Stone cleared his throat loudly. "Hate to interrupt the romantic moment in the middle of Little Italy where anyone could be watching, but we should move."
He was right.
We got in the car.
As we pulled away, I looked back at the restaurant. Through the window, I could see Carlo talking on his phone, deep in conversation.
Planning my wedding.
Setting a trap.
Trying to protect me while my investigation could destroy the family.
The guilt was crushing.
But so was the hope.
Maybe—just maybe—we'd pull this off. Catch the killer, prove Quentin's innocence, get our happy ending.
Please.Let this work. Let me not lose Quentin. Let me not lose Carlo. Let me somehow keep everyone I love alive.
The car merged into traffic.
"You know what?" I said suddenly.
"What?" Quentin asked.
"Our New York wedding vows are going to be really weird."
"How so?"
"Well, we're already married. So what do we even say? 'I still take you to be my husband'?"
"No. It’s more like this: 'I continue to take you, for better or worse, especially the worse since we're using our wedding as bait for murderers.'"
I chuckled. "That's romantic."
"That's realistic."
"Same thing in our world."
"Sadly accurate."
Stone snorted from the front seat. "You two are perfect for each other. Both completely insane."
"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to us," I told him.
"Don't get used to it."
But he was smiling.
And despite everything—the danger, the lies, the very real possibility of dying at our own wedding reception—I smiled too.
Because maybe love was worth the risk.
Maybe we'd find a way through this.
Maybe—just maybe—we'd get our happy ending.
