Delilah radiated a quiet joy.
“I want to shower you with gifts and surprise you with holidays and fall asleep in the warm grass on a summer’s day with you. Because of all the things I have seen in this life—the paintings, the manuscripts, the gilded edges, the rare drawings and ancient tomes and crumbling ruins—all of it, all of it, dims before the light of you, Delilah.”
We danced like that—beneath city stars and twinkle lights—for the rest of the night, content to hold each other, to laugh, to kiss, to make plans for our next adventure, to embrace our future as partners, in every single way.
I understood, then, the parallel narratives of our lives becoming one story—the wings of our destiny open like a book without a written ending. The joy of that, the mystery, the sorrow, the surprise—the hundreds of thousands of words that would grow between us over the years. It could never be stolen, only recovered, cherished, adored.
It was our love story, the rarest of books, meant to be read over and over and over.
Epilogue
DELILAH
One year later
Everybody loved a married couple.
And tonight was no exception.
The Walt Whitman Bridge had been cleared of cars, walled off and dressed with tables and barstools for Philadelphia’s annual Bridge To The Stars dinner. Henry and I were perched on stools facing a dazzling skyline, sipping martinis as a jazz band set the mood.
Thieves were everywhere. I could feel it.
The Bridge dinner raised funds for Philadelphia’s Archaeological Society—a cause which antiquarian lovers and rare-book collectors tended to flock to. Our source had directed us here, said they’d be all too happy to cut a deal involving something tiny and gorgeous they’d recently come into. Legally, they were sure to clarify.
Codex knew that to be highly inaccurate. It was a third edition of Lewis Carrol’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and a trio of thieves had stolen it from the Central Park Rare Manuscript Library just last week.
Bring one hundred grand in a paper bag tonight and it’s yours were the instructions that Freya had received. Abe had smirked, sensing an easy win and a lot of cash. Because it meant the trio of thieves were more likely opportunistic college students who had seen Ocean’s Eleven one too many times.
And after a night of dancing and drinks as the Thornhills, we’d finally snagged our guy.
And he was, clearly, a college student in his early twenties named Carl.
“So how often do you visit Reichenbach Falls, Carl?” I asked, sipping my drink.
Henry was stroking his fingers in a circular pattern around my knee.
“Oh, uh…all the fucking time,” Carl drawled. He looked briefly flustered, but then recovered. “Basically every day.”
“Interesting,” Henry said. His thumb roamed the back of my thigh. “My wife and I don’t visit as much as you, but we’re always happy to meet fellow travelers.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re married,” Carl said—although he said married as one might say aliens from outer space. “Gnarly.”
Henry chuckled into his drink, and it wasn’t feigned at all. “That’s what I said during our vows.”
Carl narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure out if we were making fun of him. But then he grinned, flagged down another beer. I covertly checked Henry’s watch and knew Dorran was probably waiting for us.
“Speaking of,” I said, leaning in close, “we have to leave in a few minutes. Was there something you wanted to show us?”
“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Lemme go get it. Meet me on the other side of the bridge?”
We both nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he wandered off. Henry went back to slipping his fingers beneath my skirt.
“Dirty husband, Mr. Thornhill,” I said, eyes on his over my martini glass.
“Our orders were to convince everyone here that we’re madly in love.” He leaned in, parting my legs on the stool so his hand could slip higher. “I’m just doing my job.”
I made sure I had one eye on our young, bumbling target, then purred a little as Henry’s mouth teased at my ear. “Do you think we’re convincing enough?”
“I’m not sure, wife,” he rasped. “Maybe we could find a utility closet and make things more realistic?”
I laughed at that, and Henry pulled back with a charming grin and a wink. After the past year we’d all had at Codex, it was nice to have an easy case with few complications. And it had taken a while for Abe to put Henry and me on cases together—although he’d been right. The Thornhills moved easily in this world; between Henry’s natural charm and our fake marriage, trust built quickly. We still operated in a tiny community of antiquities lovers, so we’re constantly aware of keeping our story straight, of being recognized. But it appeared as if embarrassment had sealed Victoria’s lips—we’d never been called out by any of her former friends.
It was safe to say that Henry and I never had a dull day at the office.
And our nights in bed were anything but dull.
“I think he’s waiting for us,” Henry said, seriously this time.
I straightened my spine, brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Let’s go get that book back,” I said.
With our hands clasped, Henry led me through the crowd of Philadelphia high society and academics and philanthropists. As usual, various people openly admired my husband as we walked past, and I flashed them all a mysterious smile. It never ceased to amaze how deliriously happy it made me to declare Henry as mine.
Carl was standing all the way at the end, off on a side road full of patrons and valets milling around. I spotted Dorran parked nearby. He flashed his headlights just once. Henry squeezed my hand. Being so exposed would have been an issue for most of the book thieves we hunted down, but Carl was proving to be a special case indeed.
But I’d need to get him to do my bidding without causing a scene.
“I see it now,” he said, shifting back and forth on his feet, “the married thing.”
I glanced around, shocked that he wasn’t more worried. “Is that it? Our Alice?”
He was holding a small lockbox with a devious smile. “Check this shit out.”
The box popped open and I allowed Henry the honor of peering in first. I knew, now, when my husband was staring at a book—his expression was always filled with wonder.
“There she is,” Henry said softly. He flicked his eyes up at me, gave a nod.
“Carl,” I said, directing his attention to me, “we are very pleased with what you’ve brought us.”
Henry was gripping the box, prepared to bolt with it if need be. Carl seemed vaguely distracted by that, brow furrowed. But then he stared at me when I reached into my purse. I pulled out a brown paper bag stuffed with blank slips of white paper. His eyes boggled as I handed it over.
“Now I don’t want to get you into too much trouble.” I dropped my voice. “But Henry and I are going to take this book now. Illegally,” I clarified.
Carl cursed as the white slips of paper flew up in the air. He went to yank the box back. But Henry moved swiftly, leaving me room to step in between. Carl’s hands shot up in my direction, but I caught them easily, adding force to a pressure point at his wrist that had him wincing in pain.