Page 37 of My Best French Wedding

“Fine,” she sighed, looking away. “I’m not engaged. But it’s easier to let everyone assume I’m a bride-to-be. People expect to see a bride at a wedding expo, so they just start yapping.”

Walter felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

“You think I should flirt instead?” She tapped her bottom lip, pretending to think it over. “Maybe I could ask them to dance? Put my hand low on their back and whisper sweet nothings?” Hildy rose onto her toes to bring her mouth closer to his ear. “I hear you’re very popular on the bridesmaid circuit.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Hildy knew he’d been pressed into service as a dance partner at a wedding in Connecticut last month. There was very little that escaped her notice. And yes, the bridesmaids had passed him around once they figured out that he could lead, after which assorted relatives had gotten in on the action. What was he going to do, say no to the groom’s grandmother?

“Why does it matter how many bridesmaids I’m sleeping with? Last time I checked, I wasn’t married. Or fake engaged.”

“Wait, are you serious?” she burst out, forgetting to act nonchalant. “I assumed it was gossip. That is so—” She broke off with a huff of disgust.

“It’s so what?” he prompted.

“Unethical. As a journalist.”

It didn’t seem to matter how long they’d been at odds. Somehow, it still bothered Walter that she thought so little of him. “I don’t get involved with my sources, Hildy. Give me that much credit at least.”

14Hildy

FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING

TAMNIÈS, France—Walter had the audacity to act surprised when Hildy climbed onto the bus the next morning for that day’s signature activity, a local gastronomy tour and tasting.

“You made it,” he said, as if Hildy were known for blowing off scheduled events to play Baldur’s Gate with her buddies.

“It takes more than a canceled wake-up call to stop me.” Especially since she always set two extra alarms. Jet lag was no joke.

“Who would be so diabolical?” Walter asked, with a frown of fake concern. “At least it wasn’t kidnapping.”

“Nobody got kidnapped. You went there of your own free will. And it wasn’t exactly a gulag.”

“On the contrary. I found it inspiring.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Great background for my story. There’s nothing like historical context to give a piece of reporting depth, don’t you agree? And Josephine Baker was such an icon. Another American expat, finding her castle in France—the story practically writes itself.” He smiled at Hildy, all smugness and good hair. “You must have had that in mind when you so generously sent me there.”

“Of course. Every step I take is meticulously planned.” Shemanaged a thin smile of her own. “You’re welcome, by the way.” Hildy made a show of looking around the empty bus. “Where’s Maude?”

“She’s meeting us there.”

“Castle stuff?” Hildy guessed, wrinkling her nose in sympathy.

Walter’s eyes narrowed, as if he sensed a trap. “Yes.”

Never one to pass up an opportunity to grill someone about their private life, Hildy dropped into the seat next to his. “I have a question. About the two of you.”

“The two of who?”

“You and Maude.” Was it strange he had to ask? A little. But then he seemed distracted, blinking a few extra times as he focused on Hildy’s face.

“Okay,” he said, with visible reluctance.

Hildy took a deep breath. She could do this. “You probably know what I’m going to say.”

“Almost never.”

Was he for real right now? “It should be pretty obvious in this case.”