Page 36 of My Best French Wedding

“I’m her… handler.” The word popped into his head straight from the police procedural he’d binged over the weekend. Because what could be more appropriate to a floral expo than undercover cops and their morally gray informants?

“Please. Like you could handle me.”

“She’s a little sensitive about needing supervision,” Walter explained to their rapt audience.

“I handle myself just fine.”

Walter widened his eyes, waiting for her to replay that last bit in her head. She shot him a look of defiance. Far be it from Hildy to admit to a mistake.

“What services do you provide?” Pink Glasses asked.

“Whatever she needs.” It was possible that sounded more suggestive than he’d intended; the designer fanned himself. Walter hoped Hildy was enjoying this heaping serving of her own medicine. “Keeping her on task, mostly. She has a tendency to lose focus.”

A battle played out behind Hildy’s eyes. Walter witnessed the exact moment the urge to argue gave way to her instinct for drama.

“That’s me.” Hildy knocked her knuckles against her forehead. “Brain like a sieve.”

“There’s a lot riding on this wedding,” Walter continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s more of a corporate merger, really.” Lowering his voice, he delivered a final salvo. “She’s marrying into the mob.”

“I told you not to use that word in public,” Hildy chided, smacking him in the arm.

“My bad.”

“I’ll punish you when we get home.”

Walter realized he was still looming over Hildy at extremely close range and eased back a few inches.

The designer drummed his fingertips together. “You know, if I were the fiancé, I’d worry this one”—he jerked a thumb at Walter—“might get a littletoocommitted to his job.”

“It’s not a problem.” Hildy threw Walter a dismissive glance. “He’s barely adequate.”

“And I never mix business with pleasure,” Walter retorted. “Once burned, twice shy, as they say.”

Hildy rolled her eyes. “If you’d been burned by me, you’d know.”

“I guess some people are more memorable than others.”

He swallowed a yelp at the sudden pressure on his shoe. There was no need to look down to know that Hildy was standing on his foot.

She smiled up at him. Walter bared his teeth right back. He wasn’t sure which of them was the bigger bullshitter.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, when he’d tugged Hildy free of the flow of human traffic.

She shook off his grip. “Why are you asking me? You’re the quote-unquote handler. What wasthatabout?”

“Why were you pretending to be engaged?”

“Who says I was pretending?”

“Are you?”

“Pretending?”

“Engaged.”

“What’s it to you?”

Walter closed the distance between them. She was toying with him, but he refused to be sidetracked. He locked eyes with her, daring Hildy to lie to him.