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His expression says, “Look at her. She’s pretty. How can she be smart, too?”

We have self-driving cars and actual fucking robots—how are so many guys still surprised that a woman can have both beauty and brains? I didn’t like it when the jocks in my school or the fertilizer heads at college gave me that look, either. Matteo nevergave me that look. He was always absolutely enthralled with me—but he expected me to fill my days with spas and shopping.

“Something wrong, Mr. Powell?” I ask, cursing myself for not realizing that Matteo’s actions consistently spoke louder than words.

Maybe I’m stupid after all...

“How did you manage to download his hard drive?”

I frown, sitting back down and trying not to release a sudden scream of frustration.Thought we were done, Powell?“Well, Matteo had taken a lot of pictures on his phone.”

Agent Powell stops me, hand waving as if he can erase my words. “No, no, no. Not that, Ms. LaFontaine. How did you get the hard drive on the USB?”

“I had a high-capacity USB. I knew we were going to travel around the world, so I wanted to have plenty of storage space for the movies and pictures we took.”

“No, I mean—”

Kim stands up, a sharp, sour tinge in her voice. “Therese is a computer science major. Do you honestly think she couldn’t clone a hard drive?”

Oh. That’s it. Powell didn’t want to know how or why I did it—he wanted to know whyIcould do it.

Powell is suddenly very interested in packing papers away. “Of course, of course. I forgot your background. Now, let’s get you out of here. Heatherington, go get Mr. Gray and let him know that Ms. LaFontaine is ready.”

Kim strides ahead of me and stops short.

I peer around her shoulder. Two men in dark suits are entering the church, ushered in by a confused woman who is so frail that she shakes when she walks, and her head swivels from side to side as she takes in the chapel through thick lenses.

“This is the Gray-LaFontaine wedding, gentlemen.” She sits abruptly in a pew, her aged voice carrying through the small chapel. The two men sit next to her.

My stomach slips down to the region of my ankles.

“Uh. What’s happening?” I whisper.

“Plan B. Heatherington, get the groom. Ms. LaFontaine? Smile and grab some of those fake flowers.”

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. One of the agents takes his place at the small organ and begins playingPachelbel’s Canon. That’s not the part I disbelieve, since most of it is only the same handful of notes played over and over. No, what I can’t wrap my head around is that this is really happening.

Kim walks out holding a handful of white roses and leaves that I recognize—both side rooms must have matching vases full of fake flowers. She approaches me with a glowing smile that belies the worry in her eyes.

TheWedding Marchbegins, and everyone rises, including the old dear sandwiched between two confused-looking thugs. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s the church secretary and that she led those men to the chapel after they were denied admittance, understandably confused. I’m certain the Feds didn’t tell any unnecessary personnel that the wedding was an excuse to interview a witness for a deposition, and the church was the most believable meeting place.

This charade is taking improv to a whole new level. The young agent who I passed the time with is now standing next to me with a broad smile, trying to make this whole thing look “normal.”

Therese walks out, beaming, eyes smiling, the remainder of the fake flowers making a pink and white bouquet in her arms. Her handler gives her away with an enthusiastic smile asanother suited stranger takes his place behind the lectern and opens with those dread words— “Dearly beloved.”

Wait, what? Are we actually going to go through with a fake wedding in front of Delgado’s goons (or maybe Estrada’s spies)? I don’t even know what to do! I don’t have a ring! Out of habit, I slap my breast pocket and find the kippah that I wore to someone’s wedding or bar mitzvah still inside. I swallow hard and put it on. I look the part—but that still doesn’t solve the ring issue.

Kim takes her place across from the “best man” and me. Something gold flashes in her hand, and she passes it to Agent Asshat.

In a fog, Therese stands next to me, and I take her arm, feeling her wet palm on mine. I squeeze because that’s what you do when there’s a woman in crisis. You comfort. (At least if you’re me.)

I hear a five-minute “sermon” on loving, honoring, respecting, protecting, and how it’s wonderful that “Therese and Reggie found each other after struggles in love.”

I blink once, and Jakob Minegold is standing before us, reciting the sheva brachot with a strained look on his face.

I meet his eyes, trying to keep my face impassive as a feeling of elated panic consumes me.

This shouldn’t be happening.