Page 62 of My Best French Wedding

“You think?”

“Unless this was your plan?” He gestured at the bridal party leaving their own event early.

“For your information, I wastryingto let them win. If you hadn’t panicked—”

“I was saving you from yourself!”

“I didn’t need saving. My self-control is legendary.”Except around you, she added silently.He really was a menace to her reputation.

“I guess it just happens.” His voice was muffled as he bent to slide on his shoes, but the words wormed their way under Hildy’s skin.

“What happens?”

He straightened. “You. Making a splash.”

She ignored the terrible pun. “And you’re an innocent bystander?”

He shrugged. “I’m just a reporter. I don’t make news.”

“You think I want to be the center of attention?”

Walter didn’t deny it.

“Here’s a PSA for you. I’m part of the story whether I want to be or not. So yeah, I know how to shape the narrative. Better than letting other people use me.” She let that sink in for a second before turning her back on him and walking away.

21Walter

FIVE YEARS AGO

COLUMBIA, Mo.—“Burns!”

Will Wineke, city editor for the campus paper, was an old-school newshound with a graying walrus mustache who didn’t believe in coddling student reporters.

“In my office,” he barked, not waiting to see if Walter would respond to the summons. When Wineke called, the newspaper staff jumped.

“What can I do for you?” Walter asked from the doorway, notebook and pen at the ready.

“Still looking for a job?” He lowered his voice slightly from full roar, but it was still loud enough to alert half of Walter’s colleagues to the fact that he had yet to find postgraduation work.

“Correct,” Walter replied, ignoring the clench of anxiety in his gut. On top of a stagnant job market, he’d further narrowed his options by ruling out any and all outlets owned by Johnson Media. Waiting and hoping for however many months it took to find paying work might be an option for someone with no student loans (or unlimited access to the Bank of Mom and Dad), but Walter didn’t have that cushion. He thought back for the umpteenth time to the decisions that had brought him to this pass.How different would his life be right now if he hadn’t walked away from that fellowship?

At least he still had his principles—if not much else.

Wineke eyed him like he was waiting for Walter to crack and change his story. Before Walter could break into a sweat, his boss grunted.

“Hildy Johnson.”

Walter choked on his own spit. “What?”

“That answers that.” It sounded like Wineke was talking to himself more than Walter.

Walter shook his head, lost.

“You know her.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Walter felt compelled to nod anyway. Maybe that was going to be his claim to fame for the rest of his life. The first line of his obit would be:Once spent a week in Hildy Johnson’s orbit. Had she mentioned him to someone? Could Hildy possibly be thinking of offering him a job? That would be preposterous… unless her conscience had finally kicked in.

“You’re a good reporter.” The heavy exhale that followed clued Walter in that there was an asterisk after that compliment. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t mention this, but I know you need the work. And you have that connection with the Johnson girl.”