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A soft knock sounds at the door.
“May I come in?”
Gaby pauses, breathes deeply, and answers “Yes.”
The door creaks open, almost hesitantly, and Napoleon pokes his head around the edge before fully making his way into the room.
“I told you that was the perfect dress,” he comments, watching Gaby get up from her seat in front of the mirror.
The dress in question is a light cream color, the outer layer made of lace, short-sleeved with a modest neckline. Underneath that is a more solid second layer, and a less modest sweetheart neckline, both layers stoppings at Gaby’s knees. She looks, as clichéd as it sounds, radiant. Her tan skin shines against the cream fabric, and her long dark hair is meticulously pinned into place, each pinhead decorated with a small white flower.
“And I told you it’s bad luck to see the bride on her wedding day,” Gaby replies, reaching up to touch her hair but then clenching her fist and lowing it.
“That only applies to the groom,” he points out, “And I’m pretty sure that’s not me.”
Gaby chuckles softly, glancing towards the doorway.
“So when is Alexander coming to collect me?”
“Well, about that…” Napoleon starts, grinning.
Gaby stomps towards the taller man, poking a finger at his chest. “You did not mess up my wedding, Napoleon Solo.”
He backs up, still smiling, hands raised in placation.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he says, “Hear me out.”
Illya checks his watch for the umpteenth time. Gaby is supposed to be here. This is their wedding, for goodness’ sake.
Maybe she – Illya doesn’t allow himself to finish the thought. Hadn’t Cowboy said he was going to check on her?
Illya grinds his teeth. Two minutes. He will give them two minutes, and then he will go looking for Gaby. His wife.
Well, not quite yet.
Illya checks his watch again, humming to himself. It has been one minute. Should I go? No, it is better to wait for Gaby. She would not appreciate him invading without good reason.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
In the quiet space, his watch sounds loud, a constant pulse reminding him that she isn’t here yet.
There, time is up. Illya sets his shoulders, and hurries down the small hallway towards Gaby’s dressing room.
He knocks lightly on the door, and then again louder when he doesn’t get a response.
“Chop-shop girl?” Illya asks, pressing his ear against the door. “Gaby?”
Nothing. No shifting of clothing, no footsteps, no stifled voices. Carefully, Illya tries the doorknob. Open. He enters the small room, feeling unprepared without his gun. Gaby was here recently, the chair before the mirror is pushed back slightly and one of the cabinet drawers are open. The room still smells like her.
Moving closer to the vanity, Illya notices a small, folded piece of paper. He opens it carefully, recognizing the writing almost instantly. Cowboy.
So, you’ve noticed the missing bride. While you’re trying to figure out where she went, why don’t you stop by The Empty Pipe and have something to drink?
Of course. Of course he would turn Illya’s wedding day into a treasure hunt. But if Gaby is going along with it, then Illya supposes he will have to as well.
The Empty Pipe is, as usual, filled with the smoke and overlapping voices of its patrons. Illya finds an empty seat at the bar, and waits until Max comes over.
“Where are your other two thirds?” She asks jovially. The smile she gives him is bright white against her dark skin, standing out in the dimly-lit room.
“I am looking for them,” he answers, scanning the room.
“Well, while you’re doing that,” she says, ducking behind the counter, “They left this for you.”
She places a wine bottle on the counter, chuckling softly, and moves away to attend to a customer.
Illya picks up the bottle, surprised to find that it’s far lightly than expected. He holds it up to the dim light, and realizes it’s empty except for something rolling around the bottom.
He pulls out the cork and turns the bottle upside down, letting a rolled-up piece of paper fall into his hand. This time, the handwriting is Gaby’s.
Congrats on figuring out the first clue!
Here’s your next:
What has hands but cannot clap?
Illya frowns, staring at the paper. Has hands but cannot clap? That doesn’t make sense. This silly treasure hunt was going to make them late, later than they already are, for their own wedding.
Glancing down at his watch, Illya nearly groans out loud.
What has hands but cannot clap? A watch. But how is that a clue?
It only takes him a moment to figure out. There is a watch repair-slash-clock shop a few blocks away.
When he gets there, the shop is closed. Illya circles the building twice before he finds it; a loose brick on the western side. Popping it out of its hole, he crouches down, leaning against the wall. There’s something white, presumably paper, in one of the crannies, and after a moment’s tugging, he manages to pull it out.
One last clue before you get your bride:, it reads, back to Cowboy’s handwriting, find Gaby’s ‘baby’.
This is easy. The auto garage near the team’s apartment building has had a Chevrolet Corvette Stingray Coupe up on blocks for a few weeks. Gaby is constantly finding excuses to drive by and check on ‘her baby’, as she likes to call it.
It only takes Illya a few minutes to get there and spot the envelope underneath the car. He opens it as he walks away, surprised to find a proper letter this time.
Dearest Illya,
I hope you’ve enjoyed the treasure hunt – or at least not been too annoyed (don’t blame me, it was Napoleon’s idea).
I know it’s not what we were planning, but Alexander managed to get us the day at Sapphire Creek Gardens, like we had originally wanted (I’m not sure how he got the other party to change their mind).
We’re waiting.
Always yours,
Gaby
Illya is surprised, but pleasantly so. They had wanted to have their wedding at Sapphire Creek Gardens, but the day was already booked so they had gone with their second choice.
He hurries back to the apartment building, glad to find that Cowboy’s car is still here. Sorry Cowboy, Illya thinks, I have to borrow your car.
The closer he gets to the gardens, the more nervous he becomes. He had been nervous before, of course, but when they were in the church, it had been final. No turning back.
What if they’re not there? What if Gaby changes her mind?
No, Illya chides himself silently, She won’t. It will be fine.
As Best Man-slash-Maid Of Honor, it’s Napoleon’s job to hold the rings until they’re needed. It’s also his job to comfort the bride when she worries that the groom hasn’t found all the treasure hunt clues.
“Gaby, it’ll be fine,” Napoleon soothes, “By my estimate, he should be here in the next ten minutes.”
Gaby nods silently, but Solo can tell she’s not convinced. She won’t’ be, not until Illya is actually here and they’re saying their vows.
Speak of the devil. Napoleon’s own car pulls into the parking lot, and no one has to guess who’s driving.
“Come on, come on,” Napoleon says, guiding Gaby towards an awaiting copse of trees. Waverly nods in reassurance as Solo hands Gaby over to him, and Napoleon starts sprint-walking towards his car.
As he opens the car door and steps out, Illya looks calm, but Solo knows better. The man is a bag of nerves.
After giving him whispered instructions, Napoleon hurries back to the simple arch they’ve set up, taking his place off to the side.
Illya gets there a moment later, glancing around for Gaby, and trying to look as if that’s not what he’s doing.
Waverly, arm linked with Gaby’s, emerges from behind the conveniently placed greenery, and they begin their slow walk towards the altar.
