Page 28 of My Best French Wedding

“I just don’t think of her as being defined by our relationship.”

“How enlightened of you.”

“She’s working,” Walter said, ignoring the taunt.

“So am I.” It was supposed to be Hildy’s exit line, but he spoiled it by following her.

“Working your way to the wine table?”

“For research.”

He lowered his voice. “You’re not supposed to wear perfume at a wine tasting.”

“Stop sniffing me, Burns.”

“I’m not.”

“And I’m not wearing perfume.” Scented body oil didn’t count. She held her arms out, wrists together. “Want to make a citizen’s arrest? I assume you travel with handcuffs.” Hildy let her raised brows paint the rest of the picture.

Walter cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t you be asking people who they’re wearing? Or did you already do the brand-name census?”

“Yes, because my goal has always been to makeLife, Styledthe print equivalent of QVC. One product placement after another.”

“Heeeey.” Corinne came to a stop in front of them, arms wide. “What are you two numbskulls doing together?”

“Nothing.” Hildy answered too quickly, like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’m going to taste some wines.”

“Me too,” Walter announced.

Corinne shook her head. “I don’t think so, kids. We’ve been down this road before, and we all know where it leads. How about we call it a night?”

“I’ll go to bed whenhegoes to bed.” Hildy jerked a thumb at Walter, who snorted.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to pass.”

“Unbelievable,” Hildy groaned, watching him saunter toward a group of bridesmaids with the smugness of someone who’d just gotten the last word. “Where does he get off?”

“Not something you need to worry about,” Corinne said, dragging her in the opposite direction.

11Walter

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

NEW YORK—According to the map on his phone, Walter had reached his destination. The security gate looked like any other industrial storefront in Brooklyn, until he spotted the metal DG logo above the buzzer, as in Domaine Gabby. The proprietor must not want random hipsters stopping by in search of wholesale sparkling wine.

Walter had a different target in mind.

The assistant he’d spoken to on the phone buzzed Walter into the building and introduced himself as Duri. “Gabby’s in back. Should I let her know you’re here?”

“I’m good. Thanks for your help.”

“Write nice things,” Duri said before heading back to what Walter presumed to be his office.

The light at the end of the corridor suggested daylight, so Walter was only partly surprised to step through a heavy steel door and into a glass-roofed atrium. A bar lined one wall, and there were a handful of high tables made from wine barrels.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Hildy said, setting down her glass of champagne. She was seated at the bar, glaring at Walter as if he’d just stolen her parking spot.

“Hello to you too.” Had she really thought he was going to lether last performance go unanswered? Walter wasn’t that big of a sucker. Not anymore, anyway.