Page 40 of My Best French Wedding

“I hope the seats recline.”

“Not our problem,” Corinne reminded her.

Hildy knew she was talking about more than ergonomics. “I like knowing people’s business.”

“Some more than others.” Corinne accepted a glass of walnut liqueur from another member of the staff. “Fuck me, that’s good. No idea how to translate that to French.”

“Seems like something they’d say.” German was the go-to language for depressing one-word put-downs, but the French were the MVPs of making everything about sex.

Corinne took another sip of her drink. “Not going to lie, I was afraid it would taste like furniture polish.”

Hildy frowned at her. “Why?”

“The color, I guess. Where are you going?”

“To say hi to Fiona and Robbie.”

Corinne gave a grudging nod of approval, but not before checking the distance between the bride and groom’s table and Walter.

“How’s it going?” Hildy asked Fiona, who was glowing with either love, whatever facial treatment she’d had at the spa, or the oxytocin rush from eating all those fat-filled French delicacies.

“So great,” Fiona enthused, dropping another slice of duck breast into her mouth. “Is it just me, or is everything here delicious?”

Robbie sighed, casting a forlorn glance at his plate, where four slices of bread had been denuded of their toppings.

Walter slid into the empty fourth chair. “What’s happening, kids? Are we doing an interview?”

“No.” Hildy kicked him under the table, semi-accidentally. “We’re being sociable. I mean, I am. And letting these two lovebirds enjoy their delicious, artisanal duck. And figs, which I happen to know are an aphrodisiac. A famous chef told me that,” she added for Walter’s benefit. “He takes a very sensual approach to food.”

“You might want to fact-check that claim,” Walter said.

“About the figs?”

“All of it.”

Hildy turned to address Fiona and Robbie. “Have you talked about the cake?”

Walter made a sound of disbelief. “You don’t know about the wedding cake?”

“I knoweverythingabout the cake,” Hildy retorted. “Ask me about the passion fruit gelée.”

“I don’t need to ask.” He let her stew for a few seconds. “I’ve already tasted it.”

Damn it. Hildy’s fist clenched, hopefully out of Walter’s line of sight. She forced a smile. “I meant whether they’re going to feedeach other the first bite. And if so, are they going for smash and grab or something more restrained.”

Fiona flapped her hands at chest level, showing off her perfect nails and massive diamond. “So it’s actually going to be really cute. We have these meringue mushrooms on top of the cake that we’re going to feed each other. Perfect bite-size morsels.”

“Also, meringues are gluten free,” Robbie added. “And egg whites are high protein.”

“Yes,” Hildy said slowly. She hadn’t pegged Fiona’s husband-to-be as a keto warrior.

“We should practice!” Fiona picked up a piece of bread and held it out to her fiancé.

“I don’t know, Fee—”

“Come on, babe. What are you waiting for?”

“Here, we’ll all do it,” Hildy said, in case having an audience was making Robbie twitchy. “Ready?” she asked Walter, holding up a slice of bread.