Page 32 of My Best French Wedding
She swished the last of the champagne from cheek to cheek before setting down her glass. “Home.”
“We could share a ride,” he suggested, when she was halfway to the door.
After a pause, she turned back to face him. “Why?”
“To be sure you make it there safely?” Walter didn’t know whyhe phrased it as a question. As if there were any other possible motive for following her home.
“Save the knight in shining armor routine for someone who doesn’t know better.” The door slammed behind her with an echoing clang.
Walter picked up the damp scrap of paper, intending to bank a shot at the trash can behind the bar. Somehow, he wound up tucking it into his pocket instead.
12Hildy
SIX DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
VÉZAC, France—If she had to describe the overall vibe of the prewedding festivities to a friend (as opposed to her magazine’s readers) Hildy would have said that it had the luxurious yet lightly educational ambience of a Viking River Cruise. Although Hildy considered herself several decades too young to embark on a cruise geared toward PBS-viewing retirees, she had a thorough understanding of the experience from Corinne, who had gone on several with Gabby. The fact that both were sixty-five at heart seemed to be the glue that cemented their ongoing, if nonexclusive, relationship.
As on a fancy cruise, wedding guests who didn’t want to lounge by the hotel pool could join a daily cultural excursion to add some enrichment to their stay in France. Since this didn’t necessarily seem like Fiona and Robbie’s style, Hildy assumed the destination had been chosen by an outside consultant—until Fiona explained that her late mother had spent a year in this part of the world as an exchange student, and always talked about it as one of the happiest times of her life.
That was an undeniably sweet tribute to Fiona’s mom. Hildy was less moved by the itinerary for Day One, which bore the fingerprints of a different member of the Prescott clan.
Explore the cutting edge of horticultural design at this unforgettable art garden, where the grounds of a stately manor play host to a lush tapestry of sculptural boxwood forms infused with whimsy and mystery. A private tour will be followed by lunch amidst the greenery.
“Imagine that, a garden tour,” Hildy grumbled. “I wonder whose idea that was?”
“Not that you’re jealous,” Corinne said around a mouthful of croissant.
Hildy raised her sunglasses to give Corinne the full impact of her disdain. “For your information, I’m not always thinking about Walter.”
“Who said anything about him?” Corinne slugged her fresh-squeezed juice. “Let’s go, one-track mind. Try not to piss off any of our sources. Or their sisters.”
As if! Most people found Hildy charming and fun—and the exception to that rule wouldn’t be joining them today.
While the other guests posed in front of hedges that looked like extras in a surreal European production ofLittle Shop of Horrors, Hildy wandered ahead. She wanted to check out the maze on her own, because what was the point of a maze if you couldn’t pretend you were lost, or on your way to a romantic assignation?
If that also meant avoiding Maude, Hildy was happy to file that under the fringe benefit column.
The gravel crunched under her wedge heels as she ambled along, turning and twisting among the sculpted boxwoods. It would have been more atmospheric with a long dress, but Hildy didn’t have the height to pull off a maxi skirt.
According to the map, there was a tearoom on the other end of the maze. Hildy could set herself up at a table and wait for other guests to wander by so she could ply them with refreshmentswhile collecting quotes about Fiona and Robbie. Until then, it was nice to have a little breathing room. She needed a minute to remind herself that nothing had really changed, despite Walter’s absurd idea of competing for a story that was already hers. Her mandate was the same today as it had been yesterday: Knock this story out of the park, and all good things would follow.
There was no reason to expect anything but success. Weddings were her playground… although some would argue that Walter was equally experienced on these monkey bars.
But Hildy had the wholeLife, Styledteam behind her. And she wasn’t juggling a romance with her professional duties. Clear eyes and free hands!
Her footsteps slowed as she registered the hushed voices coming from somewhere ahead. A bass rumble, then a soft reply. Whoever they were, they sounded… intimate. A man and a woman, judging by the burst of laughter that was quickly silenced. Had they realized Hildy could hear them? She started to back away, placing each foot as silently as possible, when a low moan caught her ear.
Well, well, well. Someone was starting their day with a bang. And since the gardens were currently closed to the public, it had to be members of their group. She walked more quickly in the opposite direction, trying to give them privacy. Despite covering her ears, Hildy couldn’t help registering that the muffled gasps and grunts were escalating to a definite climax.
An alarm went off, right around the same time as the unseen woman. Hildy cursed under her breath before realizing it wasn’therphone. The amorous couple was scrambling now, their whispers growing frantic. It hit Hildy in a sickening rush: They were panicking like they were late, andthatmeant they were almost certainly about to hurry around the corner.
The maze felt a lot less whimsical now that she needed a quick escape. After tiptoeing around the next bend, Hildy spotted anopening in the hedge. It was a false turn that dead-ended after a few paces. If she flattened herself against the prickly wall, it might give her just enough cover—assuming they sped past without glancing to the left.
Hildy had about ten seconds to get her breathing under control before the first set of footsteps raced through the maze, sending gravel flying. Her first instinct was to close her eyes, but she quickly realized that would not make her invisible. Plus she kind of wanted to know which of the wedding guests were having areallygood day.
Oh, shit.
It was Maude.
