Page 70 of My Best French Wedding
“It’s like we’re dogs,” Robbie said, keeping his voice low. “Everybody wants us to show off our one trick.”
“Next they’ll be asking us to fetch,” Fiona jumped in.
“I wish! More like ‘sit.’ ‘Stay.’ ‘Good boy.’” Robbie huffed at the ridiculousness of the idea, but he wasn’t far off. Between the ceremony, the pictures, and the reception, there was quite a bit of enforced stillness in his future. Hildy opted not to bring that to his attention, since being the bearer of bad news didn’t really suit the sunshiny mood she was supposed to be selling.
“At least we get to go on an adventure first,” Fiona reminded Robbie. “Deep underground in a spooky cave!”
Hildy set down the pastry she’d just stolen from Walter’s plate. “How deep are we talking?”
“What she really wants to know is how spooky,” Walter translated, while filching one of Hildy’s strawberries.
Annoyance flickered faintly, both for the strawberry and his casualI-know-things-about-Hildyflex. She could have gotten over that phobia years ago. Maybe catacombs and crypts and other subterranean spaces less directly associated with death were totally her scene now. Walter had no business acting like—
Except he does, she reminded herself, because they were buddies now. At least while other people were watching.
“It’s totally safe,” Fiona assured her. “Little kids can do it. You ride a cute little train. It’s not like ropes and crawling through tight spots and ‘oh my God, is there enough oxygen down here?’ Remember Belize?” she asked Robbie.
Hildy stared while the two of them had a good laugh at what sounded like a near-death experience. “What about bats?”
“Worried about your hair?” Walter teased, as if Hildy were being irrational. She’d like to see his reaction if a flying rodent crapped on his head.
“The only thing you have to worry about is getting cold,” Fiona said. “It’s a lot cooler underground, so definitely bring a light sweater.”
“Or acardigan.” Robbie looked proud of himself for knowing the word, beaming at all of them as he slung an arm around hisfiancée’s shoulders. “You’re a really good hostess, Fee. Everyone is having a great time.”
“You think?” she asked hopefully.
He squeezed her closer to his side. “No doubt.”
“I was afraid the situation with who’s doing the story might be causing some tension.” Fiona wrinkled her nose in a silent apology. “Yesterday it seemed like maybe you two were a little grumpy with each other.”
Hildy felt like a jerk for assuming Fiona was only concerned about her manicure. “Don’t worry aboutthat. The story is the least of our problems.”
“Competing for a great scoop is what we do,” Walter agreed. “It gives spice to our lives.”
“In a professional sense,” Hildy added.
They reached for the last strawberry at the same time. Walter’s hand settled over hers, a warm weight.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“That’s okay. You can have it.” Before she could withdraw her hand, the pads of his fingers skimmed her knuckles.
“Thanks, Hildycakes.” He stared into her eyes as he took a bite. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Clearly he was messing with her. First the unsanctioned pet name, then the suggestive fruit eating, and now the final twist of the knife. Even Hildy would have a hard time arguing that she’d been a positive presence in his life. She stood so abruptly the dishes rattled on the table.
“I’m going to grab something for the cave.” Like a Xanax. “I’ll meet you at the bus.”
“I’ll save you a seat,” Walter promised.
Hildy had a feeling he would have blown her a kiss if she hadn’t kept her eyes down as she tucked in her chair and turned away, trying not to look like she was fleeing the scene.
24Walter
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
FLEURAC, France—Walter spent the bus ride listening to Corinne explain the differences between the cave art at Lascaux, Font-de-Gaume, and today’s destination, Rouffignac, to a distracted Hildy, who kept glancing back to see if he was eavesdropping. The notes he pretended to take were mostly scribbles, with the express purpose of winding her up.
