Paris, France

Fiona Fowler looked out the window of the magnificent hotel in Paris.

The Eiffel Tower. She could see the freaking Eiffel Tower. All it had taken was solving two murders, finding a stolen and life-sized bronze angel, almost getting killed, and then mentioning to the love of her that she’d always wanted to see Paris. And now, here they were.

She knew their friends and family had been disappointed when she and Slade had decided to get married in Paris, but it was the thing that felt most right. Theirs had been an unconventional romance, to say the least. When she’d been shot and hung in the twilight between life and death, Slade had lied like a trooper and told the hospital staff they were engaged.

From there things had progressed rapidly. Fiona couldn’t remember whose idea it was to make plans to go to Paris, but once that decision was made, it seemed only natural to get married here. And here they were.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look standing there in the morning light with the Eiffel Tower beyond?” Slade asked, emerging from the bath.

“What I know is that it amazes me that someone who can’t see worth a damn, especially in the morning, is allowed to carry not one but two guns.”

Dressed in the trousers to his suit, Slade crossed the room and pulled her into his embrace. “I see you far better than you will ever see yourself. How about you trust that I see the truth?”

“I trust you, so I suppose I have to trust that you know what you see.” She stilled next to him.

“What is it, babe?”

“I absolutely think we’re doing the right thing. I have had so much fun getting all the details figured out about how to get married in a foreign country. But I think my favorite part has been hiding everything from the girls. Oh my god, you can’t believe the things they’ve done trying to figure it out. Christie has been calling in every favor with every person she can think to call, trying to figure out when and where we were going.”

“Yes. I’m not sure if they’re more upset about not being here or not being able to figure out how we were going to pull it off.”

Fiona rubbed her cheek against the hard planes of his muscular chest. “I hate to tell you, but I think it’s the latter. And honestly, keeping it from them has been half the fun.”

Slade chuckled. “Thorn says Jessica hasn’t been fit to live with. She’s literally tearing her hair out.”

“Do you think we’ve been mean?”

“No. I think we decided to combine a trip to Paris with the quite right decision to not put off getting married. You had to move fast; I was quite a catch.”

It was Fiona’s turn to laugh. “This from the man Lori was convinced would have put a ring on my finger and had an officiant marry us by proxy.”

“Only because I knew you were madly in love with me and couldn’t wait to be my wife.”

“You’re not only blind, but you’re also delusional.”

“You’d better get dressed, gorgeous,” he said. “We don’t want to be late for our wedding.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Did you order room service?” she asked.

“No. I thought we agreed to go get married and then have a wedding breakfast.”

Another knock.

“Why don’t you get it while I fix my hair.”

“Your wish, as always, is my command.”

Fiona was barely inside the bath when she heard a commotion as someone pushed into the room. She realized it couldn’t be too serious as she heard Slade laughing, and then another masculine laugh joined his—one she recognized.

“Out of our way, brigand,” said Lori.

Fiona ran back into the room. There, holding a garment bag that could only be holding a wedding dress, were Jessica, Christie, Lori, and Thorn.

“You couldn’t give me a call and let me know you were crashing my wedding?” Slade asked Thorn.

“I want it duly noted that I was not in favor of this little expedition,” replied Thorn.

Jessica wrapped her arms around her fiancé’s. “But when he realized he couldn’t stop us, there was no way he was going to be left behind. Now, get out, both of you.”

“Don’t worry, Rafferty,” said Christie. “We’ve taken care of everything. Thorn’s taking you to breakfast, and he knows where to meet us at eleven.”

“Fiona hasn’t eaten…” Slade started but was interrupted by another knock on the door.

“That would be room service,” said Lori. “Do let them in on your way out.”

“I can’t believe you guys are here,” said Fiona, laughing.

She and Slade had planned for it to be a quiet, intimate ceremony with a big reception back in the States. But truth be told, she’d begun to question not having her best friends with her.

“Where the hell else would we be?” asked Christi, ushering Slade and Thorn out the door while ensuring that room service was allowed to enter and set up the food.

Between them, Slade and Thorn managed to snag the rest of Slade’s clothes before the women pushed them out and pushed the door closed behind them.

“Dig in,” said Lori, who had obviously appointed herself wedding planner. “Hair and make-up will be here in an hour. Then we’ll get you into your dress and go meet the boys.”

“Just tell me…,” said Fiona.

“Not to worry; Lori really does have the whole thing all planned out, and it’s going to be amazing,” Christie said, reassuring her.

“And who the hell were you planning to have take your wedding photos?” asked Jessica.

“The officiant has a staff person…”

“Oh, good god,” said Lori. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re here. We hired one of the city’s best wedding photographers. He’ll be here in two hours to do some casual photos here in the room and then we’ll head to the wedding site.”

“Which is?” Fiona asked hopefully.

“Not telling,” the other three said in unison.

Fiona knew payback when she heard it. She threw up her hands and turned herself over to her friends. Breakfast was decadent and delicious, and Fiona felt like a fairytale princess with three fairy godmothers. The photographer joined them and made himself a part of the gang. Once her hair and makeup were done, Lori unveiled her dress, hanging the bag on a hook on the wall and unzipping it with a flourish.

The gown was nothing short of unforgettable. The A-line gown dripped romance combined with a chic bohemian style in a combination of a blush and pale green. The material was crafted and embroidered matte floral lace over delicate tulle. It had long, blouson sleeves, a V-neckline, and a stunning open back.

“Thank god, there’s no train,” said Fiona.

“We know better. For one thing, we’re going to be outside, and for another, you’re kind of a klutz. We love you but we worried a face plant would kind of ruin the day,” said Christie.

When she was dressed, they wrapped a lovely piece of silk around her eyes and then led her down to the lobby and then out to a waiting car. They were whisked from the hotel down one of Paris’ busy streets. When it pulled to a stop, they removed the blindfold and she spotted Slade, standing with his back to her and the Eiffel Tower in the distance beyond.

The photographer had been busy snapping photos and ran to get in place, while her friends helped her out of the car.

“You okay, babe?” Slade said without turning.

“I’m absolutely fine. You?”

“I don’t care as long as the wedding is today, and it’s legal when it’s done, which Thorn assures me it will be. I wouldn’t trust that group of hooligans that you run with.”

As anyone who knew them might have expected, the girls threw birdseed at him, and he laughed. Slade adored them and they knew it. And they loved him for the way he loved Fiona.

Parisians and tourists alike stopped to watch their simple ceremony and cheered them on. Her wedding planners had arranged for the caterers to meet them at the Eiffel Tower, handing out various small pastries and asking people to sign the ‘guest book.’

She and Slade were then whisked off to the Louvre. When the car stopped, Fiona looked at her friends. “I don’t how to tell all of you this, but it’s Tuesday and the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays.”

“Unless several of the curators are super readers of you and Jessica. We managed to secure the courtyard for a small early dinner and reception.”

“Are you kidding me?” Fiona asked.

Shaking his head, Slade laughed. “I have to say, you ladies have really outdone yourselves.”

“Just goes to show you, Rafferty,” said Christie, “never underestimate the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club.”

Later, lying in bed, sated and replete, Fiona couldn’t help but wish Lori and Christie might find someone with whom they could share their love and laughter as she and Jessica had done. Slade’s arms tightened around her, and she nestled against him, trying to remember if she’d ever been happier, and she couldn’t do it.

Slade had vowed that since they had a common interest in murder—the officiant had gone pale—that they would be lovers, friends, and partners in crime for the rest of their lives, and that they would then explore the greatest mystery of all. Fiona had in turn promised to be his partner in life, love, and crime… and everything in between.

The fact was, they were already planning their vacation for next year. They thought they might go to London to see if they couldn’t start to unravel a mystery that had plagued readers and authors alike for a very long time. Where the hell had Agatha Christie been for eleven days after she disappeared on December 3, 1926?

There were few clues and the author had refused to reveal her secret. Her car had been discovered half-way down a grassy slope, the front end buried in the bushes. All that had been found in the car was a fur coat, a piece of luggage with articles of her clothing, and her driver’s license.

Not much to go on, but they’d had success with less than that. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but Fiona thought it sounded like the perfect way to spend a little time together.