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I TRIED NOT TO BE OBVIOUS about checking her out as I raced down the street toward the central boulevard. Ancient olive trees clung to the rocky hillside underneath the setting sun. It was a perfect day made only more appealing by the eye candy sitting beside me.
When Clark wanted to, she could be delightful. I caught her occasionally letting her guard down and smiling a warm, genuine smile. I was even able to make her laugh a few times, which I counted as a monumental feat.
I could tell she was impressed by this car—and not just as a spy. She liked the feeling of power it conferred on both of us, despite its penchant for sticking out like a sore thumb. If anyone saw us (and plenty of people saw us), they would wonder what on earth we had done to deserve such a beautiful piece of machinery. Whether I was a tech genius or she was an heiress, everyone would assume there was some deep well of funding that coursed through our veins.
“Darling,” I said, affecting my most snobbish accent. “Would you hand me the gloves from the glove box?”
“Why do they call it a glove box?” she asked in her off-the-cuff American tone.
“Presumably because people once kept gloves there,” I said.
She dutifully opened the box, but instead of gloves, she found weapons and cash. The car came fully equipped with everything an agent might need to escape a dangerous situation. I almost felt like one of the spies on television, all hype and fancy gizmos, none of the mind-numbing boredom and oppressive anxiety that often accompanied our work.
Clark sighed happily, rummaging through the gifts that the British government had provided. She paid no attention to me, and I couldn’t have that. For some reason, I wanted to be the focal point, or at least for her to acknowledge that someone else was in the vehicle with her.
“I think we should work on your accent,” I said.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she purred in a perfect London accent. “When the time is right, I will be indistinguishable from you in terms of breeding.”
I had to laugh. Unless you were from the United Kingdom, I didn’t think anyone was going to be able to spot the inconsistencies in her voice. She would blend perfectly, and because she was stunning, no one would be looking for a flaw in her performance.
“I must be the luckiest man in the world,” I speculated. “To have a wife who takes my breath away.”
She fixed me with a look that was somewhere between gratitude and confusion. I almost thought I’d crossed a line and would have to backpedal, but finally she put a hand on my arm.
“Not nearly as lucky as I am,” she responded in her lilting British English.
“I almost forgot,” I said, digging into my pocket for the ring.
It came in a black velvet jewelry box, delivered to me straight from whatever cache of props MI6 had lying around. I had no doubt that it was real, and expensive. But I was also sure that some other spy couple had made use of it in the past and it held no sentimental value for anyone.
She accepted the gift with a click of her tongue. “You didn’t get down on one knee.”
Feeling exuberant, I yanked the car over to the side of the road and stepped on the brake. Clark fell forward into her seat belt, surprised by the sudden halt. She glanced over as I got out and came around to her side of the vehicle. Mesmerized by my actions, her pretty jaw lowered toward the floor. She was astonished by my audacity, and that was exactly the reaction I was going for.
“What the hell?” she sputtered, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.
I couldn’t care less. We were far enough away from the gala that I doubted any of the people living on this road would be in attendance. And I was confident that even in the unlikely event that anyone of merit witnessed my actions, I could play them off as a romantic gesture. Indeed, it was the most romantic gesture of all.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, her eyes riveted to me as I got down on one knee.
I plucked the jewelry box from her fingers and opened it up, revealing a diamond the size of a pea. It was big enough to generate buzz but not so big as to draw any unwanted criminal attention. Not that any criminal would be able to get it off Clark’s hand once she took possession of it.
“People are watching,” Clark hissed.
“I don’t care,” I said, gazing up into her eyes, selling the whole experience as if it were real. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, reaching out to pull me to my feet.
But I stayed down long enough to slide the ring onto her finger. It was perfectly sized, though I had no idea how. The files MI6 had on CIA agents must have been extensive. I caught Clark inspecting the diamond for a second before she glared at me and nudged me back into the car.
Laughing, I took up my spot again. It was fun to tease her, and she was so easy to tease. Anything that even remotely smacked of real feelings made her blood boil. All I had to do was pretend that I actually cared, and she went gaga. But at what point did I stop pretending? At what point did my feelings become real and not a game? I wasn’t sure, and I felt like I was skating a very thin line between poking fun at her and actually falling in love.
Sliding the car into gear, I stowed those concerns for later. Right now, we had a job to do. We had to find Carmini and the missing agents before they left Athens and wrap up this whole mystery as soon as possible.
The GPS took us through the city, to a suburb on the other side. I pulled up to the gated mansion and dug into my lapel for the printed invitation. It had been purchased at a cost, which I assumed would go on the expense report that no one without a high security clearance would ever see.
“Mr. and Mrs. Devine,” the guard read from the invitation, checking it against his list. “Please proceed to the front door; the valet will take your car from there.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the invitation back and tucking it away.
We drove up to the front where a massive overhang shielded well-to-do travelers from the weather. Stepping out, I allowed the valet to help Clark out of the car. He passed her over to me with the smooth movements of a man accustomed to treating people with a gentle touch. To her credit, Clark played along, her fingers relaxed, her spine straight. There was no hint of the wild killer left in her as far as I could see. But that only made her more deadly.
“Shall we?” I asked formally.
She didn’t answer but turned to the valet to express a gratitude appropriate for someone used to having servants. And when she looked back to me, I almost believed the affection that shone through every pore. She was even more beautiful when she was calm. I was going to have to restrain myself or risk arousing her ire again by becoming too friendly.
We shared a moment as the valet climbed into the driver’s seat of our rented Ferrari and drove away. Putting on our game faces, we walked into the fancy house party as husband and wife.
