Page 5 of Once Upon A Time

Flicka nodded, and then her face crumpled into tears again as she reached with both hands up toward Wulf. He scooped her up in his arms and cradled her.

Dieter looked toward the windows.

“He won’t say anything,” Wulf crooned to her. “If anything happens, I have men ready to escort him out. He’ll be gone before anyone notices a commotion.”

Wulf made eye contact with Dieter over her blond head.

Dieter nodded. Yes, he would roughly escort that self-important jackass out of the church, gladly.

He would do anything to make today perfect for Flicka.

Flicka huddled against Wulf’s shoulder and looked for all the world like a lost child instead of a princess bride. “I always wanted you to give me away. He’s been insisting for months, but I always wanted you.”

Wulf said, “I wanted to.”

Dieter breathed and watched the windows, looking for the long shadow of a club or a gun muzzle, and listened to the patter of shoes sauntering on the other side of the wall.

Calm,he remained as calm as a sniper readying his body to take a shot, steadying his breath and waiting for the pause between heartbeats to squeeze the trigger past the breakpoint.

A few minutes later, Flicka’s brother left to see to some arrangements, and her bridesmaids fluttered out to prepare something else.

Dieter was alone with Flicka.

He stood against the wall, his spine and palms flat against the cool stone, and didn’t move.

Quiet descended over the room.

Flicka tilted her head back and dripped eye drops in her eyes, presumably to clear any redness leftover from crying.

She said, “I know you’re back there.”

Dieter cleared his throat because it felt unusually tight. “Wulfram assigned me to your security detail. He has qualms about Pierre’s Secret Service’s priorities.”

“You’ve been skulking around the whole week, watching me.”

“Watching other people who are watching you, and checking the windows, and the hallways, and the doors. Personal protective services watch the environment, not the subject.”

“Is he expecting you to talk me out of this?” Flicka asked.

“I don’t think so.” Dieter scanned the windows, still alert, and only caught glimpses of her sunshine hair and porcelain skin.

And the regal way she sat ramrod-straight in the chair, angry.

She asked, “You’ve been his batman for—how long now?”

She knew. He said it, anyway. “We mustered out of the Swiss Army together just over ten years ago.”

“Yes, and you’ve watched over him and me ever since like an avenging, fallen angel.”

He didn’t like that talk of angels. He didn’t want people thinking of thenamesof angels around him. “That’s my job.”

“Why don’t you talk me out of it?”

He watched her through her mirror, but her face was as serene as always, as composed as a princess. “Do you want me to?”

Using just her fingertips, Flicka aligned the little cosmetic compacts and pots into neat, straight rows. Her sure fingers alighted on each, moving them independently of the others, as deftly as when she played the piano. Organizing. Perfecting even the cosmetics. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’ve been crying all week. Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been near tears or actually sobbing.”