the way out of the hotel that morning. “Candied walnuts, walnut liqueur, walnut ice cream. Also duck. We need to hit that hard.”

And so they had, for the last twenty-seven or so hours, by Hildy’s estimation. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy these culturalhighlights. She simply preferred to have herself in order first, and sweaty and footsore had not been on her list of goals for the day. When she told Corinne they needed to hit the ground running, Hildy had been imagining the two of them sinking into the pampered-wedding-guest mindset so that by the time the actual festivities began, they’d be in peak form.

At least the wine museum was a reasonable compromise: atmosphere and refreshments plus educational value! After an aperitif and snacks, Hildy felt fortified enough to ask, “What’s next on your list, Rick Steves?”

“We need to eat some of those canelés. They look like tiny Bundt cakes, but the consistency is closer to a baked custard. It’s the signature pastry of Bordeaux.”

“Noted,” Hildy said.

“And then we have a lot more old buildings to look at.” She glanced at Hildy’s shoes, which had admittedly been chosen for style rather than comfort. “We can take the tram.”

“Hallelujah.” Beyond giving her feet a break, Hildy appreciated the aesthetics of the experience, the sleek modern vehicle gliding past the narrow streets and weathered stone of the ancient city center. It was like seeing a martini shaker in a thatched cottage, or those glass pyramids at the Louvre.

She was thinking about the visual impact of combining elements from different worlds, and whether that was something to discuss with the magazine’s graphic designers, as the tram slowed ahead of the next stop. Some primal instinct made her turn, her body recognizing danger before her conscious mind received the news.

Hildy’s fingers clamped onto Corinne’s arm, interrupting a description of one of the bridges that spanned the Garonne River. “We need to get offnow,” she hissed.

“Not yet.” Corinne pointed at the map on the wall showing their route. “I told you, our stop is Hôtel de Ville.”

“Change of plans.” Hildy tugged at Corinne’s arm, ready to drag her through the doors if necessary. “Excusez-moi,” she said to the people in front of them as she angled her body toward the exit.

“What the hell was that?” Corinne asked when they were on the platform.

Hildy held a finger to her lips, beckoning Corinne to follow as she hurried around a group of schoolkids in matching uniforms. Reaching into her tote, Hildy grabbed the first thing that came to hand. Last month’sLife, Styledwasn’t the ideal camouflage for the situation, but she held it in front of her face anyway.

“Are you doing some kind of mime?” Corinne didn’t bother lowering her voice. “Is it because we’re in France? I think I’d prefer a beret, if you’re going to pick up an affectation. Or a jaunty little scarf.”

The tram running in the opposite direction finally pulled away from the station. When the last car had disappeared from view, Hildy lowered the magazine. “You didn’t see?”

“See what?” Corinne jerked from side to side, no doubt panicked at the thought of missing a historical marker or famous statue.

Hildy took a deep breath. It was important not to panic. “We have a situation on our hands. Code red.”

“You got your period?”