Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ZARA
Sam’s lips met mine, and the rest of the world disappeared.
This wasn’t like that desperate kiss we’d shared in front of München Haus, or even the defiant one on the sidewalk while Agent Babbs watched. This kiss was a different animal entirely—something that felt like coming home and jumping off a cliff at the same time.
My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. Every nerve ending seemed to light up at once. The warmth of his body against mine, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing in the universe that mattered—
Someone cleared their throat and snapped me back to reality. Heat flooded my face as we pulled apart, and I tried to regain my composure.
“Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t we?” Judge Patricia Murphy said with a smirk as she stood in front of the beautiful wedding ceremony arch that was adorned with pine branches and poinsettias.
Chloe had both hands clamped over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The rest of our small gathering—just fifteen people—erupted in a mix of snickers and ear-to-ear grins.
Of course, with all of Sam’s friends in town, we would have loved a large wedding, but with no time to spare, we reserved the only ceremony site available on such short notice and were limited to just fifteen guests. We did agree to celebrate with everyone in the very near future.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Sam said with a shrug.
“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, Sam, we haven’t actually gotten to the ‘you may kiss the bride’ portion yet.” She gestured to the tablet she was holding that contained the ceremony script. “You jumped four pages ahead.”
Sam straightened his tie. “In my defense …”
Judge Murphy fixed him with a look that said she’d heard every excuse in the book. “Do you think you both can restrain yourselves for the approximately seven-minute ceremony so I can legally marry you?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Sam said, but the corner of his mouth was also twitching.
I nodded. “I will definitely give it my best shot.”
“Excellent. Then let’s try this again, shall we?” Judge Murphy glanced back at the script, clearly fighting a smile. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …”
I squeezed Sam’s hand, anchoring myself in the present moment—in the warmth of his palm, in Judge Murphy’s steady voice, and in the reality that we were actually doing this.
What a whirlwind of a day it had been.
We had planned an entire wedding in eight hours.
This morning, I’d woken up unemployed and possibly facing federal prosecution.
Now, I stood there in a white wedding dress I’d bought three hours earlier, across from Sam in a sharp charcoal suit he’d picked up after breakfast, and about to exchange rings that hadn’t been purchased until after lunch.
The judge, the restaurant, the photographer, the florist—everyone had rearranged their day to help Sam, without even giving it a second thought.
Apparently, when you’ve spent years fixing wood-burning stoves, helping struggling families, being Leavenworth’s beloved Santa, and genuinely caring about the people around you, the entire town showed up when you needed them most.
For whatever reason, despite the chaos and madness of marrying someone I’d just met this month, I felt completely, utterly calm. Like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
“Sam and Zara have prepared their own vows,” Judge Murphy said, glancing at Sam with a smile.
He squeezed my hands, his eyes locking on mine.
“Zara, you’re the most sophisticated code I’ve ever encountered—elegant, complex, and with more layers than my favorite Mexican dip.
I promise to serve as your physical stabilization protocol whenever gravitational forces conspire against you—which, statistically, happens with alarming frequency.
And I promise to debug whatever problems we face—together.
Because you’re not just the best encryption I’ve ever cracked, you’re my permanent partner in every protocol. ”
My throat tightened from just listening to Sam’s words. He was speaking my language, like no other person could.
“Well, that was certainly the most technically sophisticated declaration of love I’ve witnessed in my career.” Judge Murphy’s eyes sparkled with genuine delight. “Zara? I have a feeling your vows will be equally memorable.”
I took a shaky breath, trying to compose myself.
“Sam, you bypassed every firewall I built and cracked through my defenses like they were protected by a two-digit PIN. I promise to trust your syntax even when it sounds like you’re speaking in Klingon, to let you be my recovery system whenever I crash—literally or metaphorically, though let’s be honest, mostly literally.
And I promise to grant you permanent access privileges to my heart and my Netflix account.
Because you’re the gateway to the life I’m finally authorized to live and the one system I will always trust completely. ”
The rest of the ceremony swept past us in the blink of an eye—exchanging rings with trembling fingers, and repeating the traditional words that bound us together legally and forever.
When Judge Murphy finally reached the moment we’d been waiting for, her voice carried both authority and genuine happiness.
“By the power vested in me by the State of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “Now, Mr. Monroe—and only now—you may kiss your bride.”
Sam pulled me close, and this kiss was different from the first. Still warm, still perfect, but sweeter. Less desperate. More certain. Like a promise we were both choosing to keep.
Just like that, we had become Sam and Zara Monroe.
The back of the restaurant was warm and intimate for our dinner, firelight casting dancing shadows across our tables, and Christmas decorations everywhere. Sam had ordered champagne for everyone, and now we sat next to each other, officially married.
“Are we crazy?” I asked, playfully bumping shoulders with him, and watching the bubbles rise in my glass.
Sam’s eyes lit up with that particular spark that meant his brain had shifted into problem-solving mode. “I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance, but we could run diagnostics on our sanity level. We could start with an analysis of our compatibility.”
“You want to see if we’re compatible after we already got married?” I laughed, but found myself leaning closer, intrigued. “All right, Mr. Probability. What are the pros and cons? We do have a lot in common, there’s no doubt about that. Similar values, complementary skill sets, shared enemies …”
“Shared enemies is definitely a pro.” Sam’s grin widened. “We’ve got each other’s backs. What happens to you, happens to me. That’s kind of romantic, in a Bonnie and Clyde way.”
“We’re not robbing banks, Sam.”
He shrugged. “Actually, if you think about it …”
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.
Worked for 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 eyes assessing. 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 friends already.” 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.”
“Have no fear—I’ve already got you covered. Literally.” His grin widened. “There’s a heated blanket waiting in the carriage.”
“Carriage?” I blinked. “What carriage?”
“The one outside.” He pulled me gently to my feet. “Come on, Mrs. Monroe. Your chariot awaits.”
We stepped outside, and there it was—an actual horse-drawn carriage framed by four huge red velvet Christmas bows waiting at the curb, complete with a magnificent chestnut horse wearing bells on its harness. A driver was bundled up like he was prepared for an Arctic expedition.
Sam helped me up into the white carriage, which was lined with plush green velvet seats.
True to his word, there was a thick, heated blanket waiting.
Sam tucked it around me with surprising gentleness, making sure it covered my legs and torso completely, before grabbing his own blanket and settling beside me.
The driver clicked his tongue, and the carriage lurched forward.
We moved down Front Street at a leisurely pace, passing throngs of tourists and locals admiring the Christmas lights on each of the buildings.
Music drifted from various storefronts—carols mixing with laughter and conversation.
The town glowed with warmth and magic, with light snow beginning to fall in lazy spirals.
I leaned against Sam’s shoulder, the heated blanket making me wonderfully cozy despite the cold air. “This is amazing.” I glanced at the snowflakes falling on my blanket and smiled.
“It gets better,” he said.
The carriage approached the town square, and my eyes went wide at the sight.
People. Everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds of them crowding the gazebo area, spilling out onto the surrounding sidewalks and street.
Families bundled in winter coats, couples holding steaming mugs, children perched on their parents’ shoulders.
The entire square glowed with Christmas lights and the warmth of the humongous crowd.
My jaw dropped. “What’s going on? Is there a special event tonight?”
Sam’s grin widened. “Yes. A very special event. A celebration.” He gestured toward the gazebo.
That’s when I saw it.
A massive banner stretched across the structure, illuminated by spotlights: CONGRATULATIONS SAM & ZARA.
My hand flew to my mouth. “Wait—they’re here for us?”
Sam nodded, his eyes bright with happiness. “They wanted to celebrate with us and give you a warm welcome.”
“But how did they—?” I couldn’t form a complete sentence.
“Word spreads fast in a small town,” he said, tucking me closer against his side. “Especially when it’s good news.”
I stared at the sea of smiling faces, many of them people I recognized from my short time in Leavenworth.
“When did you have time to arrange all this?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion.
Sam’s grin turned tender. “I will always find time to do things for you.”
I fumbled for my phone, needing to capture this moment with photos and videos, this impossible, beautiful—
The phone rang in my hand.
I glanced at the caller ID.
FBI SEATTLE FIELD OFFICE.
My smile vanished in an instant.
Why would they be calling again?
The only thing I could think of was that they must have found new evidence, more testimony, something they couldn’t ignore. They’d decided not to let us walk away after all.
Panic clawed its way through my chest.
I had a bad, bad feeling about this.
The fairy tale was over before it had really begun.
My wedding day was going to end in handcuffs.