Page 66 of My Best French Wedding
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Judgmental.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know aboutme.”
“Great,” she said through a strained smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“Do you need an antacid?”
She bit back a retort. One of them had to set an example. “Wecan’t just pretend not to hate each other. If we’re going to sell this, we have to take it to the next level.”
“Mild distaste?”
Hildy started to roll her eyes before catching herself. “We need to be—cordial. Pleasant.”
“Like maiden aunts? Should I also take up crochet?”
“Sure, Walter. Whatever floats your boat.” Hildy blew out a breath, hoping it would take the sarcasm with it. “We need to act like we like each other, and any conflict people may have observed between us was just… the way people talk to each other when they’re—you know.”
“Friends?” he guessed.
She shrugged. Close enough. “No more egging each other on, okay?”
Walter held up a finger, like this was a press conference and he was waiting for her to call on him.
“Yes?” Hildy said, with what she felt to be remarkable forbearance.
“How much are we pretending to like each other?”
She gave a thoughtfulhmm. “I figure if we have sex on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, preferably in broad daylight, that should cover it.”
He made a wheezing sound.
“Any more questions?” she asked sweetly.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“You have plenty of experience at that.”
“It was a job, Hildy.”
“I’m sure hitmen tell themselves the same thing.” She started for the door, before changing her mind and strolling up to Walter, who was still hovering awkwardly in the middle of the carpet. “Corinne had a suggestion, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
At this distance, she didn’t have to raise her voice above a whisper.
He swallowed roughly. “What was it?”
“Have you heard of a sexorcism?”
“What?”
“Sounds fake, right? We should just shake on it. Like professionals.” She held out her hand.
Walter stared at it for several breaths before pressing his palm to hers. They stayed like that, watching each other. The shower gel smelled even better at close range.
“It’s not very French,” he said at last. “A handshake.”
“Go ahead. French it up.” She offered him her cheek.
He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind before he pressed his lips to the side of her face. It wasn’t too long or too wet, but it sure as hell wasn’t an air kiss. She started to turn, thinking to give him the other cheek, but Walter didn’t pull away. As her face moved against his, their mouths brushed.
