The Romanov Ransom

89

Sam, wearing a suit and tie, waited by the door for Remi. When she hadn’t appeared within a few minutes, he looked at his watch. “The limo’s waiting,” he called out.

“On my way,” she said, her voice coming from the second-floor hallway. She walked down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed in a Ralph Lauren black jacquard-weave tuxedo jacket with black satin lapels, a silk ruffled shirt, and her favorite jeans.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes from her. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him as she reached his side. “Nothing too good for the Lighthouse.”

Sam opened the front door, holding it for her, then backtracked to pick up a chilled bottle of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé champagne. “Wouldn’t want to forget this,” he said. “A little something to tide us over on the long ride.”

Remi gave him a dazzling smile. “What are we waiting for? That champagne’s calling my name.”