Page 3 of No Time Off (Lexi Carmichael Mystery #15)

THREE

Slash

“Y ou know, we didn’t have to go to all that effort to lose the last of our tails,” Lexi told me as we made the trip down the road to the Lapin Sauvage restaurant. It was one of my favorite haunts, although we hadn’t dined there since long before the wedding. “Miguel could have provided us with a completely private table.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But the paparazzi have been making our life difficult, and I thought it was time to turn the tables for a change. Word will get out we were meeting someone important, and that will make them even more furious at having lost track of us.”

“It did feel good,” she said. “Maybe they’ll get bored with us.”

“If only. But, yes, it felt good to elude them. Really good.”

“Regardless, I suspect there’s another motive behind tonight’s flashy escape. Am I right?”

I dipped my head at her. “Ah, cara , I can’t ever get anything by you. It was practice, so to say. I’ve already begun planning for our honeymoon departure, and I want them to be jumpy and suspicious about being deceived. It will make them easier to fool when the time comes.”

“I’m fine with that,” she said. “The fooling them part. And speaking of our honeymoon, I’m really looking forward to getting away from this insane craziness and having a couple of quiet and uneventful weeks just to ourselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said emphatically.

I pulled up to the street-side valet parking, tossed the attendant the keys, and helped Lexi out of the car. Her smile assured me she appreciated the effort to make tonight just our evening.

The woman at the door checked our reservation and gestured, “This way, Mr. and Mrs. Williamson.”

Lexi glanced sideways at me with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Williamson?” she mouthed.

I shrugged. “Can’t take any chances.”

We settled in at a secluded table in the back of the restaurant and ordered wine. We chatted about inconsequential matters, greatly enjoying our privacy until the waiter returned with our wine and a basket of warm rolls to take our order. I opted for the rack of lamb and Lexi, somewhat predictably, chose the filet de b?uf avec sauce au poivre . Once she found something she liked, really liked, it was hard to get her to try anything else.

“Seriously, these rolls are to die for,” Lexi said as she bit into one and closed her eyes. “What do the French put in their bread?”

“I presume that’s a rhetorical question,” I said, amused.

“Unless you happen to know,” she said, opening one eye hopefully.

I smiled. “I’m partial to Italian bread, but you already know that.”

“Oh, trust me, she said, sighing happily. “Italian bread has its own virtues. Either way, I could die happy.”

I winced even though I tried not to. “Let’s not talk about dying, okay?”

She put the bread down and brushed off her hands on the napkin. “Fair point. I supposed it’s time to get to the business of the evening anyway. Have you finished your research on the perfect honeymoon destination?”

“I have, and presume you have, too. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“It is. I hope you like my honeymoon plan, Slash. It has spectacular scenery, romantic venues, and is very private.”

“I greatly anticipate hearing the details, cara .”

“And I can’t wait to hear what you have in mind,” she said. “By the way, did you factor in the possibility of an uninvited guest tagging along?”

I narrowed my eyes. “The paparazzi?”

“No. What else always follows us around?”

It took me a few seconds to get there. “Ah, your little black cloud?”

“Exactly,” she said and then lowered her voice. “Contingency plans should be made.”

I was way ahead of her. “Fair enough, and I do admit contingency planning is already a significant piece of my calculation. That’s why my top priority for a honeymoon destination involves a remote location where nothing exciting ever happens. Like, ever. After what we’ve been through lately, peace and quiet is just what we need. I also sought a resort a long way from anyone who might know us. After all, we don’t want a repeat of Xavier and Basia’s honeymoon.”

“You mean when I ran into them by accident at their not-so-secret honeymoon resort and got mistaken for the bride?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well, then, why don’t you go first with your selection? I’d love to hear about a place where my little black cloud can’t get us into any trouble.”

“No, you go first,” I insisted. “Just be sure to outline your decision factors. It would help me clarify how strongly I feel about mine.”

“All right.” She opened her purse and pulled out her phone, swiping for a bit until she found what she wanted before setting it back down on the table. She grinned, her eyes alight with excitement. “I, too, was looking for a place far away from here where we could enjoy spectacular scenery, privacy, and a limited population. It was critical that any travel agency or resort we might choose must have an impeccable reputation for discretion.”

“Sounds like an excellent criterion,” I said, sipping my wine and greatly enjoying the conversation. “I presume your location is somewhere we haven’t been before…and more importantly, it doesn’t have spiders and snakes.”

“If only,” she said. “It pains me to admit there are indeed spiders and snakes at my destination, but my research indicates most of them are reclusive and uninterested in humans. As to your point, though, it’s a location we haven’t been to before.”

I thought it over, decided to take a guess. “Australia? I hear there aren’t a lot of people in the outback, only animals.”

“True, but in Australia, spiders are the size of small dogs, and snakes are everywhere, and they’re all venomous.” She spoke a bit emphatically and then lowered her voice. “Well, maybe not all , but tons of them are. Regardless, I do want to visit Australia someday, if I have proper protection against said spiders and snakes. But Australia is not what I have in mind for our honeymoon.”

I leaned forward in anticipation. “So, what do you have in mind? Pray tell.”

Pausing, she spread out her hands. “Picture two glorious weeks alone among the greatest venues in Patagonia. We could visit some spectacular locales and stay at an exclusive resort on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, a luxurious boutique hotel near Tierra del Fuego and a private hunting lodge in the Andes.”

Patagonia was an interesting and unexpected choice. I cocked my head, considering. “Argentina or Chile?”

“Chile,” she said. “For fourteen glorious days, we hike the dramatic granite peaks of Torres del Paine, explore the waters of the Chilean Lake District, see the Tierra del Fuego, explore the fabulous wine region near Santiago, and then visit the mysterious and wonderful Atacama Desert.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Did you say hike? That truly surprises me, because I thought you’d sworn off any such activity after being chased through the mountains of Papua New Guinea and across the Amazon rainforest in Brazil. Not at the same time of course.”

She shuddered. “No, not those kinds of hikes. My idea of honeymoon hiking is being transported to the mountains in luxury vehicle with snacks, where we can stroll from amazing overlook to overlook at our own pace. Not the hauling-myself-through-rugged-terrain, or sweat-pouring-down-my-back, scared-out-of-my-mind, all-while-avoiding-someone-who-wants-to-kill-me hiking.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a chuckle. “I just wanted to clear that up before I inadvertently suggested something inappropriate.”

She gave me a smile that could still make my heart skip a beat. “So, what do you think so far, Slash?”

I had to give it to her—it was an excellent suggestion. “Honestly, it sounds amazing. How would we get around?”

She consulted the notes on her phone. “We could rent a car and drive ourselves, but if we want to make this as relaxing as possible, I think private drivers and guides would be the best approach. Amanda, our wedding planner, recommended a tour company that has a long-standing reputation for discretion. They select resorts and vendors who highly value their clients’ privacy—not that anyone, hopefully, would recognize us outside Washington.”

I loved the sound of that. “That seems like a wonderful adventure with a mix of activities that will keep us on our toes. I’ve always wanted to go to Chile and see the southern Andes. It’s a great idea, cara .”

“I have brochures of all the places we would stay and can send the rest via our personal, encrypted file-sharing app, but first I’d like to hear what you came up with.” She set her phone down and put her elbows on the table before looking directly into my eyes. “Your turn.”

I took another sip of my wine and leaned back in my chair. “I admit I took the opposite approach. Instead of choosing a so-called experience vacation, I opted for an ultra-private location where nothing ever happens and no one would know us. I just wanted to get away to somewhere we could relax, do nothing if we wanted, and spend a couple of very low-key weeks to be alone and reset. I imagined our focus to be on each other and not the craziness that seems to follow us around.”

“Is there such a place on Earth?” Her eyes lit up with interest. “A lovely, quiet retreat where nothing happens? Where no one knows us, and even if my little black cloud followed, it wouldn’t matter?”

“I can’t make promises about the little black cloud, but even if it does follow, I doubt there’s much it could do in this place. That’s how remote it is.”

“And where exactly is this magical, secretive place?”

“Rarotonga, initially. It’s the main island of the Cook Islands, and where the capital, Avarua, is located.” I carefully watched her expression to gauge interest and saw she was definitely intrigued. “After a week there, we’d travel to another island nearby called Aitutaki, which is an even more secluded resort island—popular with honeymooners for exactly that reason.”

Her brow wrinkled in a certain way which often happened when she recalled information. “The Cook Islands are in the southern Pacific Ocean, northeast of New Zealand and somewhere between American Samoa and French Polynesia. Right?”

“Yes. Your memory is infallible, as always.”

She tilted her head and gave me a long look. “So, you want to have an island honeymoon? Beaches, sand, and sun? Again?”

“Hear me out,” I said, lifting a hand. “The Cook Islands are an ideal location for our honeymoon for multiple reasons. The most important being they are exceptionally remote. There are fifteen islands with only fifteen thousand people total living on them. They are two thousand miles from any significant land mass and have great weather this time of year. There are only a handful of resorts on Rarotonga, and I’m willing to bet no resident there has ever read the Washington Post . In fact, the United States only just established diplomatic relations with them.”

“I’m following, and I see the attractive logic in that approach,” she said. “How big is Rarotonga?”

“Twenty-six square miles, with highlands and a couple of peaks in the middle, and a ring road around the island.”

“What’s there to do?”

“Not much,” I admitted. “There are beaches, snorkeling, and boating, but the best part is the island has a reputation for being off-the-grid and very quiet. No major landmarks or museums, and few tourists flock there because there are no big cultural or scenic draws. It’s basically a remote, little-known island in the middle of the ocean where no one will know or care who we are. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want, and only if we want to.”

She sighed happily. “I wish I’d thought of that. It sounds perfect for us. Just the two of us with nothing to do but relax, engage in some romance, and simply be with each other. It’s exactly what we need. You hit it out of the park, Slash. It’s perfect.”

“I think no matter what we choose, we’re going to be happy. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m leaning toward Chile. Two weeks of doing nothing may be too much of a stretch for us.”

“So, how do we decide which option is the best?” She lifted her hands. “We have Chile and the Cook Islands. Remote beaches versus the wilds of Patagonia. Multiple sights to see or no sights at all. Celebrity-level pampering or wine from a bottle on a beach.”

“You choose. I’d be happy with either option, cara .”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She shook her head vigorously. “You’re not putting this decision on me. We’re married now, and the marriage code says we must share in all big decisions.”

“Marriage code?” I repeated. I hadn’t seen that one coming. “Hold on. What code are we talking about? Is there really such a thing as a marriage code?”

She looked surprised I wasn’t aware of this. “Well, not exactly a code, but more like rules. There are thousands of guidelines and rules that, if you follow them, will supposedly lead you to a successful marriage.”

I opened my mouth to say something and then shut it. After another few beats, I opened it again to ask a more specific question. “So, we’re following marriage rules now?”

“Not rules. A code.” The candle in the center of the table flickered, casting a slight shadow on her face. “I’ve been doing a lot of research on marriages around the world, determining how people from different backgrounds and cultures create successful and thriving marriages. It’s fascinating, really. From Africa to Asia to South and North America to Europe—and honestly everywhere—I’ve discovered that marriage is basically a set of rules devised by couples and reinforced by society. Those rules are different depending on your cultural, religious, and personal preferences. But after researching all these different rules, I felt they weren’t the right foundation for determining the success of a marriage, at least for us. After all, rules can be bent or broken—for good or bad, depending on the situation—so rules didn’t seem an accurate way to determine, or even encourage, the stability and progress of a marriage. So, I’ve been writing a marriage code for us, instead. Consider it a blueprint of sorts, unique to us, with a specific set of directions and design to lead us to the optimum output which is, of course, marital bliss.”

Her mind was truly a wondrous thing. I was riveted by this unexpected turn in the conversation. “A marriage code,” I repeated slowly, leaning forward on the table. “I see. So, if we follow this marriage code that you’re creating just for us, it will give us a perfect marriage?”

“No, not exactly, but it will help.” She leaned back in the chair. “I’m picturing it like this—marriage is similar to a programming language. Everyone starts with the basics: functions, data types, variables, operators, control structures, and syntax. But that doesn’t tell you how to write good code. Good programmers learn both from studying and experiencing their mistakes. Since we are distinctive in our values, personalities, and cultural and religious backgrounds, I’m factoring that in as I create a specific outcome unique to us, with as few mistakes as possible.”

I stroked my chin, thinking. “Not a bad concept. So, you’re programming our marriage?”

She picked up the napkin off her lap and began to wind it around her finger. “In a way, I suppose, but as we both know, we’ll have to adapt to numerous unforeseen variables and inconsistencies in the code as we go along. Primarily, the code is supposed to be a general guide for us—a collection of keywords, actions, insights, and attitudes that determine how a couple’s relationship works. From this, we can anticipate certain outcomes, expected results, and degrees of success, thereby adjusting our actions and behaviors accordingly.”

God, I loved this woman with the very core of my being. “Have you started a spreadsheet yet?”

She gave me a look which meant I should already know the answer. And I did. I just wanted to hear her say it.

“Of course I have. And one of the most important elements of my code so far is shared decisions. So, we’re making the important decision—the location of our honeymoon—jointly. A mutual decision, as supported by the marriage code, designed to strengthen our bond. So, keeping that in mind, what’s your vote for our honeymoon location?”

I pretended to think for a moment, even though I’d already made up my mind. “I vote for your plan. Patagonia.”

“And I choose your plan,” she countered. “The Cook Islands. Which leaves us with no agreement.”

I observed her for a moment. I knew she sincerely wanted us to make the right choice, even though both options were excellent. I abruptly leaned across the table and kissed her.

“What’s that for?” she said, wrinkling her nose in puzzlement.

“I adore you. Absolutely, utterly adore you.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Are you trying to distract or sway me from my decision?”

I chuckled. “No, not at all. Just stating a fact. Now, since we both agree we have two outstanding options and cannot agree on which one is better, I propose we leave our honeymoon destination to chance, unless that’s against the code.”

“Ooh,” she said. “Like the high card wins or a coin toss? Chance is not against the marriage code, by the way, so long as we both agree.”

“Perfect.” I spread my hands out on the table. “Then I propose using a random number derived from a calculation that neither of us could solve quickly in our head. We each choose a three-digit prime number. We multiply them together and divide the total by another two-digit prime number. That should give us a fraction to multiple decimal places. You pick a number, and we count that many places to the right of the decimal. If the number is zero to four, we’re Patagonia bound. If it is five to nine, beaches ahoy. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair. Phone calculator?”

“The phone calculator should suffice.” I withdrew my phone from my pocket and set it on the table next to hers.

“Excellent.” She reached in her purse and withdrew a folded receipt. She tore the paper in half and handed me a small piece along with a pen. “Write your number on this, and I’ll write mine here. We’re each picking a prime number, and I’ll chose the two-digit divisor while you’re picking the decimal place position.”

“I’ll say now that I select the seventh position to the right of the decimal place. Let’s get started.”

We wrote our choices, and I pulled out my phone and entered Lexi’s first prime number, 313, and multiplied it by my choice, 593, and then divided it by the 71 Lexi gave me. As I was about to hit enter, Lexi stopped me.

“Wait. No matter where we choose, when we head out for our honeymoon, how are we going to shake the paparazzi to ensure no one follows us?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I already have a plan. Remember our little practice today? It should be a fun start to our honeymoon for everyone except the paparazzi. Trust me?”

“Unequivocally. In fact, during my research on marriages, I discovered that trust is the most popular tenet across all cultures, religions, and geographic locations. So, naturally, I made it number one in our marriage code because trust seemed the right place to start.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. I had to hold back a smile, so she didn’t think I wasn’t taking it seriously. Because while I was amused, I really did like this idea of keeping each other accountable and on the same page regarding our life goals and plans. She was right—a marriage code suited us.

“Okay, so what’s number two in the marriage code?” I asked. “Mutual decision-making?”

She lifted her wineglass to me in a salute. “It is. Hey, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you know a thing or two about coding.”

“Funny, cara . So, are you ready to know where we’re going for our honeymoon?”

“I’m so ready…but wait.” She leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss.

I raised an eyebrow when she pulled away. “What was that for?”

“I adore you,” she said sweetly. “Absolutely, completely adore you.”

My eyebrow inched higher. “Are you trying to distract me?”

She laughed. “Absolutely not. Let’s do this.”

Grinning, I hit enter, and together we slowly counted seven places to the right of the decimal point.