One Bright, Sunny Afternoon: Wulf

Wulf von Hannover

Hours later, after all the music had died down and most of the wedding guests had trickled away, Wulf and Rae waited with a small knot of people in the reception salon around the corner from the lobby of the George V Hotel. Late afternoon sunlight blazed through the glass front of the building and spread on the blue carpet just beyond his black shoes.

The SUVs would be brought around within minutes, timed for minimal exposure in the unsecured areas.

Security in public spaces is theater, designed to intimidate terrorists and reassure airline customers. Real security is a ballet, where the principal dancer leaps from one secured area to the next in carefully choreographed, intricate routines.

Wulf released Rae’s hands, though her small fingers in his felt so right that he didn’t want to. They were in public, though. He couldn’t paw her like a schoolboy while they walked from the hotel lobby to the cars. There might be photographers.

There most certainly would be photographers.

A strand of Rae’s glowing auburn hair fell too near her mouth so he tucked it behind her ear, feeling the silk in his fingertips. She smiled at him. Any chance to touch her tempted him, and he so often succumbed.

Every action and shaft of light seemed burgeoning with portent, as if the dark universe had turned kind long enough to bestow a wedding gift. It was just one day, one day of benevolence in his life that skated too close to the edge of mortality.

Dieter cocked his head, listening to voices through his earpiece. “The cars are here.”

They walked together, leaving the reception room in the George V hotel, through the lobby with its profusion of green and yellow flowers, toward the sidewalk outside. Wulf tucked Rae’s hand through his arm and held it in the crook of his elbow, feeling the warmth through his suit.

He almost believed every moment could be like this.

The other lingering reception guests gathered in the lobby in flocks, some sitting in the velvet-covered chairs, some standing with their heads bent toward each other. As always, Wulf was the last to enter the unsecured zones and the first to leave, with the exception of his sister and now Rae. Flicka and Pierre were already through and in the cars. Her entourage should be pulling away.

Though he would have to rethink security details in the future, this time, he and Reagan would run the gantlet together.

The reception guests still milled in the lobby, saying goodbye, waiting for their cars to be brought around. Theo, Lizbeth, Georgiana, a few of Pierre’s friends, and Yoshi fell in with Wulf and Rae, walking to the waiting SUVs.

They emerged through the glass doors into the bright Parisian sunshine. A few photographers clicked long-barreled cameras from under the trees across the street.

Just another bright, sunny spring day in Paris.

Wulf turned his face to the sunshine, breathing. The soft daylight, the exuberance of the French spring flowers, his wife’s light hand on his arm, all these were worth taking a moment to taste. Marrying here and now had been an excellent idea.

The sidewalk was a few yards wide. Planters heavy with aromatic flowers dotted the white walls of the old hotel and the buildings across the avenue. The doors to the black SUVs gaped open on the other side of the sidewalk, their motors growling over the city’s bustle and traffic on the Champs-Élysées only a few blocks away. His men held the doors and cleared the lane for them.

Rae skipped a step at his side, delicately dancing on her ivory pumps that matched the silk wedding dress skimming her body.

She wasn’t protected enough.

Wulf untangled her hand from his arm, leaning to wrap his arm around her narrow waist.

A gunshot blast burst in his ears.

He spun, gathering Rae beneath his body as she screamed.

No. God, no.