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Kevin gave him a friendly dig in the ribs. “The very old saying from the sixteenth century. Along with ‘Don't trust your wallet with a Jesuit.' That one's still true.”

Jack and I laughed. “Peace be unto both of you,” I said. “Here she comes.”

She sailed over to us, slipping her arm through Kevin's. “In a sea of Austrian loden, a Franciscan friar is not hard to pick out
of the crowd. I thought I would see you here, Kevin.” She nodded at Jack and me. “Do introduce me to your friends. Good evening, Father.”

“Thea Stavros, meet Father Jack O'Hara, an old friend who's now at Georgetown Law School and a friend of the groom's, and Sophie Medina, the very talented wedding photographer,” Kevin said. To Jack and me he added, “Thea is the director of the science division of the Science, Technology and Business Library at the Library of Congress. If I need a reference book anywhere in the world, she knows how to get it. And every so often she invites me over to dig in the dirt of her magnificent garden.”

I'd heard Kevin talk of Thea Stavros. With her snow-white hair, I would have guessed her age to be late fifties or early sixties, except that her fine-boned face, as delicate as porcelain, was unlined and youthful looking. The teal suit was old-fashioned, but it had the look of couture, with a low-cut neckline that showed off a glittering crystal-and-gold webbed necklace.

Thea smiled at the mention of her garden and dropped Kevin's arm to shake hands with Jack and me. “My garden is a never-ending work in progress,” she said. “I'm always begging friends to help and Kevin is kind enough to oblige.”

“Your necklace is lovely,” I said. “Is it antique?”

She fingered it. “I wish. It's a knockoff, though it is Swarovski crystal. Austrian, in honor of tonight.” She added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don't tell. I'm hoping everyone thinks it's diamonds.”

We laughed, and Kevin said, “We'll keep your secret, Thea.”

She gave him a sly look. “Speaking of secrets, you've got one, haven't you?”

“I'm in the business of keeping secrets,” he said with a bland smile. “I've got loads of them.”

Thea wagged a finger. “You know what I'm talking about.
Your secret.
The new project you're working on. By the way, the latest bundle of documents you ordered is waiting for you on the hall bookshelf outside your study room.”

“Thanks. I'll come by the library for it tomorrow.”

“Are you writing another book?” she asked. “One hears rumors, you know.”

“Never listen to rumors,” Kevin said with flat finality. “Half the time they're wrong.”

Thea ignored the rebuff. “Based on the information you've been requesting, it's obviously something to do with gardening in colonial America. A history book would be a real departure for you, my dear.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't talk about it.”

“Oh, come on, you're among friends. No one here is going to say anything, are we?”

In the awkward silence that followed, Jack's face was politely blank and I pasted on a smile.

Finally Kevin said, “Please keep this under your hats. I honestly don't want word to get out . . . my agent is still working out a few things with the publisher. But you're right, Thea. It is a history book, a botanical history on gardening and agriculture in colonial America.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “And that's all I can say.”

“Well, if you're planning to use illustrations, you will come to me for help, won't you?”

“Of course,” he said, adding to Jack and me, “I forgot to mention that Thea is the leading historical scholar in the country on American botanical prints. She also has a fabulous private collection in her home that could give a few museums a run for their money.”

Thea waved a hand and said with a rueful smile, “Not all of them were considered rare or antique when I acquired them. By the way, Kevin, you must peek into the ambassador's private study. He has two original hand-colored botanicals from the
Hortus Eystettensis.
They must be worth a fortune since the colored plates are so rare. I'd give anything to own something like that.”

“What is the
Hortus Eystettensis
?” I asked.

Thea's hand fluttered to her necklace. “An extremely famous book of botanical illustrations from 1613. The name is Latin for ‘Garden of Eichstätt,' and it's a massive compilation of flowers from all over the world that were in a very beautiful garden in Germany belonging to the bishop of Eichstätt. The complete book is worth well over a quarter of a million dollars, but many copies were cannibalized and the prints sold separately. Even the prints are still worth thousands of dollars . . . do have a look at them, Kevin.”

“I will.” He shifted his gaze and scanned the room. “It looks like the waiters are starting to serve the champagne. I believe I'm saying a blessing, and I haven't even said hello to Victor and Yasmin. Will you all excuse me?”

“And me, as well,” Jack said. “I'm going to be taking off soon, papers to grade. I need to have a quick word with someone before I go. Sophie, I'll call you, okay? Nice to meet you, Thea.”

Jack left and Thea gave me a sideways glance. “So tell me, how do you know Brother Kevin? And the dashing Father O'Hara?”

“Jack and I went to high school together and I met Kevin through Jack. At Jack's ordination, in fact.” I left out the part about the dashing Father O'Hara being an ex-boyfriend and changed the subject. “Do you know many people here tonight?”

“The ones from the Smithsonian, Yasmin's friends and colleagues.”

“What about that man over there?”

The dark-haired man who'd been watching me earlier had entered the dining room and positioned himself so he had a clear view of Yasmin Gilberti. She seemed aware that he was staring at her because she abruptly swung around to face the opposite direction and nearly spilled her glass of wine on her beautiful dress. Kevin caught the glass just in time and cut a look at the man, who turned away. He said something in Yasmin's ear and she blushed, shaking her head.

“The one in black who's ogling Yasmin?” Thea had been watching the little drama as well. She gave me a coy smile. “That's David Arista. Gorgeous, isn't he?”

“I . . . well. I just wondered who he was, that's all.”

“Get in line, darling.”

“I'm happily married. Why is he ogling Yasmin, if you don't mind saying?”

“David flirts with all the women he works with. Even me.” Her laugh was rich. “It's part of his charm.”

“What's he doing here tonight? Besides flirting, that is?”

“He owns C-Cubed. A marketing and media strategy company. I believe it stands for ‘create, catalyze, and connect.' He's been working with Yasmin on the Smithsonian Creativity Council.”

“The Smithsonian Creativity Council?”

“A group of young creative types—to me, they're practically children—who founded companies in their dorm rooms or their parents' garages and then made a billion dollars. They're supposed to come up with innovative solutions for making the museum's collections accessible to the public, particularly the hundreds of thousands of items in storage.” She gave me a droll look and said, “David calls it ‘interacting with the physical and the digital worlds simultaneously.'”

So David Arista's relationship with Yasmin was professional, not personal.

“Sounds like you need to be a contortionist.”

Thea laughed again. “Yes, maybe. There's a rumor going around that Ursula Gilberti's reelection campaign manager just hired David as well.”

Thea Stavros seemed well versed in all the rumors floating around tonight. She took a glass of champagne from a waiter holding a tray and said, “It wouldn't surprise me if it were true. David knows where all the bodies are buried . . . a useful skill in this town.”

“No champagne for you, miss?” the waiter said to me.

“Thank you, but I'm working.” I pointed to my camera. To Thea I said, “I need to have a word with Yasmin and Victor before the toast. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course.” Thea lifted her glass. “Perhaps we'll meet again before the wedding.”

The string quartet had stopped playing, and someone tapped the bowl of a wineglass to signal the guests assembled around the large dining room table to quiet down. In the silence that followed, Ursula Gilberti's voice, mingled with a man's light baritone, carried from the foyer into the dining room. Edward Jaine had arrived.

Ursula walked in with him on her arm as though she'd just won Jaine as a prize at the county fair. I raised my camera and fired off half a dozen pictures. He was shorter than I expected, dark skinned with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and a cocky, bantam swagger. He was underdressed compared to the other guests in a cashmere camel blazer, open-neck shirt with a cream and camel paisley scarf wound around his neck, worn jeans, and bright turquoise cowboy boots.

“Victor, Yasmin,” Ursula said. “Look who's here.”

Victor gave Edward Jaine a polite nod and shook his hand. But Yasmin's face lit up as he took her hands in his and kissed her on both cheeks. He leaned in and whispered something that made her laugh, caressing one of her curls with his finger and giving her a conspiratorial grin.

I heard Ursula murmur Kevin's name as she continued making introductions around the small circle. Jaine held out his hand and said to Ursula, “We know each other. Brother Kevin, nice to see you here.”

Kevin pretended not to see his outstretched hand. “Good evening, Edward.”

A muscle twitched in Edward Jaine's jaw and Ursula took his arm, as though the little slight hadn't occurred. “Edward, you
must meet our hosts,” she said, turning to the ambassador and his wife.

Someone touched my arm. Victor stood there holding a glass of champagne. “I saw you turn down the champagne a moment ago, Sophie. Yasmin and I insist that you drink the engagement toast.”

I looked away from Kevin, who was now talking earnestly to Yasmin, and said, “I'd be honored.”

“Victor, Brother Kevin's going to say the blessing,” Yasmin said. “I need you.”

He smiled. “I'm being summoned.”

He returned to Yasmin's side, slipping an arm around her waist. She smiled, but I still thought she looked tense. I took more pictures, though Edward Jaine had moved away and was no longer standing next to Ursula. Before I could look around for him, the ambassador introduced Kevin, and everyone grew quiet again.

“Heavenly Father,” Kevin said, “you have gathered us this evening in joy to celebrate the love of Yasmin and Victor. Strengthen their hearts to keep faith with each other on their journey toward marriage and give them wisdom, guidance, and wise counsel to learn truths that will help them in their life together. May all of us here tonight be witnesses to their love for each other. And may they look forward with joy and anticipation to the day when, in the words of St. Matthew, the two shall be one. Amen.”

I wondered if Kevin had inserted the line about keeping faith with each other after watching Yasmin's reaction to David Arista or her flirty exchange with Edward Jaine. But the ambassador had begun talking, a lighthearted and gently humorous toast in English and German that ended with everyone clinking glasses and saying “
Pros
t
.”

Then Yasmin and Victor cut an enormous Sacher torte, which had been flown in that afternoon from Vienna. By the time I finished taking pictures, Kevin was gone as well.

I made a tour of all the rooms looking for him until I heard voices, his and Edward Jaine's, coming from a darkened corridor that led back to the kitchen. I couldn't catch what they were saying because they were speaking so quietly, but it seemed like an argument.

Someone called my name and I spun around. Yasmin Gilberti stood there with a nearly empty glass of wine. I'd lost count of how many she'd drunk. She gave me a lopsided smile. “Have you got a minute? Mom wants a word.”

“Sure.”

I followed her and she wobbled a little tipsily as she walked. A few days ago she'd turned twenty-four. Victor was forty-one. He was crazy about her, as anyone could tell, but each time I saw them together I couldn't help wondering whether she was really in love with Victor or with the idea of becoming an archduchess with a glamorous European life where she would be known as Her Serene and Royal Highness. Tonight had been no exception.

Ursula said goodbye to another guest in the foyer and joined us in the now-empty drawing room.

“How soon before we have these pictures, do you think, Sophie?” she asked.

“In the next few days. I'll edit them and send you a link like I did with the photos for the engagement picture.”

She nodded. “All right, and now I think it's time to start talking about the wedding. Yasmin and I are meeting the florist next week, and we still have to choose the color of the bridesmaids' dresses. It would be helpful to have some venue photos to work with. I'd like the three of us to meet tomorrow at the monastery and do a walk-through of the church and gardens.”

Venue photos. Either one of them could take pictures with a camera phone and they'd have what they needed, but if Ursula wanted to hire me for an extra session at the monastery, then fine.

I glanced over at Yasmin. It was her wedding. “What do you think?” I asked, though by now I knew she didn't fight city hall.

“Pictures would help.”

“Okay,” I said. “What time?”

“Five,” Ursula said.

“The monastery and the gardens are closed then.”

“I know. We'll have the place to ourselves. Don't worry, my office will call and straighten it out. They'll let us in.”

“I think Kevin's still here,” I said. “Why don't I find him and we can ask him now?”