Page 45 of Say Yes to the Death

“Let’s not talk about my mother. We’re not really on speaking terms right now,” he said as he laid a hand on Claire’s thigh.

She was still angry—about so, so many things—but his touch sent a tingle up her spine. She pulled out her phone and opened her calendar.

“You better not be doing work.” He swatted at her phone. “Mindy made me promise I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Just emailing Charlie an updated copy of my last will and testament,” Claire said, attaching a PDF to her email to her sister. “I do it before every flight, so you can save your judgmental looks.”

“How’s life in the PR world?” Luke asked.

“Very scandalous. One of her clients impregnated his maid and then tried to convince his wife to formally adopt the baby.”

He whistled. “Sounds almost as stressful as planning proposals.”

She hit him on the arm. “If you would tell me where we were going, I could stress about that instead.” Though truthfully, anywhere was better than her twice-broken-into apartment. At least her getting on a plane would be inconvenient for whatever creep was stalking her.

“Trust me, you’ll love it. The food, the culture, the people—well, maybe not the people. They don’t love tourists. But the food and the culture for sure. We used to vacation there in the spring sometimes when I was a kid.”

“Okay, fine. I’m relinquishing control and preparing to be dazzled.” She leaned back into the beige leather of Luke’s sedan.

The rain tapered off as they pulled into the airport and parked the car. Claire locked the doors and ignored the handful of people in the lot as she hip-thrusted and disco-pointed across two parking spots. It was better to be humiliated in public than to have a panic attack over the Atlantic because of an unlocked car.

Luke shook his head, but he didn’t say anything. They boarded a shuttle to the terminal, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Claire breathed in his woodsy smell and closed her eyes. In her mind, she conjured a large cardboard box—a solid one, like the boxes from the book fairs of her youth—and consciously deposited all of her worries about her clients and her safety into it. She taped that bitch shut and shoved it into a corner of her mind. When she opened her eyes, Luke was smiling at her. She was still totally mad at him. But they were going on an adventure.

They arrived at the terminal and began the tedious process of catching a flight. Once their luggage was successfully tagged, they joined a surprisingly short security line.

“Miss,” a TSA agent interrupted, “please step forward.”

Claire submitted herself to the general humiliation of the TSA screening.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Do you have some electronic devices in your carry-on?”

Claire froze. She had done a cursory glance through the bag and had only seen her favorite book, a change of clothes, and some miscellaneous toiletries.

“I don’t think so. My assistant packed my luggage for me, though, so maybe I missed something.”

“Your luggage was buzzing as it came through the X-ray machine,” the TSA agent said loudly as she slapped on a pair of latex gloves and began unzipping pockets.

Claire blushed, instantly mortified. “Oh, my goodness. I can’t imagine why it would be buzzing. I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a respectful step back. Luke’s eyes burned into her. “Please take all the time you need.”

“I intend to,” the worker said. Her nametag read Dinkle, and she was built like a tank—short legs, wide hips, and arms that looked like they could crush someone. She shined a flashlight through the contents of the backpack and unfolded Claire’s clothes, dropping her spare underwear onto the dirty airport floor.

This is how I die. Dead from embarrassment in the airport security line. Wendy will win Planner of the Year after all. Or maybe they could award it to Claire posthumously?

“Aha!” Agent Dinkle said triumphantly. “What the hell is this?”

A hot pink cylinder in a Ziplock bag buzzed noisily in her hand, and she stared pointedly at Claire.

Oh my god, I am going to kill Mindy.

“A vibrator,” Claire mumbled. A crowd of people still struggling to put on their shoes stopped to stare.

Luke stepped forward and blocked their view. “We’re going to Paris,” he explained.

“What? Paris?” Claire shouted. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she said, jumping around and holding onto Luke’s arm. “I’ve wanted to go since I was a little girl.”

“I know, your bathroom is covered in French art.”

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