Page 124 of Brian and Mina's Holiday Hits

He takes a sip of his drink and holds my hand in his. “It was just the money, baby, and the money’s gone.”

It’s not technically gone. We haven’t spentallof it on this vacation, but most of it. It has been pretty epic. Thanks, Dante.

“The money’s gone, the contract’s dead, word has gotten around. I’ll put out some feelers when we get back, but we should be good,” Brian says.

I wish I were half as confident as he is.

“Hey,” he says, a devilish gleam coming to his eyes. “Let’s get married.”

I laugh. “Sure, Brian. Let’s get married.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be our secret. I want…”

And this is where the words fail him. Because he’s Brian, and the emotions and saying the emotions is hard for him. I still can’t believe he finally told me he loved me. But I know what he means. He wants the same things I want: to be bound together in every way it’s possible to be bound together, to be a team in all the ways that exist, for some legal entity to recognize us as real and forever.

It’s not the most romantic of proposals, then again, it is happening at the end of the most incredible island vacation ofmy life—and let’s be real, the only island vacation of my life—at least so far.

“I’ll marry you on one condition,” I say.

“Name it. I’ll bring you the head of anyone you want. The heart, too,” he says, winking at me.

But I’ve got the only heart I need. His.

“My condition,” I say, “Is you have to bring me here every year for two weeks for our anniversary.”

“Lindsay will hate it,” Brian says.

“Fuck him,” I say.

“My thoughts exactly. You’ve got yourself a deal, Killer.”

We pack our bags and say goodbye to the resort, then we fly to Paris. It’s midnight and we’re alone with a priest and one witness in the candlelitSainte Chapellewhen we say our vows in hushed tones that echo throughout the gothic royal cathedral. Brian wears a suit, and I wear a simple white dress. I don’t want to even think about how much money it took to swing this. It’s not like people can just waltz in and get married here any time they want.

In the first place, the cathedral is located within the medievalPalais de la Cité,an active courthouse, so we had to go through airport-level security—even after hours—just to get in the door. I think Brian has a lot more connections than he lets on.

Sainte Chapellewas built in the year 1248 and boasts 1,113 stained glass windows. Brian really is more romantic than any sociopath has a right to be. The cathedral also has a giant round window called The Rose of the Apocalypse, which let’s be honest, is probably the most fitting place for Brian and I to exchange vows—all things considered.

When we sign the marriage certificate, I glance down and learn my husband’s real last name for the first time.

“Are you ready for our happily ever after, Mrs. Donovan?”

“I’m just glad we get one.” I already know which drawer in the weapons room I’m putting our copy of the marriage certificate when we get home.

He gives me one of those panty-melting kisses—the kind that only exist in movies—and we walk out of the cathedral hand in hand, ready to kick asses and take names, secretly, officially, and legally, a team.