Page 57 of My Best French Wedding

He was still following her. Either that or he also felt the need to hit something, and the dampthwacksand raucous cheering would have drawn him in that direction with or without her.

She charged onward toward the large rectangular inflatable with a rope draped across the middle. If she’d thought about it, Hildy would have realized this was going to be an unconventional joust. You couldn’t hand actual weapons to a bunch of wedding guests. The obvious solution was to have one barely dressed person ride their partner’s shoulders while wielding a fearsome pool noodle.

She watched with no small amount of awe as one of the bridesmaids bludgeoned another again and again, barely pausing between blows.

“Keep it below the shoulders,” a guy in a black-and-white striped jersey said into a megaphone. “No head shots. That’s a penalty for the green team.”

The bloodthirsty bridesmaid holding the green pool noodlelooked like she was ready to throw down. While she was yelling at the umpire, the pink team struck, knocking the opposing pair’s noodle into the water.

Hildy and Walter were close enough now to join in the applause.

“Does that mean they win?” Hildy asked the man standing next to her.

“Not until the bottom half goes down.”

“I like this game,” she told Walter. She was envisioning the two of them ducking and weaving as they wielded their pool noodles. Walter was stronger, but he’d be handicapped by his fear of beating on a woman. She was pretty sure she could take him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How am I looking at you?”

Walter thought about it for a second. “Like you’re going to grind my bones to make your bread.”

“To the victor go the spoils.”

“What?”

“Trash talk. I’m getting my head in the game.”

He looked from the pool to Hildy, eyes lingering on her face. “You’regoing to play?”

“Why? Are you questioning my skills?”

“At pool noodle jousting?”

She ignored the sarcasm. “Five dollars says you go down first.”

“Wow. Big talk for somebody who’s afraid to get her hair wet.”

Rude of him to know her weaknesses. “I guess we’ll find out which one of us has the killer instinct.”

“I’m not dueling you, Hildy.”

“Bawk bawk,” she clucked, flapping her arms.

Walter rolled his eyes. “Very mature. It’s the bride and groom’s turn anyway.”

Sure enough, Fiona and Robbie were standing in front of the referee, beaming with excitement.

“Let’s hear it for the future Mr. and Mrs.,” the referee barked.“Do we have a challenger? Anyone?” he prompted, when no one stepped forward.

“Come on, guys!” Robbie sent a hopeful smile at the milling crowd. “We’ll go easy on you.”

Fiona beckoned to one of her bridesmaids, who mimed drinking something. It must be mimosa time. Hildy’s heart squeezed at the forlorn look on Fiona’s face. People assumed brides were the center of attention, with everyone dancing attendance on them. In reality, there was often an invisible wall separating the leading lady from the rest of the wedding party, because even if they were all doing the same activities, no one else was on the same journey. However it looked from the outside, getting married was not a group activity.

The groomsmen seemed to have the same idea as the bridesmaids, waving Robbie off with talk of lunch. Fiona’s fiancé looked hopefully at one of his uncles, who had to be at least sixty.

“Change of plans.” Hildy grabbed Walter by the wrist, lifting his arm as high as she could reach. “We’ll play,” she called, hopping a little to sell it.