35. Hildy
Hildy
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE PRESCOTT-SCHAFER WEDDING
TAMNIèS, France—“I lied,” Walter said as soon as Hildy finished.
It wasn’t a denial, much less an apology—or writhing on the floor, tortured by regret.
“I know.” She kept her chin up, willing her voice not to waver. “You were using me the whole time. Another person who only cared about my last name, or who I could introduce them to.”
“No!” He was agitated now, suave adult Walter replaced by the splotchy red face and shaky voice she remembered from his insecure teen self. “I was lying to Corinne. You had to know that. I’m no good at pretending.”
“Unlike me, you mean?”
“Hildy.” His voice broke on her name. “I was hurt and humiliated. To find out you were playing me and I was too infatuated to notice? I couldn’t admit to that.”
“How could you think for a second that I wasn’t serious about the work? Or that I just wanted to coast on my name? That’s bullshit, Walter. You knew me. And that’s who you rejected. Me. Not my uncle or his company or a pile of money.”
“I didn’t say it made sense.” Walter stood to pace, hands clasped at the back of his neck.
“Even before that, I wasn’t in my right mind.
Being around you was like being high. I couldn’t trust my own perceptions.
It was so much easier to think it wasn’t real than to believe that …
it was. But it was, wasn’t it?” His voice dropped to a whisper at the end.
Hildy could feel the heat of his gaze, a thousand times more potent than his interview face. But she wasn’t one of his subjects, and she didn’t have to answer his questions. This was her story too, and she was fully capable of telling it like it was.
“It doesn’t change the fact that I showed myself to you, and you said, ‘no thank you.’ To everything about me.”
Walter shook his head. “That’s not what happened.”
“Then explain to me why you withdrew from the competition.” She still remembered the shock of learning he’d dropped out. That had been the final blow, when Hildy would have sworn it couldn’t get any worse.
“Because you took your name off our story,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.
“What choice did I have? You accused me of being a freeloader who was taking credit for other people’s work. I had to show you how wrong you were by doing the opposite!”
“I thought you didn’t care about me, Hildy. That was the killer.” He pressed a hand to his chest, like he could still feel the ache.
“And I thought you didn’t want to be associated with our shitty story, and you were humoring me because of who I was.” She hesitated before admitting the rest. “You probably didn’t even want to do … the other part.”
“I would have crawled over broken glass to be with you.” He waited until she looked at him, as if eye contact would make it harder for him to lie. Did he think she’d forgotten how easily he fooled her before?
“Try to spin it,” she dared him.
“I wasn’t going to win by myself for a story we wrote together. It was your idea!”
“That’s so stupid! You could have had a full ride to journalism school. What the fuck!” Unable to contain the urge any longer, Hildy crossed the room to shove him in the shoulder.
Walter grabbed her hand when she tried to pull away. “That’s not the only thing I lost.”
This time, he let her go when she tugged her hand free of his grasp. Hildy took a step back. It would be easier to keep her thoughts in line if he wasn’t touching her.
“And then out of the blue you start covering weddings, like suddenly human-interest stories aren’t beneath you after all.
‘Let me show you how it’s done, silly socialite.
’ Though I guess that was an improvement over you writing about me.
What was that about, Walter? You had to make sure to put me in my place, over and over again? ”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Then let’s not. We’re not going to get anywhere by reliving some really shitty memories.
As if once wasn’t enough. Why don’t we move on to the next super fun item on your agenda, like stabbing ourselves under the fingernail with rusty tweezers?
Maybe some light dental work? At least that would be productive. ”
After another heavy exhale, something resembling a laugh punched out of his chest.
“Are you mocking me?” Hildy felt like a cat, ready to hiss and unleash her claws—or hide under the furniture until her dignity recovered.
“No.” Walter spread his hands, a gesture of what looked like helplessness. “I can’t believe we both walked away. I’m not sure if that counts as doing the right thing for the wrong reasons or vice versa.”
It was a valid question, though Hildy had no intention of admitting that to him. “I just had a terrible thought.”
“About then? Or now?”
“Both,” she decided, after a moment’s reflection. “What if we suck at this?”
“Talking to each other?”
“Figuring out the truth—which is pretty much the main job of journalists.” Hildy shuddered at the prospect of her entire career being rooted in delusion. “No, I’m not going to neg myself. I know I’m awesome. And you’re … not bad. At your job.”
He sketched a mocking half bow. “So where does that leave us?”
Hildy felt like they’d just stepped out of a darkened movie theater and were standing on the sidewalk adjusting to daylight. “Right now?”
“Tonight, yes. And tomorrow. And after.”
The words were neutral enough on the surface. And yet Hildy felt the temperature in the room tick up a few degrees, a slow simmer of possibility in the air.
“As in, are we still dagger-to-the-throat, or will we magically get over it like we’ve been lobotomized?”
Because it wasn’t as if he’d prefaced all of this with an impassioned speech. Oh, Hildy! How I yearn for you! The reason I’m dredging up this unpleasantness is that I’ve carried a torch all these years! Let’s kiss and make up!
He was probably doing some kind of therapeutic exercise where he had to make peace with his past so he could move forward to a normal relationship untainted by a tragic legacy of mistakes and misunderstandings. And who could blame him?
“The thing is, Walter, we tried to clear the air—”
“A little,” he countered.
She let that slide for now. “I can’t flip a switch and abracadabra forget all the things we said and did to each other.”
It was as if her emotions had been taken out of their boxes and thrown around, making it impossible to tell which feeling went where. They were still there, vast and oceanic, but all Hildy could do was let them surge around her and hope she didn’t drown.
No one had ever made her feel the way Walter did.
“There must be part of you that’s still angry,” she insisted. Hildy saw the instinctive denial form on his lips before he caught himself.
“I don’t know. Honestly? I think all these years I’ve been trying to get your attention. Making my big stand, writing about you, competing with you—there’s a pretty clear through line. Notice me, Hildy. I’m right here.”
“Like Ben Seward.”
Walter shook his head. “Is he a tabloid guy?”
“No, he was a kid who used to chase me around the playground in second grade and pull my curls. ‘Hildy, what’s wrong with your hair?’ Yank!
All the adults were like, ‘Isn’t that cute?
He has a crush on you! Be nice to him.’ Which is what every little girl longs to hear: Better start placating the incels early! ”
“And I remind you of him?”
“No. I never liked Ben Seward. He ate his boogers.”
“A low bar, but I like to think I clear it.”
Hildy refused to puff up his ego by agreeing. Besides, they were losing the plot. Again.
“I don’t think it matters why we acted the way we did. It doesn’t change the fact that we did real damage to each other. Compared to what, a week that was…”
“Perfect,” he supplied, when she faltered. The look in his eyes dared her to deny it. Rather than perjure herself, she stayed stubbornly silent—which had the unfortunate effect of allowing Walter to go on.
“My whole life I had this constant list in my head. If only I was taller, or smarter, or faster, or my hair didn’t stick up, or my knees weren’t bony …
but all that went quiet when I was with you.
For the first time, I was glad to be exactly who and where I was.
” Walter paused, and Hildy knew he was waiting for her to say something: yes, I understand, or it was the same for me.
But she couldn’t, because she suspected it wasn’t quite true.
Walter hadn’t made her feel good enough.
She’d been unstoppable. Superpowered. It was as if he saw the person she’d planned to become once she got her shit together and stopped breaking out.
“That must mean something,” he prodded when she didn’t respond. He tried to hold eye contact, but Hildy looked away after a few scorching seconds. “Being with you was so easy, Hildy.”
“Until it wasn’t,” she reminded him, ignoring the traitorous thump of her heart. “And it stayed that way for a long, long time. So who’s to say which one was real?”
Walter hesitated. “What are the options?”
“The hating or the … not hating.”
“I never hated you, Hildy.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Come on. You know that’s not what we do. Our fights are—”
Electric. Invigorating. Almost as big a rush as holding a finished copy of my magazine. “Childish,” she said.
“Thrilling,” he countered.
“See? We can’t even agree about this. Not to mention the part where we’re still competing for this story. You think that’s going to be smooth sailing?”
“I think people can change. If they want to. And aren’t stubbornly determined to assume the worst. There could be more to the story. A second act.”
Also known as taking the risk of running her heart through the garbage disposal all over again. Because even if they hadn’t really hated each other all these years, they’d both been deeply wounded. She was saved from having to admit she was afraid by a knock on the door.
“Oh good, you’re both here!” Fiona said when Hildy answered. “See, Robbie? I told you they were hooking up.”
“And I said there was too much tension for you to already be sleeping together,” her fiancé filled in. “But I should have known Fee was right.”
“What can I do for you?” Hildy asked, ignoring Walter’s presence at her back.
He couldn’t just stand beside her like a normal person or hover at a respectful distance.
She was pretty sure she could feel his breath tickling the nape of her neck.
When she slid a foot back, intending to step on his toes, he grabbed her waist as if she’d slipped.
“Careful,” he murmured, right into her ear. Because of course he was practically glued to her back now. Walter must be trying to make an argument with his body that he hadn’t been able to sell with his mouth: There’s still something between us—and it’s not animosity.
As if being attracted to him had ever been the problem!
Fiona and Robbie exchanged a significant look.
“We wanted you to be the first to know. Since it was your idea.” Fiona took Robbie’s hand, arm swinging as if she could barely hold in her excitement.
“Which idea would that be?” Hildy asked, feigning calm.
“Getting married on our own terms.” Fiona spoke with unmistakable pride. “We don’t need the live peacocks, and a light show, and an orchestra, and a twenty-course tasting menu as long as we have each other.”
Robbie nodded his support. “I want to marry Fiona the way she wants to get married.”
“Wild and free! No shoes! No cameras! No passive-aggressive great-uncles!” Fiona sounded like she was warming up for a poetry slam.
When Walter’s hand tightened at Hildy’s waist, she couldn’t tell if he was having a nervous spasm, or she’d swayed from the sensation of a trapdoor opening under her feet.
“Tell me more,” Hildy said, as if they were discussing what Fiona had ordered for dinner. “What exactly are you envisioning?”
“Just like tonight.” Fiona let go of Robbie to squeeze Hildy’s shoulders. “Thank you so much for suggesting we go out there. It made everything so clear!”
Robbie gave an emphatic nod. “What she said.”
“I love you so much!” Fiona threw herself at her fiancé, kissing him with an enthusiasm that made Hildy instinctively back away to give them privacy—sending her right into Walter’s arms.
It felt a little like support, his warmth and strength there to prop her up. That was comforting but also confusing, because it was Walter.
“So you still want to get married at the castle?” Hildy asked when Fiona and Robbie were finished tonguing each other.
“Oh, for sure!” Fiona confirmed. “That part is perfect. We could go back right now!”
Robbie pointed at her, as if he’d never heard a better idea. “I’ll grab the rings!”
“Hold that thought,” Hildy said before Robbie could take off. “Could you give us one second?”
She bumped Walter backward so she could close the door, then sagged against it.
“What are we going to do?” he whispered.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because you always have a plan.”
“For ruining the wedding of the century and making an enemy of the man who could tank both our jobs? Not so much,” she hissed. Though of course she did have the beginnings of an idea; Hildy was shocked, not dead. “We need to stall. Buy ourselves a few more hours.”
She yanked the door open, relieved Fiona and Robbie were still there. “Hey, guys! Super exciting concept, but you know what would be even better?”
They shook their heads.
“Picture this: sunrise, birds singing, a new dawn. The sky turns pink and yellow behind the castle, slowly lighting up the trees. New life, rebirth, a brand-new day. Champagne and warm croissants. It’s pure, it’s fresh, the symbolism is—” Hildy kissed her fingertips. “Chef’s kiss. What do you think?”
Fiona turned to Robbie. The two of them had a telepathic conversation for a few seconds before Fiona screeched, “Yes! I love it! Plus we’ll be able to see each other!” She turned to Hildy with an expectant air. “So like in a few hours? I don’t actually know what time the sun comes up.”
“Love the energy,” Hildy said. “But I was thinking the sunrise after that—your actual wedding day. So you can be well rested.”
“Excellent point.” Walter grabbed Hildy by the shoulders, like a coach getting ready to send her back into the game. “Let’s all get some sleep before the big day!”
“Okay. We’re definitely going to ‘rest.’ Just like you!” Fiona winked at them before taking Robbie by the hand and dragging him away.
“We are so fucked,” Hildy said when they were out of earshot. “We should never have told them about Carlee and Carlton.”
Despite the gravity of the moment, Walter smiled. “I guess we’re both still hung up on the past.”
“Such as it was.”
“You can admit it. We were good together, Hildy. I bet we still could be.”
Maybe he was talking about journalism, but Hildy couldn’t help glancing in the direction of the bed.
His brows shot up.
“We don’t have time for that,” she reminded him.
“So if time wasn’t an issue—”
Hildy pressed a finger to his lips. “Hush. All this talk about second chances is giving me an idea.”