Will it be l’amour the merrier or too haute to handle when rival reporters with a tangled history compete to tell the story of the year at a ritzy destination wedding?
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from My Best French Wedding by Amanda Sellet, which releases on August 11th 2026.
Once upon a time, Walter was Hildy’s favorite person—until he crushed her teenage dreams. A decade later, she has a new beloved: the magazine she built from the ground up. Unfortunately, getting rid of Walter isn’t as easy as shedding her romantic illusions. He’s always around, vying for the juiciest scoops on the elite wedding circuit and provoking her into public displays that don’t scream “mature and sophisticated media maven.”
When Hildy scores exclusive access to the wedding of the season—a week-long parade of luxury in southern France—it’s a chance for her magazine to finally make its mark. Except Walter isn’t sitting at home crying; he’s right there in France, trying to steal Hildy’s story. Again.
Now it’s a head-to-head battle to see whose coverage will make it to print. The problem? Between the champagne and the chateaux, it’s easy to lose sight of the prize. Hildy knows better than to believe in fairy tales, but Walter is doing his best to convince her they could have a part deux.
In this gender-flipped twist on His Girl Friday, Hildy has seven days to prove she is totally over it, living her best life, and definitely not hung up on the past . . . or Walter.
EXCERPT
As soon as Walter opened the door to her knock, Hildy slipped past him, noting very casually with her keen observational skills as a journalist that his hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled like honey and thyme. That would be the body wash from the wedding guest welcome hamper, though she didn’t remember the scent being quite that mouthwatering straight from the bottle.
While Walter closed the door behind her, Hildy took the opportunity to snoop. His room wasn’t identical to hers in the soulless copycat fashion of an American hotel chain, but the décor had a similar weathered coziness: reading chair, thick rug, painted wardrobe, big fluffy bed. She took all of this in at a glance, because Walter was apparently the kind of neat freak who used actual hangers and drawers instead of scattering his personal items over every surface. A total bust on the espionage front, but then that wasn’t the main purpose of this visit.
“You have an idea,” Walter guessed, before she could launch into her preamble.
Hildy felt compelled to disagree, because it was rude to see through someone as though they were dressed in head-to-toe plastic wrap. “I wouldn’t call it an idea. This is more of an agenda. Or—a plan of attack.”
“I’m all ears.” He gestured for her to take the chair.
“We need to table this.” She circled a hand between them.
He copied the gesture, brows lifting in question. “This?”
“The fighting. Occasionally immature behavior. Our whole deal. Just until the wedding’s over,” she added, in case he thought this was a permanent ceasefire.
Walter didn’t answer right away. She would have given a lot to be able to unscrew a panel on the side of his head and spy on his thought processes.
“Do you really think that’s possible?” he finally asked.
“What I think is that it doesn’t look good for either of our brands to derail the wedding of the century.”
“Is that your main concern?”
Her heart beat a little faster, sensing danger. “As opposed to what?”
“Fiona and Robbie’s personal happiness.”
“What am I, Lady Macbeth? Of course I care about them. My plans have layers. It’s a hallmark of my style.”
“How do you see this playing out?” he asked, after another loaded silence.
“We declare a truce. Right now, tonight, just the two of us. Grab a pair of your tightie-whities and wave them around like a flag.”
“Nice try. I’m not showing you my underwear. Which are not white, by the way.”
“Have you tried OxyClean?”
“Why Hildy, don’t tell me you’ve started doing your own laundry?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Judgmental.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Great,” she said through a strained smile. “Glad to hear it.”
“Do you need an antacid?”
She bit back a retort. One of them had to set an example. “We can’t just pretend not to hate each other. If we’re going to sell this, we have to take it to the next level.”
“Mild distaste?”
Hildy started to roll her eyes before catching herself. “We need to be—cordial. Pleasant.”
“Like maiden aunts? Should I also take up crochet?”
“Sure, Walter. Whatever floats your boat.” Hildy blew out a breath, hoping it would take the sarcasm with it. “We need to act like we like each other, and any friction people may have observed between us was just . . . the way people talk to each other when they’re—you know.”
“Friends?” he guessed.
She shrugged. Close enough. “No more egging each other on, okay?”
Walter held up a finger, like this was a press conference and he was waiting for her to call on him.
“Yes?” Hildy said, with what she felt to be remarkable forbearance.
“How much are we pretending to like each other?”
She gave a thoughtful hmm. “I figure if we have sex on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, preferably in broad daylight, that should cover it.”
He made a wheezing sound.
“Any more questions?” she asked sweetly.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“You have plenty of experience at that.”
“It was a job, Hildy.”
“I’m sure hitmen tell themselves the same thing.” She started for the door, before changing her mind and strolling up to Walter, who was still hovering awkwardly in the middle of the carpet. “Corinne had a suggestion, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
At this distance, she didn’t have to raise her voice above a whisper.
He swallowed roughly. “What was it?”
“Have you heard of a sexorcism?”
“What?”
“Sounds fake, right? We should just shake on it. Like professionals.” She held out her hand.
Walter stared at it for several breaths before pressing his palm to hers. They stayed like that, watching each other. The shower gel smelled even better at close range.
“It’s not very French,” he said at last. “A handshake.”
Hildy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her. “Go ahead. French it up.” She offered him her cheek.
He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind before he pressed a kiss to the side of her face. It wasn’t too long or too wet, but it sure as hell wasn’t an air kiss. She started to turn, thinking to give him the other cheek, but Walter didn’t pull away. As her face moved against his, their lips brushed.
Hildy angled her head slightly, lips easing apart as they met Walter’s. It was barely a conscious decision.
Bad idea, her better self whispered. Shhh, her body replied. Let us have this.
From My Best French Wedding by Amanda Sellet. Copyright © 2026 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
