Page 17 of My Best French Wedding

“You’re a lot more than that.” Walter sounded like he was auditioning for a role as her personal hype man. That was an awful lot of pride to take in a source—unless he and Maude were exchanging more than horticultural trivia.

“She has a degree in plant sciences from Cornell,” Walter informed Hildy. “Maude grew half of what we’re eating tonight. I’d tell you about it, but that would spoil the surprise.”

Hildy kept her smile locked in place even when Maude put a hand on Walter’s arm. It seemed like a superfluous gesture when their hips were already touching, but it did confirm the vibe she’d been sensing.

“I’m sorry I had to cut our conversation short.” Maude pitched her voice low, for Walter’s ears only. “I have a few minutes now, if you’re free. I could give you a tour.”

He gazed at Maude as if the two of them were alone at a candlelit restaurant. “I would love that. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Knock yourselves out,” Hildy replied. Not that she wasn’t having a super fun time being the third wheel.

Walter frowned at her. “I was talking to Maude. She must be incredibly busy today.”

Unlike Hildy, who was standing there with a froufrou drink, twiddling her thumbs. It was so typical of Walter to make her feel like a vapid afterthought.

“My part is mostly done,” Maude assured him.

“Lucky me.” He smiled down at Maude-the-talented in that ingratiating way Hildy vaguely remembered from their youth. He probably used it all over the wedding circuit:Tell me more about your table settings! I find your choice of napkins deeply compelling!

What would the fawning bridesmaids and plantscapers say if they met high school Walter, before his frame filled out and his skin cleared and someone analyzed his colors? (Though Hildy could have told him back then that this shade of green would make his eyes pop.) When they first met, it had been a toss-up whether Hildy wanted to kiss him or give him the other half of her BFF charm.Maybe, she remembered thinking,this is what it’s like when you meet someone really special. They could be your friendandyour crush.

Now that she was older and wiser, Hildy’s feelings about Walter were a lot less ambiguous. She wanted to take him apart, slowly and methodically, with her bare hands.Psychologically, she course-corrected, when the wrong kind of image popped into her head. It had nothing to do with removing his clothes.

“Excuse us,” Walter said, his arm not quite touching Maude’s lower back.

He could play the respectful gentleman all day. Hildy wasn’t fooled. This was Walter waving a red flag in her face. Look at me, stealing the scoop right out from under you!

Let Walter think he’d won. What was one minor skirmish in the grand scheme of their war? Hildy was already working another angle, with the potential to deliver a truly epic victory. And then they’d see who really excelled at nurturing a tiny seedling of an idea into a brilliant blossom of a story.

Hildy pictured a faceless woman poring over the pages ofLife, Styled. She might be at a nail salon, or a sticky kitchen table, or the doctor’s office, or on a crowded train, but for those stolen moments she’d be in this pastoral idyll, on a summer afternoon, walking on plush grass while a light breeze ruffled her hair. Maybe it seemed superficial tosomepeople, but Hildy believed she was providing a public service. Who needed a sunflower room when you could take your mind on vacation for the price of a magazine? Hildy held her hand out to the side, dropping an invisible mic.

“Was that Walter’s wallet?” Corinne asked, strolling up beside her. She pretended to check the grass for evidence.

“No.” Though that would have been a neat trick, had Hildy trained as a pickpocket. “I have a much bigger score in mind.”

“Looks like you have competition,” Corinne shot a pointed look at Maude, who was holding up a sprig of something green for Walter’s inspection.

“I’m not talking about scoring with Walter. The goal is to scoreonhim. Or against him. Over him.” Damn it. “You know what I mean.”

“That makes one of us,” Corinne murmured into her drink.

Hildy didn’t dignify that with a response. “Rumor has it the Prescott clan may be gathering for another wedding in the not-too-distant future.”

“Shit!” Corinne’s face drained of color. “You mean Walter—”

“No!” Hildy was superstitiously glad to have cut her off before she could finish the thought. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not that it matters to me. Except for pitying whoever ends up with him. Why do you look so relieved?” she asked, before Corinne could argue.

“I was afraid I was going to have to hog-tie you, what with the open flames and pointy skewers.”

How would it feel to have a second-in-command who respected your executive functioning? Hildy would probably never know. “For your information, I’m totally in control—and in possession of a very important piece of knowledge.”

“Feel free to tell me once this dramatic pause is over.”

“There’s another Prescott daughter.” And Hildy was going to make sure she got to this one first.

7Walter

ONE WEEK BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING