Page 95 of Hacking the Holidays
I laughed, then froze, when I saw Greta Müller walking by.
“Excuse me for just a minute,” I said to Sam, setting down my glass.
He followed my gaze and nodded, understanding immediately. “Of course. Take your time.”
I wound through the tables and caught up with Greta just as she was about to enter the restroom.
“Greta,” I said.
She turned away from the bathroom door and then jerked her head back when she saw me in a wedding dress.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, not looking too pleased to see me. “Who are you today? Rose or Zara?”
“I deserve that,” I simply said.
“Yes, you do.” But her voice wasn’t angry, just guarded, and hurt.
“You were absolutely right the other day—I’m Zara Mazini. There is no cousin. There’s no Rose. I work for the FBI.Workedfor the FBI, I should say. I was undercover when you saw me at München Haus, and I hope you understand, but I couldn’t blow my cover and give you my real name. I felt absolutely horrible lying to you. That being said, the case is over now. I just wanted to apologize and hope you can forgive me.”
Greta studied me for a long moment, her sharp blue eyesassessing. Then, surprisingly, her expression softened. “I understand. Apology accepted.”
“Thank you so much.” Relief flooded through me.
“Did you just get married or something?” she asked.
I smiled and gestured back toward our table, where Sam was politely pretending not to watch us. “Yup. My husband is right there.”
It was oddly thrilling to say that word out loud—husband—like I was trying on an identity that fit better than I’d expected.
Greta’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow—you managed to snag Leavenworth’s most eligible bachelor. All the single women will be crying on their pillows this evening.” She laughed, and it was a genuine, delighted sound. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it. And I know I can’t make up for lying to you, but I’d really like to take you to lunch. To start over, maybe, if you’ll let me.”
Greta’s expression warmed further. “I’d like that very much.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to me. “I work at the Nutcracker Museum. Come by when you get a chance, after your honeymoon, of course. We’ll set something up.”
“Deal. I’ll see you soon.”
When I returned to our table, Sam looked up with a questioning expression. “Everything okay?”
“Absolutely.” I slid back into my seat, feeling lighter than I had a moment ago. “I’m going to be having lunch with Greta Müller soon.”
“Look at you, settling right in and making friendsalready.” Sam’s smile was warm and genuine. “It wasn’t that long ago when you told me that people made you want to hide in small, dark places.”
I shrugged. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t people that made me want to hide. It was pretending to be someone I wasn’t.” I met his eyes and smiled. “You gave me a reason to come out of my shell.”
The rest of the evening and dinner were perfect—tender filet mignon, roasted vegetables that practically melted on the tongue, and a chocolate torte that Sam insisted we share despite my protests that I was too full. We laughed, talked about nothing and everything, and for a few blissful hours, the world outside that warm dining room ceased to exist.
But as we finished our coffee, I noticed Sam kept glancing at his watch. Once, twice, three times in the span of ten minutes.
“What’s up?” I asked, setting down my cup. “Do we have somewhere to be?”
Sam’s expression shifted—like a kid with a secret. “Actually, yes. We need to go to the gazebo in the town square.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Now?”
“Yes—I have a surprise for you.” He stood, offering his hand. “Trust me.”
I looked down at my wedding dress. “The coat I brought barely covers my dress. I’m going to freeze my newly-wedded buns.”
