Page 117 of My Best French Wedding

“I don’t know. But I’m kind of a competitive person.”

Walter grinned. “You don’t say.”

“Just trying to be honest.”

His palm traced the curve of her waist. “Nothing compares to the Hildy I can touch. The Hildy whose heart I can hear beating.” He brought his cheek to rest against her chest. It probably sounded like she had a hummingbird trapped inside her rib cage.

“What if you let me be in charge?” Walter lifted his head to kiss her collarbone. “Just for a few minutes? Then you can go back to ruling the world.”

It was an intriguing proposition, especially when his tongue flicked the hollow at the base of her throat. Walter hadn’t told her tocalm downorloosen up. He was offering to take care of her, because he understood how she was wired. When was the last time Hildy had yielded control to someone else?

Somehow she knew this wasn’t a power play. Walter wasn’t trying to score a point or assert his dominance. He was asking her for permission. Could she rely on him to take over for a little bit, so she could concentrate on the feeling of his mouth traveling inch by torturous inch from her hip to the delicate bones of her ankle?

What would it feel like to let go?

Walter sat back at the end of the bed, settling her leg on his lap. His thumbs massaged the ball of her foot as if he knew she was still holding on to a last thread of tension and was determined to work out every scrap of resistance. “What do you say, Hildy?”

It took a few seconds for her to access her verbal abilities. “About what?”

He kissed her instep. “Do you trust me?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The big one, lurking behind everything else two people might ask each other. She felt a fleeting impulse to close her eyes or turn her head, going inward to avoid his searching gaze, but it wasn’t time to hide. There was no more winning or losing side, no advantage to claim. They were in this together.

After all these years, the answer turned out to be simple.

She smiled at him. “I do.”

They both knew how powerful those two little words could be.

39Hildy

THE DAY OF THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING

TAMNIÈS, France—“Walter, are you awake?”

“I am now.”

They’d fallen asleep eventually, despite the daylight seeping into the room. He stretched his arms over his head before lowering one over Hildy’s side to pull her closer. “I’m not a teenager anymore, Hildy. I need some recovery time.”

“This is about work. I have an idea.” She felt his energy shift, less sleepy now and more alert. But he didn’t let go of her.

“I’m listening.”

“I figured out a way we can both do our stories. You can do the newsy version—who what where, and how it went down. Here it is, on the record. Boom.”

“What does that leave for you?”

“Life, Styledis going to do a deep dive on the backstory. The Prescott sisters, their relationship, two paths diverging—marriage versus starting your own business, the eternal struggle—and it all culminates in the wedding, complete with exclusive full-page color photos. Or does it?”

“I’m guessing no.”

“Exactly.” She threaded her fingers through his, holding their linked hands over her heart. “You think the story’s over, but thenyou turn the page and it’s about what comes after. Maude starting her business. Maybe finding love of her own. We’ll go big on the castle. I’m thinking a sweepstakes, a lucky reader and her best girls winning a deluxe trip to France. Fully sponsored, obviously. Airlines, restaurants, shopping spree.”

“Wow.”

“I know. And Mr. Prescott can’t bitch because both of his daughters get the spotlight.”

“When did you come up with all this?”