Page 83 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
I nodded. “Do whatever you want to with it—share it on the internet, make fun of it in the TV interviews you’ll do after this, tell everyone what a stupid sap I am... not to mention what a terrible poet.”
A hush fell over the crowd. It seemed all of Venice held its breath along with me.
Finally Jessica turned to her audience, speaking into her microphone.
“What do you think? Should I give ‘King Frog’ just one more chance?”
The silence was broken by a deafening cheer. Jessica turned back to me, beaming. “They say yes.”
“And what do you say?”
“I say... third time’s a charm.”
She extended her left hand, laughing and crying as I slid the ring onto her finger.
Afterward we kissed, much to the delight of the crowd, save perhaps for the guy who shouted, “Marry me instead,” in Italian.
When the kiss ended, Jessica grabbed my hand and pulled me to the front edge of the stage.
“I’d like everyone to meet Wilder... my fiancé. And I want y’all to know I’m working on a new song, one that’ll be perfect for a wedding. I’m going to call it, ‘I Will.”
Epilogue
Gray
Gray Lupine
I’d been annoyed at Wilder’s mandate that I bring a plus-one to the wedding, but it was turning out to be the best date I’d had in a long time.
The woman was charming, intelligent, had a wicked sense of humor, and was an enthusiastic dance partner.
She was also eighty-eight years old.
Mrs. Victoria Hood, a client of Veridian Security and a grand dame of Eastport Bay’s old-money society, seemed to be having a good time as well. She’d kept me on the dance floor for most of the reception but had finally agreed to sit one out and eat a slice of wedding cake.
“I’d never heard that young woman’s music before tonight, but you can bet I’ll be downloading some tunes on my smartphone tomorrow,” she said, gesturing with her silver fork.
I laughed, something I’d been doing all night and did frequently when I spent time with Mrs. Hood. If it weren’t for the sixty-year difference in our ages, I might have sworn the two of us were soulmates.
“We can add a Bluetooth surround-sound stereo system to your estate if you like,” I offered. “That way you can blast Jade’s songs in your greenhouse and sitting room and even listen to them in the shower.”
I’d been working exclusively on the Hood project for several weeks, installing a state-of-the-art security system in the elderly woman’s Oceanview Avenue mansion as well as constructing individual anti-burglary devices to protect each relic in her treasure trove of museum-quality fine art.
The collection was the kind that needed the highest level of protection.
Luckily, I was there to provide it. In my SEAL days, I’d been the team member sent in to disable the security system or gain entry to a location that was locked down tight.
When my military career ended, I joked the only thing I was suited to do professionally was cat burglar.
But Wilder had given me the opportunity to employ my skills legitimately. Now I used my considerable knowledge of home and commercial security equipment—and the methods burglars used to defeat it—to help peopleprotecttheir homes and property.
It was engaging work, it paid well, and every so often I met a client that made it all worthwhile, like Mrs. Hood.
She reminded me of my own grandmother whom I’d lost a few years ago. The elderly woman and I had become fast friends, and I made a point to drop in on her regularly to make sure she was okay.
“Well, I’m more into essential oil baths than showers,” she told me. “A girl has to take care of her skin, you know.”
A volley of fireworks burst in the sky over the seaside estate where the wedding and reception were being held.
