Page 48 of My Best French Wedding

Fiona turned wide eyes on Hildy. “You don’t believe in it?”

“She’s had some issues in that area,” Corinne replied for her.

“Did you break up?” Fiona pressed. “With your childhood sweetheart? Is it hard for you to be here right now?”

Hildy double-checked to make sure Walter was out of hearing range. “I’m thrilled to be here! Loving every minute. And I wouldn’t saychildhood.”

“Emotionally they were children,” Corinne translated. “But it was a very different scenario.”

“Nothing like you and Robbie,” Hildy assured her. “You guys are golden.”

“Oh, good.” Fiona exhaled in relief. “I was afraid you were going to say it wasn’t real. That there’s no such thing as a bond that can last your whole life, even if you don’t see each other for years.”

“Hildy is the last person who would tell you that.” Corinne clapped Hildy on the shoulder, reminding her to smile.

Fiona shook herself. “That sounded super insecure, didn’t it? Sometimes it feels like this wedding is a highway with cars zooming everywhere and Robbie and me are trying to walk across it, you know?”

“Totally normal. I’ve seen a lot of weddings and there is always a ton of pressure on the couple. You’re doing great.” Hildy squeezed Fiona’s right hand so as not to impale herself on the massive engagement ring.

Fiona blushed prettily. “That’s nice of you to say. But you could tell me if there was something you know that I don’t. It’s better than getting hit with a nasty surprise, you know?”

“Of course,” Hildy assured her, with what she hoped was a wise nod.

The words “nasty surprise” played over and over in her head, as if Fiona had stepped on a reverb pedal.

She had to tell Walter the truth. It would almost certainly blow up in her face, considering how poorly frank conversations had worked out for them in the past, but at least her conscience would be clear.

Clear-ish, anyway.

17Hildy

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO

NEW YORK—The phone on Hildy’s desk buzzed. She pressed the intercom button.

“What’s up, Olive?”

“There’s someone here to see you. Aman.” Her intern’s normally chirpy voice was subdued.

“Is it apoliceman?”

“No!” There was a rustling in the background. The next words were barely above a whisper. “It’sWalter Burns.”

Corinne must have tipped off the front office staff. Which was honestly insulting, because Hildy wasn’t going to make a scene at her own place of work. She saved that for other venues.Life, Styledwas a serious enterprise, while also being fun and full of creative zing!

Hopefully, that would be evident to Walter from the reception area. Maybe they needed a funkier front desk? Or a really cool floor lamp. They could probably afford a few modest upgrades. According to their financial analyst, now that the magazine had survived its first year, the odds of the whole thing collapsing around them would drop every quarter. Surely that was cause for an extremely cautious celebration. Prosecco if not champagne.

“Hildy?” Olive whispered. “Do I need to call Corinne?”

“No! Tell Walter I’ll be with him in three minutes. I’m just finishing something up.”

“What are you—”

“Olive.” Hildy generally applauded her intern’s curiosity, but they had already had several conversations about when to ask follow-up questions and when to deliver a line as written. No one needed to know Hildy’s bathroom schedule.

“Right. Sorry.”

Hildy set down the phone. How would her office look to someone seeing it for the first time? She didn’t have any plants, the biggest piece of wall art was a whiteboard, and the couch in the corner had been chosen more for comfort than aesthetics, since both Hildy and Corinne had been known to use it for the occasional power nap when they were at the office late.