When Dieter came back, the lights were dimmed to a level like candlelight, and a string quartet played a waltz. Wedding guests in dark tuxedos and slim designer dresses swayed on the dance floor.
Flicka was standing at the bar, rattling a glass of ice at the bartender, who appeared to be stalling on refilling her drink.
Dieter tapped her shoulder.
She turned, angry at the intrusion. When she saw Dieter, she sighed like the fight had gone out of her.
Instead of just telling her, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
She looked from his palm to his eyes, her brilliant green eyes sparkling even in the dim light.
After a second, she laid her fingers in his. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She led him to the dance floor and spun into his arms, settling one hand on his shoulder. “You’re not married anymore, right?”
“I’m not,” he admitted.
Dieter slid one hand around her waist to her back and stepped in. The music around them swelled, and his heart thumped with her nearness.
“So were you able to hack the French?” she asked.
He shrugged. “France has always been shit at defending anything.”
Flicka laughed like the German princess she was.
And his Swiss mercenary ancestors had driven the Germans back out of France just as many times as her family had invaded it.
Her body relaxed in Dieter’s arms as she chuckled.
“All right,” she said. “And you found?”
“They’re real,” he said, “all of the documents are real copies, and it looks like the pictures are genuine, too. Everything is registered with the local government offices or were easy to find, otherwise.”
Flicka sagged in his arms. “I was hoping they were photoshopped.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I had to make sure. My father might have faked them somehow. I wouldn’t put it past him at all. But I’m not surprised. It’s just one more cut.”
“I looked for a marriage certificate on file, but I didn’t find one.”
She shook her head. “My father told me that there wasn’t one. It was never legal. Just religious.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” Flicka lifted her head. Tears swam on her lower eyelids. “I don’t like living a lie. I’m glad I know. Maybe it’s even for the best in the long run.”
He smiled down at her to sympathize. Finding out that your spouse has been deceiving you hurts, as he knew too well. “Anything,Durchlauchtig.”
“I know.” Her hand crept up his shoulder, and her finger stroked his neck. The touch wasn’t meant to be overtly sexual, just affectionate, but his skin grew goosebumps under her hand.
The dancing wedding guests around them swayed and talked, thundering and chattering over the waltz played by the string quartet in the dark ballroom.
A man’s scream rang out over the crowd,“What have you done to your hand?”
Dieter whirled Flicka behind him, shielding her with his arms stretched back like gates around her.
Flicka stayed close to his back, doing what she should in an emergency.
