Page 83 of My Best French Wedding

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING

MARQUAY, France—Hildy was onto something with this under-cover-of-darkness trip to the wedding venue. It felt romantic and cinematic, with a hint of mischief: whispering and cramming into the van as they snuck away from the hotel; headlights picking out flashes of lonely road ahead; the faint hum of the radio, playing something French. An almost tangible sense of relief and excitement emanated from the bride and groom. If the point was to soothe and reassure Fiona Prescott, the mission was half accomplished by the time they reached the bottom of the hill.

Other cultures were better at coddling brides-to-be, but Walter supposed it was the American way to make prewedding rituals an endurance test instead. If you didn’t optimize every last detail, were you even trying?

Granted, there were worse fates than being fêted at an extravagant destination wedding, but Walter was getting better at seeing the real people behind the trappings of an upper-class lifestyle. He liked Fiona and Robbie, both as a couple and as unexpectedly quirky individuals. Plus, as Hildy had pointed out, there were some things all the money in the world couldn’t buy.

The space between his shoulder blades burned with the urgeto turn and look at Hildy. It didn’t take an ace reporter to figure out she was avoiding him, to the extent it was possible to ignore someone enclosed in the same van. Halfway across the parking lot Hildy had called dibs on the back row and announced that Corinne would be sitting next to her.

While Walter’s gut had been telling him for days that the only path forward with Hildy was to sort through their past, she was clearly not on the same page. He’d have to find a different approach that wouldn’t send her into a defensive spiral before they had a chance to really talk to each other. If she still wanted nothing to do with him after that, at least he’d know he tried.

The van parked in an unremarkable gravel lot between the road and the forest. You couldn’t see the castle from here, though Walter supposed the towers might be visible above the tree line when it wasn’t dark.

“Picture really handsome attendants at the valet stand,” Fiona narrated, leaning forward to point past the windshield. “Dressed like medieval pages.”

“Too bad I didn’t pack my tights,” Robbie said as he helped her out of the van.

Loïc and Maude were waiting for them on the grass.

“This is where the carriage will pick you up,” Maude told her sister. “Can you imagine?”

“I wish we could ride in a carriage now,” Fiona sighed.

Robbie stomped the ground with one foot, snorting and tossing his head. “My lady?” he said, crouching in front of his bride-to-be. He grunted as Fiona climbed onto his back, hoisting her higher as he straightened.

“Good horsie!” she chirped as he trotted away.

“I should let her borrow my riding crop,” Corinne mused as the rest of the group followed the bridal couple along the trail leading to the edge of the forest.

“We’ll string lights all through here.” Maude gestured at thepath through the trees, which was the approximate width of a car (or horse-drawn carriage).

In the absence of hanging lanterns, flashlights flickered like fireflies from the cell phones in every other hand. A hushed quiet fell once they set off through the trees. Walter wondered if Hildy was spooked by the darkness or the rustling branches, but didn’t want to embarrass her by asking.

“There used to be wild boars in these woods,” Maude informed them.

“Oh goodie,” Hildy muttered.

“It makes a delicious sausage,” Loïc added, like that would offer some consolation. Yes, you got gored, but on the upside: charcuterie!

The forest felt like something out of a fairy tale. Walter had been to plenty of outdoor weddings, but the backdrop of “nature” was always groomed within an inch of its life. This was an actual wilderness, as if the forest might decide at any moment to retake the narrow strip of land.

A prickle of awareness alerted him that Hildy was staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m trying to imagine you with horns.”

“Like… a devil?”

Her curls swished as she shook her head. “Like one of those dark fae lords who lures you into the woods and you don’t find out until book five that he’s actually trying to kill you.”

Walter had questions, but one rose to the top. “And? How do I look?”

She shrugged. “I think you could pull it off. You have the hair for it.”

He had no idea if that was an insult or a compliment, but the fact that Hildy was talking to him felt like progress. As if sensing his eagerness to prolong the conversation, she sped up, not slowing until Maude and her archaeologist were between them.

“At least she likes your hair,” Corinne whispered, hurrying past him to catch up with Hildy.