“Whit.”
“We have to move quickly,” he said, exasperated. “Before anyone notices we’re gone. Because we’resecretly getting married.”
I grinned, and he smiled. We might have been back on Philae, examining the ancient reliefs on the walls, drinking terrible coffee, and getting our hands dirty.
“The chaplain is waiting,” Whit added. “And where’s… oh.” He let out a forceful sigh. “Let me just go wake him up.”
He strode off and I watched in bemusement as he approached an emptypew. No, not empty. There was a pair of boots hanging off the edge. Whit leaned forward and knocked them with his knee.
“Leo,” he said. “Wake up.”
I came to stand next to him and peered down at the sleeping man. His dark wavy hair flopped onto his brow, making him look quite young. I would have placed him a few years younger than Whit except for one thing: his mouth, even while reposed, was hard-edged and sardonic. He was dressed in a gleaming red coat—with a start, I realized I’d seen him before. It was one of Whit’s soldiers from last night.
“Leo,” Whit said again, this time raising his voice a notch.
Said Leo let out a symphonic snore.
“Typical. I can always count on him for all manner of dangerous activities, but if it’s something tame? He can’t be bothered to remain upright. Or awake,” Whit added in disgust. “Right. Let’s leave him.”
“Who is he exactly?”
“Our witness.”
“Ah. Shouldn’t he be awake for the ceremony?”
“I think the important thing is that he’s here. Come on; the sooner we’re back at the hotel, the better.”
I nodded. “Lead the way.”
Whit kept a hold on my arm as he did so, as if he was afraid I’d wander from his sight. He called out a greeting to a man waiting at the front of the church. He was young, with a mop of brown hair and a genial smile on his face. He had kind eyes, and in his hands, he carried an old, leather-bound Bible, opened near the back of the book. But instead of looking at the holy scripture, he peered at me. He wore a long pale robe that brushed against the stone floor.
“Good evening, miss,” he said as we reached him. “Before we begin, I suppose I ought to ask if you’re in trouble.” His voice was whisper soft. Great windows lined the sturdy wooden pews and soft light made patterned shapes across our faces, casting us in a silver glow. Candles were lit on the altar, wispy curls of smoke rising in beckoning circles.
I shook my head. “No trouble. Why?”
The chaplain cast an amused smile over to Whit. “Well… this is highlyunusual. For one thing, where is your family? Your attendants? A maid?” He squinted. “Are you in mourning? And shouldn’t a bride have flowers?”
I was about to say none of that mattered—the missing family, my black dress. But his last question robbed me of breath, and I was unprepared for the wave of sadness that washed over me. “I would have loved flowers,” I whispered.
Whit glanced at me, brow puckering.
But then the chaplain spoke again, distracting me with his next words. “The groom has also brought a gun to his wedding.”
My husband-to-be was armed? I rounded on him. “Whitford Hayes, you willnotbe married with a gun attached at your hip.”
He laughed, removing the revolver from its holster. The familiar initials winked back at me in the soft lighting. He held it up, as if in surrender, and set it on one of the pews.
“An egregious oversight,” Whit said, sounding so much like his usual self that I couldn’t help but smile. “He’s still waiting for your answer to his question.”
“What question? Oh! Right, yes.” I licked my lips. “This is my decision.”
The chaplain nodded. “Then we can begin. Have you thought about your vows?”
I blinked. I hadn’t given much thought to the wedding other than arriving at the church in secret. It had been hard to evade Tío Ricardo’s notice. It was only after pretending to have a miserable headache that I was able to rush out of Shepheard’s.
“Yes,” Whit said.
“Vows?” I asked, the sanctuary growing warmer by the second.
