13. Walter
Walter
TWO YEARS AGO
NEW YORK—Aside from the Venus flytrap, which he knew mostly from time-lapse nature videos, Walter had never felt menaced by greenery. That changed when he walked into the “Beyond Bouquets: (Un)Natural Art” expo at the Javits Center.
The atmosphere was closer to the reptile house at a zoo (creepy things watching you from all sides) than your average florist. Instead of pink-and-white, the preferred palette ranged from bloodred to gothic black, with plenty of swampy green and midnight purple in between.
Walter had the distinct impression that if he touched one of the stabby-looking arrangements, he would lose a finger—but not before the poison took him out.
So this was where the race to make your wedding utterly unique led.
Maybe the next hot trend would be cakes that weren’t sweet, or flat champagne.
Although that would just be wine, so possibly it wasn’t avant-garde enough.
When Walter told his editor he wanted to expand his horizons, he should have been more specific.
Sinister wedding décor was not the departure from the norm he had in mind.
He wandered down the center aisle, waiting for something to catch his eye.
There was always a choice with trend pieces: Go with the most outrageous example to get people talking, or give a more balanced view?
According to the paper’s market research, the majority of Walter’s readers were in it for the voyeuristic thrills, so he felt less of an obligation to focus on practical centerpieces people might actually choose for their wedding.
At the next booth, a stark white tablecloth was completely bare. Walter assumed they were still setting up, until a woman in a black suit rose from her stool to greet him.
“Striking, isn’t it?” She gestured at the table. “Did you notice the monogramming?”
“No,” Walter admitted.
“White on white,” the designer said, as if she were sharing a secret. “Nothing to distract the eye or destroy the harmony of the whole. It’s a place for the mind to rest. I call it Tabula Rasa.”
Walter had questions—many of them—but before he could ask, another voice caught his ear.
“Yes, we were hoping for something that really says ‘raw’ and ‘danger.’ When you think about it, marriage is a pretty big risk. And who doesn’t love feathers?”
A few booths farther down the aisle, Hildy was chatting up an exhibitor whose display featured a life-size peacock constructed of melon halves, eggplants, and purple fingerling potatoes. He nodded his thanks at the minimalist designer, tucking a business card into his pocket as he turned to go.
“My fiancé’s favorite color is puce,” Hildy was saying as Walter came to stand behind her. “I’d like to honor that if possible.”
She had to be joking, and not just about the puce.
He leaned closer, trying to peer over her shoulder.
No press credentials that Walter could see.
Hildy’s dress was soft and swishy, but he had no idea whether that qualified as a work outfit.
Could she have gotten engaged since the last time he saw her? His gut said no. Forcefully.
“He’s also fascinated by cryptids,” Hildy continued. “If that sparks—” She broke off mid-sentence, slowly turning to face Walter.
“Nice,” the floral designer purred, lifting his oversized pink glasses to give Walter a once-over. “Are we talking Nessie? Bigfoot? El Chupacabra?”
“That’s not my fiancé.” Hildy gave a theatrical shudder, as if the idea of being engaged to Walter was too horrifying to contemplate.
The designer’s lips plumped in disappointment. “I could have sworn I was picking up an energy.”
“We do know each other,” Walter admitted. “But it’s more of a professional relationship.”
“‘Relationship’ is a strong word.” Hildy leaned forward. “He mostly just follows me around.”
“I had a stalker once,” the designer informed them. “It didn’t go anywhere.”
It was unclear whether he expected condolences. “I’m paid to be here,” Walter said, before Hildy could sell him down the river.
“Don’t tell me.” The designer gave him another head-to-toe examination. “Not a driver. Or an assistant.” His voice dropped. “Private security?”
“Yes!” Hildy clasped her hands together as if she’d been hoping he’d guess. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s lethal in three separate martial arts.” She tipped her head back to smile up at Walter, one hand lightly caressing his arm. “Do you want to demonstrate?”
“Demonstrate what?”
“One of your deadly moves.” She turned back to the designer. “He can snap someone’s neck with his quads.”
The designer’s hand flew to his cravat. “How exciting! I read a book like that.” He leaned across the front of the booth for a better look at Walter’s thighs.
“I’m not her bodyguard,” Walter said.
Hildy winked at the designer. “That’s what he’s supposed to say. Keeping a low profile is important in his line of work. He’s probably thinking about a dozen different ways he could off someone right now.”
“How did you guess?” Walter locked eyes with her, making all kinds of silent promises. “Actually,” he told their new friend, “I’m part of her wedding team.”
“Hair?” the designer guessed.
“Yes, Walter.” Hildy crossed her arms, her smile razor-sharp. “Tell him exactly what you do for me.”
“I’m her … handler.” The word popped into his head straight from the police procedural he’d binged over the weekend. Because what could be more appropriate to a floral expo than undercover cops and their morally gray informants?
“Please. Like you could handle me.”
“She’s a little sensitive about needing supervision,” Walter explained to their rapt audience.
“I handle myself just fine.”
Walter widened his eyes, waiting for her to replay that last bit in her head. She shot him a look of defiance. Far be it from Hildy to admit to a mistake.
“What services do you provide?” Pink Glasses asked.
“Whatever she needs.” It was possible that sounded more suggestive than he’d intended; the designer fanned himself. Walter hoped Hildy was enjoying this heaping serving of her own medicine. “Keeping her on task, mostly. She has a tendency to lose focus.”
A battle played out behind Hildy’s eyes. Walter witnessed the exact moment the urge to argue gave way to her instinct for drama.
“That’s me.” Hildy knocked her knuckles against her forehead. “Brain like a sieve.”
“There’s a lot riding on this wedding,” Walter continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s more of a corporate merger, really.” Lowering his voice, he delivered a final salvo. “She’s marrying into the mob.”
“I told you not to use that word in public,” Hildy chided, smacking him in the arm.
“My bad.”
“I’ll punish you when we get home.”
Walter realized he was still looming over Hildy at extremely close range and eased back a few inches.
The designer drummed his fingertips together. “You know, if I were the fiancé, I’d worry this one”—he jerked a thumb at Walter—“might get a little too committed to his job.”
“It’s not a problem.” Hildy threw Walter a dismissive glance. “He’s barely adequate.”
“And I never mix business with pleasure,” Walter retorted. “Once burned, twice shy, as they say.”
Hildy rolled her eyes. “If you’d been burned by me, you’d know.”
“I guess some people are more memorable than others.”
He swallowed a yelp at the sudden pressure on his shoe. There was no need to look down to know that Hildy was standing on his foot.
She smiled up at him. Walter bared his teeth right back. He wasn’t sure which of them was the bigger bullshitter.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, when he’d tugged Hildy free of the flow of human traffic.
She shook off his grip. “Why are you asking me? You’re the quote-unquote handler. What was that about?”
“Why were you pretending to be engaged?”
“Who says I was pretending?”
“Are you?”
“Pretending?”
“Engaged.”
“What’s it to you?”
Walter closed the distance between them. She was toying with him, but he refused to be sidetracked. He locked eyes with her, daring Hildy to lie to him.
“Fine,” she sighed, looking away. “I’m not engaged. But it’s easier to let everyone assume I’m a bride-to-be. People expect to see a bride at a wedding expo, so they just start yapping.”
Walter felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.
“You think I should flirt instead?” She tapped her bottom lip, pretending to think it over.
“Maybe I could ask them to dance? Put my hand low on their back and whisper sweet nothings?” Hildy rose onto her toes to bring her mouth closer to his ear.
“I hear you’re very popular on the bridesmaid circuit. ”
It shouldn’t have surprised him that Hildy knew he’d been pressed into service as a dance partner at a wedding in Connecticut last month.
There was very little that escaped her notice.
And yes, the bridesmaids had passed him around once they figured out that he could lead, after which assorted relatives had gotten in on the action.
What was he going to do, say no to the groom’s grandmother?
“Why does it matter how many bridesmaids I’m sleeping with? Last time I checked, I wasn’t married. Or fake engaged.”
“Wait, are you serious?” she burst out, forgetting to act nonchalant. “I assumed it was gossip. That is so—” She broke off with a huff of disgust.
“It’s so what?” he prompted.
“Unethical. As a journalist.”
It didn’t seem to matter how long they’d been at odds. Somehow, it still bothered Walter that she thought so little of him. “I don’t get involved with my sources, Hildy. Give me that much credit at least.”