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Elizabeth checked her watch for the tenth, or possibly hundredth time, and then stared again at the Newsweek in her lap. ‘He won’t be on the plane,’ she thought, ‘either he’s changed his mind or something has come up and he won’t be here.’ A sudden sound grabbed her attention and she looked over to the counter and saw the agent post an ‘on time’ sign next to the flight from Chicago.
‘I’ll know in thirty minutes,’ she thought, and got up to go to the ladies room to check her makeup once again. She stared at herself in the mirror and realizing that she was beyond nervous, told herself that the next twenty-two minutes would determine everything, resolutely picked up her purse and went back to the waiting area. There she sat, letting the sunlight catch her ring, and tried very hard to think of nothing.
The slight bustle from behind the counter told her that, for good or ill, the waiting was almost over. She stood up, never taking her eyes away from the window, and watched the commuter plane taxi to a halt. As the passengers descended the stairs she saw a flash of gold and felt pure joy.
He was the sixth person through the door, and Napoleon was right behind him. Their eyes met and he turned, thrust his suitcase into Napoleon’s hands, and actually jumped over the small barrier. He swept her into his arms and kissed her. She was almost sobbing, saying softly, “I was so afraid you weren’t going to come. That something had happened to you or you had changed your mind.”
“No, Elizabeth,” he murmured, “I told you I would be here.” The warmth of his arms around her and the very scent of him was intoxicating to her. What finally broke them apart was Napoleon’s ‘ahem.’ They released each other and Elizabeth saw that people around them were smiling. Blushing, she returned Napoleon’s hug. All three then quickly walked out of the airport, with Elizabeth and Illya almost, but not quite, touching each other.
They drove the short way into Lansing, with Elizabeth giving directions to Napoleon; Illya was in the backseat. Just as Elizabeth said, “It’s two blocks down and to the right,” they passed a florist shop and Napoleon made a quick turn into the parking lot.
As he got out of the car he said, “You two stay here. There are some things that should not be and a bride without flowers is one of them.”
As soon as the door shut, Illya asked, “Elizabeth, are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Have you changed your mind?”
“No, Elizabeth, I love you. I am sure I do not say that enough, but I do. Things will not be easy for you.”
“And I, you. And I don’t care about easy.”
Illya glanced out the window and saw the florist staring at them. “That woman just gave me the strangest look.”
“She probably doesn’t get too many orders for a bridal bouquet to go,” Elizabeth said drily.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Elizabeth saw that Illya was constantly observing their surroundings, never completely relaxing, always referencing back to Napoleon.
Elizabeth beamed at Napoleon as he handed her the bouquet. “I didn’t even think about flowers.”
“Well, if you throw the bouquet, just make sure you don’t throw it in my direction.,” Napoleon laughed. He turned and handed Illya a boutonniere and Illya, mystified, started to put it in his suitcase. “You wear it, Illya.”
“I knew that,” Illya said gruffly. Elizabeth realized that she had absolutely no idea how Soviet brides and grooms dressed for the ceremony, and thought her blue suit and light blue blouse looked adequate. Not the stuff of fairy tales and dreams, but neither she nor Illya had led that kind of life. She smiled as Napoleon pulled into the parking lot of the city-county building. This was enough of a fairy tale for her.
She went to the trunk and got into her suitcase, pulling out her visa and passport and a marriage license she hoped would pass inspection. She was still worried even though an attorney for the university had assured her just yesterday afternoon that the license was perfectly valid. She looked through the rear window and saw that Illya was doing the same. She brushed past Illya as she reached into the front seat for her bouquet. Their eyes met, and they both remembered why they were here.
As they went up the steps to the building entrance, Elizabeth saw that several people were smiling at them. She was sure it was the flowers that gave it away. Napoleon stopped them for a moment before they entered and reached across her to adjust Illya’s boutonniere, in response to which Illya gave a should be patented eyeroll. He caught Elizabeth looking at him and grinned; she smiled back and thought he was the most beautiful when he smiled.

They entered the clerk’s office and Elizabeth knew that neither Ilya nor Napoleon could help it; they ‘cased out’ every room they entered, and evaluated every stranger for possible threat. A few months ago she had seen Illya doing that in the student union restaurant and had told him that she thought Asherton was a safe place. Illya had told her that provided they lived up to their agreement, she would not have to live like that. Then that night he suddenly turned over to face her and said that even though Asherton was safe, she should be very wary of strangers, particularly anyone who seemed intent on getting to know her.
She remembered that now, as both men made a momentary pause to evaluate a place, even one as innocuous as a county clerk’s office. It was almost unnoticeable, and as natural to them as breathing. It was, she thought, almost as if she were being given one last chance to walk away from Illya and all the difficulties being married to him would entail. She turned slightly to face him fully and nodded her head.
Illya and Napoleon seemingly were satisfied and they all three walked up to the counter. Before they entered the clerk’s office, Elizabeth handed Illya the license, her passport and her visa. She sensed that it would look more ‘typical’ if the groom handled all the paperwork. The clerk, Robert Hadley according to his name plate, smiled as Illya handed him their license, but was obviously surprised to be handed visas and passports.
Hadley was still smiling as he looked at the license, then his smile froze and then it vanished. Elizabeth had thought that the residency requirements would be the issue, but it seemed the clerk did not like foreigners, particularly ones born in Kiev.
“I don’t think I can marry the two of you,” Hadley smiled again, but very unpleasantly.
Elizabeth felt Illya tense and before he could do anything she said in her firmest, most professorial voice, “Of course you can. That is a perfectly valid marriage license.”
Elizabeth saw that Hadley’s smile had turned into a smirk. “Neither of you are American citizens, and he’s a Russian.”
Illya then said, in what was obviously his version of a professorial voice, “He’s right here, with a diplomatic passport, a Soviet passport, the correct visa and a valid marriage license.” Elizabeth knew that Illya probably had other passports and visas tucked away in his suitcase. She had seen the UNCLE passport during a fantastic weekend in Ireland, but he had told her that he really did not like using it.
Hadley was taken aback by Illya’s statement, but Elizabeth could see that this apparatchiki was getting ready to go on the offensive. She pointed to her and Illya’s passports and said, still in the same professorial voice, "All our paperwork is in order, sir."
Stopped on that front, Hadley hemmed and hawed for a few more moments. “Well, your paperwork is okay but you need two witnesses. I don’t see two witnesses. Can’t marry you without two witnesses. You’ll have to come back later.” Hadley was smiling triumphantly, thinking that as it was already late on a Friday afternoon, he had stopped whatever plans these foreigners were making.
As Hadley began piling all their paperwork up, Napoleon handed Elizabeth back her bouquet and she was certain that he was going to go out in the hallway to try and find someone. She met Illya’s eyes, to try to reassure him that things would still be alright, that they would still get married today. Before Napoleon could take that second step she heard a voice from behind them say clearly, “I’ll be their other witness.”
Elizabeth and Illya both turned and smiled at the man, a janitor who had come into the office right behind them. Napoleon smiled his most devastating smile as he introduced himself, then introduced Mr. Martin to Illya and Elizabeth. Amidst all this smiling and relief Hadley said loudly, “Now, Rosie, you don’t want to get involved in this. These two people aren’t even Americans, and he’s a Russian.”
“I’ve been a witness before, Mr. Hadley, and I heard the lady say that their paperwork was all in order.”
Hadley wanted to keep objecting, but one look at Illya’s face, and Napoleon’s, convinced him that would not be a good idea. With incredible ill grace, mumbling “let’s get on with it,” he got out his form, filled out his portion, and pointed with a stubby finger where everyone was to sign. That done, Hadley affixed his seal and began handing Illya and Elizabeth back their documents. It took everyone a few seconds to realize that Illya and Elizabeth were now married.
Finally, when that happy fact did sink in, they grinned at each other, then Illya turned to shake Martin’s hand again. Martin laughed, “I think the first thing you’re supposed to do is kiss the bride." Illya blushed and kissed Elizabeth lightly, then reached out again to shake Martin’s hand.
Martin shook Illya’s hand and still smiling said, “Seems like you forgot something else, or maybe they don’t have rings in Russia.”
Napoleon started laughing and pulled out a ring box from his jacket. “That’s my fault. I was so worried about getting them married that I forgot to hand Illya and Elizabeth their rings.” All four people knew that Hadley had taken a petty revenge by omitting everything except the signing of documents. He handed each of them the plain gold bands and he and Martin beamed as Illya and Elizabeth shakily exchanged rings.
Instinctively Illya put the ring on Elizabeth’s right hand and so many thoughts flew through her mind at that moment. She had worn her engagement ring on her left hand, but understood that, maybe in a way he did not even realize, Illya was saying he was Russian. She slipped her engagement ring above the wedding ring on her right hand.
Napoleon handed the ring box to Illya and then said, loudly, “Now, I pronounce you man and wife.”
Illya looked startled but then started laughing. “Is official now, Elizabeth. We are truly married. Napoleon has said so.”
They were all grinning at each other when Hadley, pointing to the clock above the door, shouted, “I’ll need you to clear this space.”
Illya turned around and stared at Hadley then said with a suddenly very thick accent, “We leaving now. Thank for kindness.”
Elizabeth saw and heard Hadley gulp. She had seen that face once before, when they were in Ireland, and she would always think of it as ‘Illya’s assassin face.’ It amazed her that this brilliant, gentle man could so easily make himself look like a trained assassin. As she accepted her bouquet from Napoleon she was puzzled about Illya’s speaking in such broken English, but then realized he was trying to goad the clerk. The pained, ‘heaven help us’ look that Napoleon gave Illya as he ushered them out confirmed her belief that Illya always enjoyed sticking it to petty jerks.

As soon as they were all safely out into the hall, Elizabeth fiercely hugged Martin, because to her he was the man who had made the incredible joy she now felt possible. Startled, it was a moment before he very tentatively returned her hug. “Don’t pay him no mind,” Martin said as Elizabeth moved to stand beside Illya, “he don’t like anybody that’s different.”
“Or Negro?” Elizabeth asked sharply. Sometimes people like Hadley made her physically ill.
“That, too, Mrs. I can’t pronounce your last name, but you two sure are different.”
Elizabeth was stunned. Mr. Martin was the first person in the entire world to call her ‘Mrs.’ She started patting her hands together, manically grinning. “That’s the first time I’ve been called ‘Mrs.’”
“Thank you again, Mr. Martin,” Illya said, shaking his hand yet again. “I suspect Mr. Hadley would have been very happy not to marry us.”
“You are right about that, Mr. I can’t pronounce your name, but you all better get going before he decides that you’re spies and calls the police.”
Elizabeth knew that would be a disaster, so she kissed Martin lightly on the cheek, and happily allowed Napoleon to chivy them out of the city-county building.

Napoleon handled the check-in at the hotel, which was fine with the newlyweds as they were both stunned and exhausted. The suite was set up with a shared living space between two bedrooms and baths. Elizabeth had shut the door opening onto the shared space as soon as Illya came through with the suitcases. The first thing Illya did was to open the same door and leave it slightly ajar.
He answered her questioning look by simply saying, “It’s better this way. You don’t have to worry about Napoleon.”
“I’m not! Don’t think that for a minute. It’s just … ok,” she sighed, sitting on the bed. She kicked her shoes off and scrunched her toes, sighing again.
“Are you tired?” Illya asked as he sat down beside her. He had already hung up his jacket and Elizabeth had been relieved that he was not wearing his shoulder holster.
“A little. I can’t believe that we finally did it. We finally did it,” she repeated.
“It has been a long struggle, but well worth it.” he agreed, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Lay down with me.” He pulled her down and they both lay on the bed, shoeless but fully clothed, and allowed themselves to relax.
A few moments later, as Elizabeth had almost fallen asleep, she heard Illya say, “At least I hope you think it’s worth it.”
She turned to face him, “You’re imagining all the things that can go wrong.”
“I don’t have to imagine, Elizabeth. ‘Things’ as you say, are all too readily apparent to me.”
“Well, we will just have to figure ‘things’ out. If things go wrong. Which they won’t.”
“You sound like Napoleon.”
“I take that as a compliment, Mr. Kuryakin.”
“As well you should, Dr. Darrow. Let’s go get Napoleon and go down to dinner. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“You know, in a weird Illya way, that’s very sweet.”

As the elevator doors closed, Napoleon said, “Elizabeth, I didn’t have a chance earlier, but I wanted to compliment you on your suit. It looks Chanel.” It was an abstract blue tweed, with heavy navy trim, and Napoleon was right, it was Chanel. She had purchased it at Marshall Fields the day after her interview with Waverly, knowing the minute she saw it that she would save it for her wedding.
“Napoleon,” Illya said, “you know far too much about women. Is it a Chanel suit, Elizabeth? Is that important? I should have told you that it’s very attractive.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it. The rule about not holding hands in public apparently did not apply in an elevator with Napoleon to one side.
Elizabeth, for the second time that day, saw Napoleon’s pained “heaven help us look.” “Ilya, as I have told you before, you always tell a woman that her clothes are beautiful.”
“Elizabeth knows that I think her clothes are beautiful. Really, Napoleon, she does not need the constant reassurance your lady friends do.” She wasn’t sure if she should interject herself into their teasing each other, and so she was very relieved when the elevator reached the first floor and they got out.
Napoleon pulled her chair out for her and so then they all sat down at the round table in the hotel’s restaurant. They ordered very quietly, but Napoleon ordered a bottle of champagne to be brought to their table immediately. When the waiter returned with the hot rolls and their champagne, Napoleon made a shooing gesture and took over the honors. He popped the bottle open, poured their glasses and then clinked each of their glasses, “To the Doctors Kuryakin, who have prevailed and are my dearest friends.”
Elizabeth picked up her glass and touched both of theirs. “To that happy day you two came into my office.”
Illya said, “I, too, wish to toast that most excellent day.” Illya quickly glanced around the room and then caught Napoleon’s eye, “But I think we should be done with toasting.”
Elizabeth thought that the message sent by Illya and received by Napoleon was that they might be drawing attention to themselves. She had seen that before, how Napoleon and Illya could have entire conversations with neither saying a word. It always amazed her and recalled to her Mr. Waverly’s statement that they were his best team.
In the little silence that followed, the waiter began serving and Napoleon began asking her about how American and British universities differed. That led to a conversation about Elizabeth’s classes and she told them about an incident from earlier in the week in which two students had challenged her on her attitude toward the pre–Revolutionary Russian aristocracy.
“I dread to ask, Elizabeth,” Illya paused for a moment, “what did you say?”
“I told them that the more one knew about the Russian aristocracy, the more one is amazed that the Russian people allowed them to live that long, that they made the French aristocracy look like humanitarians.”
Illya looked at her quizzically. “Was it another setup, do you think?”
“Yes, and I fell right into it. I suspect they’re in cahoots with Bernie.”
“Who’s Bernie?” Napoleon asked.
“The chair of the chemistry department who does not care for Elizabeth.” Illya cut into his steak and then added, “I did some checking, Elizabeth, and you are right, he is a member of the John Birch Society.”
If Napoleon were shocked that Illya had used UNCLE resources to do some research for Elizabeth, he hid it well. “That might be useful. I don’t know.” She smiled at Napoleon, “There are a lot of right-wing nut jobs in the physical sciences.”
Illya then asked if she had started looking for a house. She answered that she would be checking out three places, and that she remembered he had told her it couldn’t be anywhere too isolated. When Napoleon had asked her why she was looking for a house, Elizabeth had replied, “Because a one-and one-half bedroom apartment is not a comfortable place for three adults, let alone three adults and a dog. You two will usually be traveling together.”
“Elizabeth, you can’t seriously want me tagging along when Illya comes out to visit.”
She replied fiercely, “I want whatever keeps you both safe.” She handed Illya her salad and bread roll, in part to distract from the sudden emotion she had shown. Seeing that Napoleon was still a little taken aback she added, “And you’ll need a base from which to check out the nightlife in Asherton.”
“There are two movie theaters,” Illya said as he handed back the empty plates to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth and I want you to know that you are always welcome in our house, whenever we get it.”
“Yes, Napoleon, we have already planned to have a guest room set aside for you. I,” she teased, “shall become a real estate magnate.” All three laughed at that and they finished their dinner in companionable silence.
Napoleon had brought a very small, but decorated wedding cake. Illya smiled, that shy smile that always melted Elizabeth’s heart and he reached for her hand. They then very unobtrusively cut their wedding cake together. Elizabeth set aside a large slice and told Illya the custom of having a slice on the first anniversary. He sighed and nodded acceptance. Elizabeth met Napoleon’s eyes and they both laughed, knowing that Illya would finish the rest of the cake over the weekend.
Then, as Elizabeth thought, ‘things went to hell in a handbasket.’ Illya reached under his chair and pulled out a folder, “Elizabeth, there are some things that I need to discuss with you.”
“It’s a little late for that, Illya Nikolayevich,” she said, laughing, “we are awesomely legally married.”
“I am being serious, Elizabeth. There are things here you need to know.” Illya put on the glasses that Elizabeth thought made him look totally adorable, and then reached under his chair for the file he had brought down from their room. He opened the folder and handed Elizabeth what was clearly a life insurance policy. She immediately flashed to the hotel room in Chicago, reading those horrible mission reports that Waverly had given her. She started quietly hyperventilating.
Napoleon looked at her and saw her obvious distress. Illya did not look up and, still rummaging in the folder, he continued, “As you can see, you are the sole beneficiary and its value is $300,000.00. I have another policy, also through UNCLE, and you and Napoleon…” He immediately broke off and, half rising from his chair, perhaps thinking that she was going to faint, he said urgently, “Elizabeth, what is wrong? Are you ill?”
She distantly heard Illya, but kept visualizing the mission reports and the descriptions of what had happened to the agents. Waverly had told her that one of the reports was about a mission that Napoleon and Illya had been on, but he would not tell her which one. That hadn’t mattered, because they were all horrible. She clenched her fork and started breathing faster.
“I don’t believe this,” she cried. “This is our wedding night.” She immediately saw that she had spoken loud enough that several other diners heard her, and that added to her inner agitation. Illya reached for her hand, but she jerked it away.
“Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “I am sorry if this distresses you…”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, thinking it would be very bad luck to cry on her wedding night. She kept seeing the sentence, ‘Due to the extent of the injuries, the agent was unable to walk on his own, and lost consciousness …’ Even as she had read it the first time, something about the description of the laboratory matched something Napoleon had said when they had been out in June, and convinced her that this was the mission that Illya had been on. “I know what you do,” she said in a quiet, desperate voice, “I don’t want to be reminded about it on our wedding night.”
Illya reached for her hand again, and this time she did not jerk it away. He gently pried her fingers loose from their grip on the fork and then stroked her hand. She was dimly aware that the waiter had returned and that Napoleon had dealt with him. She tried to shut out everything else, to focus only on the sound of his voice and the sensation of their hands together.
“Elizabeth, I am sorry to have upset you. Your happiness is the most important thing to me, but you need to know these things …”
Still focusing only on him, she whispered, “I’m sorry. It’s just that …” She broke off, not able to get the picture of Illya as that unconscious agent out of her mind.
Gently turning her hand over, Illya began tracing the lines of her palm, and said quietly, “Napoleon and I are the best, and we will stay the best. But sometimes things go wrong. You and I know, in a way that Napoleon does not, that things can go wrong. Yes, my job is a risky one, but no more than several others.”
He put her hand down and took the fresh cup of tea from Napoleon, dunked the tea bag a few times, then squeezed it against the spoon. He quickly added milk and sugar, then handed the cup to Elizabeth. “We have talked about this, Elizabeth, and this is the reality. When Napoleon and I leave Sunday I do not know when you and I will see each other, but I know that we will be together again.”
She finally looked up and met his eyes. “I know. I know you’re right. It was just getting hit with all of this …” Her voice fell off and Illya smiled at her. He gestured toward the cup and motioned that she should take a sip. She sat the cup down then smiled at both men, as if to apologize for making a scene.
“Well, it’s been a very long day for both of us, and let us not forget the stress placed on your flower girl.” She turned slightly to again smile at Napoleon while part of her was simply reveling in Illya’s holding her hand. This was something he had never done before in public, and Elizabeth very much enjoyed the sensation. “We will review these things sometime this weekend. It will surprise you to learn that under Napoleon’s guidance I have even become something of a capitalist and I, now we, own some stocks.”
“I’m shocked. I’m shocked that you are playing the stock market.” She met Napoleon’s eyes and they smiled at each other. She could see that he and Illya were relieved that this tension was over.
When she had forced Illya to go to the movie theater to see Casablanca he had grumbled that there was “nothing romantic about World War II, and very little to enjoy in Casablanca.” She had told him he was right but that everyone should see Casablanca, the movie, at least twice. Now, Illya lightly squeezed her hand and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
She returned the squeeze then took her hand back. Smiling again at Napoleon, she said, “Yes, and I want to thank you again for the flowers, Napoleon. You were a perfect flower girl.” She stood and waved them both down. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to go up to our room and take a very long, hot bath. Illya, please get some milk. I have everything else we need to make tea in my suitcase.” She kissed Napoleon on the cheek and then left the restaurant.

As soon as she got into the bedroom, she collapsed against the door and began to tremble, having in her mind’s eye a horrific picture of Illya losing consciousness. “Just like when the sirens go off,” she breathed, and for the moment the only emotion she felt was relief that she hadn’t had the shakes while they were all sitting together at the restaurant. After a few moments the trembling stopped and she felt that she was able to move. Gathering herself up, she walked over to her suitcase, pulled out her travel bag and the negligee, then sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted.
She was usually able to make herself not think about Illya’s work, ‘the job’ as he called it, but when he handed her that life insurance policy it had all flooded over her. “I’m just tired,” she thought, “it’s been a very long day and I’m just tired.”
She pulled the negligee up to her shoulders and smiled as she remembered her friend Judith giving it to her just a few hours ago. Judith, an associate professor of nursing, was her only real friend on campus, and the only person, aside from the university attorney, whom Elizabeth had told that she was getting married. She had actually met Illya once, and afterward had told Elizabeth that she was absolutely right, that he was “too gorgeous for words.”
She had introduced Illya to Judith as the co-owner of an export/import firm, and Judith mostly acted as if she believed that. She had one time pointed out how unusual it was for a Soviet national to be in a business partnership with an American, and Elizabeth had responded drily, “More than you know.” Judith had never commented on Illya’s unpredictable visits, beyond saying that he seemed to have to cancel frequently. Elizabeth had said that the life of an international businessman could be very unpredictable and Judith had said that it certainly seemed to be the case.
This morning, when Elizabeth had stopped by Judith’s home to drop off her dog, Bailey, she had stepped into the kitchen to find that Judith was throwing a two-person surprise wedding shower for her. Elizabeth had cried as Judith plied her with tea and cake, but too nervous to eat, she had asked Judith to save the cake for Sunday afternoon. “I should have done this earlier, and invited a few people, but you were so insistent on not telling anybody.” If there were a question or an accusation there, Elizabeth did not acknowledge it.
She had thanked Judith repeatedly while Judith was insisting that she open her present. Elizabeth did and she was stunned, thinking it was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen. She opened up the smaller box to find a blue handkerchief, an old spoon and a dollar bill. “You have to give the dollar back on Sunday.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, still crying, “it’s my something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.”
“Well, the ‘new’ is that suit, which by the way is as beautiful as you said it was, and I know it’s blue, but I don’t think you can double up on that.” They both laughed and Elizabeth stopped crying. Judith’s daughter Emily came into the kitchen and said very formally, “Best wishes, Dr. Darrow.”
“Thank you, Emily, would you like a piece of cake?” At Emily’s nod, Elizabeth handed Emily her untouched cake and said to Judith, “I’m sorry, I’m just too nervous. It’s wonderful but I just can’t right now.”
Judith motioned Emily toward their family room while telling Elizabeth it was perfectly understandable, and pouring her another cup of tea. “We’ll do this when you come back on Sunday to pick Bailey up.”
Elizabeth drank the tea quickly then stood up, saying, “I’ve got to go. Everything you need for Bailey is in the sack.”
“I know. We’ve watched her before. Emily and Mark are ecstatic about having Bailey for the whole weekend.” She pulled Elizabeth into a tight hug and asked softly, “Are you absolutely sure? It just all seems so strange.”
Elizabeth took a small step back, not breaking the hug, “I love him and he loves me and this is the only way we can be married for now.”
“I know you said that, and I wish you so happy.” They hugged again, Elizabeth petted Bailey and promised she’d be back in two sleeps, told Emily to take good care of Bailey for her, and picked up her purse and coat. Emily came out of the family room and solemnly promised to take care of Bailey, and Elizabeth had left for the hundred-mile drive.

And now here she was, ten hours later, a married woman. Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on the outer door. She went out and opened it, to find the waiter from earlier standing there with a quart of milk. She thanked him, went back to their bedroom and pulled the electric kettle from her suitcase, and put water on to boil. She fixed her tea and took her cup into the bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, she knew she looked tired, and again told herself that it had been a very long day.
She decided to take a shower instead of a bath, because she just wanted to get in bed and go to sleep. ‘Not perhaps the most romantic wedding night,’ she thought as she slipped on the negligee, ‘but it’s ours, and things will be strange like this for many years. It’s the price.’
She was just pulling the covers down when Illya came into the room. He took one look at her and made a wolf whistle. “That is very beautiful, Dr. Darrow, and so are you.”
“So are you, Mr. Kuryakin, but don’t you think we can use first names now?”
“Yes, Veyeta, I think we can.” Veyeta, Illya’s shortening of the Russian Yelizaveta, was his private name for her. He let out a breath while unfastening his tie, “I’m going to take a shower.” He got his pajamas and robe from his suitcase and finished undressing. He walked over to where she was still standing beside the bed and pulled her close. “I wish I weren’t so tired, I want everything to be special,” he murmured into her hair then kissed her.
“Just being together is enough, Illya.” She kissed him then sat down on the bed. “It’s been a long day and you had a long flight from New York and had to negotiate O’Hare. For right now, it’s enough that we’re together.” He kissed her again and as he walked into the bathroom she asked him if he wanted a cup of tea.
He leaned out of the doorway, “No, I just want to be clean and be next to you.”
“Understand,” she said and slipped into the bed. Illya came in a few minutes later, turned off the light and got into bed beside her, and they both lay quietly, holding hands. As Elizabeth drifted off to sleep she heard Napoleon come into the suite. As soon as the door clicked, Illya rolled over on his side and spooned her. It was only after Illya knew Napoleon was safe, Elizabeth realized, that he would allow himself to truly relax. Early the next morning they made love for the first time as man and wife.

They went down to breakfast just as Napoleon was waking up. Elizabeth called in to his bedroom to ask him if he would like some tea and had said no, that he would meet them in the restaurant. They went downstairs in the elevator and, as soon as the doors closed, Elizabeth kissed Illya. He returned the kiss enthusiastically and they broke off when the doors opened.
The hotel’s restaurant hosted a substantial breakfast buffet and Elizabeth enjoyed Illya’s enjoyment. He was on his second round when Napoleon entered the restaurant. As he sat down he said, “Be glad you don’t live together, Elizabeth. This man could quite literally eat you out of house and soon to be acquired home.”
Elizabeth smiled, “I know, and I love him anyway.”
Illya looked up from a very serious contemplation of bacon and said, “The buffet is quite good, Napoleon, but they don’t have any baked beans or tomatoes.”
“No, and as I have told you, you crazy Russian, you’re not going to find that in the United States.” He took his cup of coffee from Elizabeth and smiled his thanks.
“Napoleon is almost as fond of breakfast as you are, Elizabeth,” Illya said as she handed him her other piece of toast.
“Then when you both come out to Asherton, you are going out for breakfast. I’m not cooking this stuff.”
“You barely cook at all. I will cook breakfast.”
“Yes, you will because I repeat, I am not cooking this stuff.”
Napoleon sat down his coffee and stood up. “I’m going to get some bacon and eggs. Can I bring you a trough, Illya?” Illya made a mock glare and Elizabeth giggled.
As soon as Napoleon left, Illya said, “This is really good, Elizabeth, you should have some more. I think I can handle one more plate.” Napoleon, on his way back from the buffet, crossed paths with Illya. As he did so he caught Elizabeth’s eyes and shook his head. She smiled and responded in kind.
As Napoleon sat down, Elizabeth said mock seriously, “I hadn’t really thought about it, Napoleon, but with Illya’s appetite it’s a good thing we both work.”
Illya sat down and said a little defensively, “I enjoy American breakfasts, but perhaps I should stop after four times.”
“Will you actually want lunch?” They had planned to go to a museum and get a lunch afterwards.
“Yes, Elizabeth, I know you like your meat salads and I will be ready for lunch after our first museum.”
Seeing Napoleon’s puzzled look, Elizabeth said, “He means chicken salad and tuna salad.” She turned slightly so that she was directly facing Napoleon. “There is a small art museum and a history museum that we thought we would like to visit. You are more than welcome to join us.”
Napoleon looked a little doubtful and Illya added, “Elizabeth says that have some very good impressionist paintings, so you would like to see those.” If Napoleon thought that visiting museums was a strange way to spend the first morning after being married, he kept that thought to himself. He was touched, Elizabeth could tell, to realize that she and Illya both really wanted him to join them.
He smiled, “I do love Impressionist painting, so what say we go to the art museum first, then Elizabeth and I will get some meat salad and chips. Then I want to check out that farmers market we passed yesterday and see if I can get some apples.”
“That sounds good, Napoleon,” Elizabeth said. “We can meet up here this afternoon and pick somewhere for dinner. I’m sure the hotel would prefer that we ate somewhere else.”
Illya’s eyes lit up, always a signal he knew Elizabeth was teasing him. He laughed, “I’m sure you’re right, Elizabeth, but the food is very good.”
“You always say that.”
“Food is always good.”

They drove to the art museum, which proved to be only a half block from the city-county building. As they passed the building Elizabeth, sitting in the back seat, said, “Who would ever think such a grim looking building could be such a happy place?”
Illya leaned back, replying, “It looks like early Stalin with an overlay of Speer.” Napoleon pulled into the museum parking lot, saying, “I think it’s very New Deal era architecture, myself.”
Illya opened the door for Elizabeth and held out his hand to help her from the back seat. He slipped in a surreptitious hug while they walked up to the entrance. Once inside Elizabeth directed them to the Impressionist section and Elizabeth thought that Napoleon did really enjoy it. He seemed particularly impressed with a small Manet that held pride of position.
“I know it’s not New York or Chicago, but I think this really is a good museum.”
“You’re right, Elizabeth. Now let’s go see your ancients.”
They went up one flight to a small sized gallery, and as soon as they entered Elizabeth immediately focused on the Egyptian section. She abruptly stopped talking when she heard Illya tell Napoleon not to be worried, that Elizabeth always went “insanely crazy” around any ancient history exhibits.
She turned to him and smiled, “Yes, but you knew that going in.” She turned to Napoleon, “The last time we were in Chicago, we spent far more time in the Field Museum than Illya wanted.”
Illya said, “Well, then, lead on, Professor Darrow, and explain all this to me.” He was glad to let Elizabeth set the pace. He always loved watching her teach, even if her class were only made up of himself and Napoleon. She and Illya spent a happy forty-five minutes in the exhibit. Napoleon acted interested, but Elizabeth could tell he was getting tired of the ancient world.
She suggested they move on and Napoleon readily agreed. Illya squeezed her hand, as if to thank her for accommodating Napoleon. They moved on to a section devoted to American artists, and found that they all three shared a love of Edward Hopper.
It was slightly past noon when Illya said he was ready for lunch and they went to a small café across the street from the city-county building. Napoleon made flirty eye contact with the waitress and Illya just shook his head. When their lunches came Elizabeth automatically handed Illya half her sandwich. “For some reason I always lose weight when he’s here.”
Napoleon said, “Just be glad you don’t have to feed him on a mission.” For a moment she froze, seeing in her mind’s eye the image of Napoleon carrying an unconscious Illya. Illya saw her unhappiness and with great ceremony offered her a French fry. She shook her head and smiled, forcing the image from her mind. “At least he shares food with you. Me, he stabs with a fork.”
“Well, we’re new at this relationship thing.” She smiled at them both.
Illya, sensing that she was still upset, said quickly, “Napoleon, when we have our house, and frankly, it stuns me that I will own real estate, you will have to advise us on decorating. As a good Soviet I, of course, have never owned property. Elizabeth has never owned a home, either, so this will be an adventure for us both.”
“I can’t imagine you’d need any help, Elizabeth, but I’ve seen Illya’s apartment and you certainly don’t want any help from him.”
The horrible vision has passed and so she was able to smile at them. “He won’t let me see it. He says even if I come to New York, I’m not allowed to see it. How bad can it be?”
“Pretty bad,” Illya deadpanned.
Napoleon laughed, “He’s right, Elizabeth. It’s pretty bad.”
Illya looked very serious, “Napoleon, however, lives in capitalistic splendor. If you come to New York I think we will stay at his apartment.” She just shook her head at the teasing and handed him half her cookie.
The history museum was half way between the city-county building and their hotel. It was a beautiful colonial revival style and had been the old Lansing City Hall. As they walked up the broad, shallow steps Elizabeth saw Illya’s hair being lifted up by the fairly stiff breeze. He met her eyes and smiled. She felt a bolt of pure happiness, just looking at him and having this time together.
Once inside, Elizabeth saw two students from her Revolutionary Russia class and walked over to talk to them. She was never certain about what Illya wanted her to do in circumstances like this, but she thought it would be rude to ignore her students. While they exchanged pleasantries she saw Illya give Napoleon the car keys. Napoleon waved goodbye to her and quickly exited.
Illya waited until the students left and then came over to her. “How interested are you in local history?” He grinned at her.
She grinned back, “Not all that much.”
He opened the museum door for her, “Napoleon’s gone to get apples, or something. He’ll be gone for several hours. I told him we would walk back to the hotel, and that he didn’t need to hurry back.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Dr. Kuryakin.”
“I thought you would like it, Dr. Darrow.”
Once inside their bedroom they fell into each other’s arms, both of them refusing to think about how little time remaining they had. She undid his tie and he reached for her hand, pressing it to his chest. He answered her questioning look by saying very softly, “I am memorizing you, Elizabeth, this moment, so that when we are old and together we can say, ‘remember that first Saturday.’”
There were tears in her eyes, “Oh, Illya,” she breathed, “every moment with you…”

Later, she turned over and said, “I do not understand how something so perfect can get perfecter.” He gave her a slow, sleepy smile.
“I think,” he put his arm around her and pulled her next to him, “the answer to that lies in the dedication and enthusiasm of the participants.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re right but this participant needs a cuppa.” She slipped from his arm and began pulling on her robe.
Illya sighed and sat up, “Make me one, too. We do need to talk.”
“I know,” she said quietly as she plugged in the kettle, She lifted the milk out of the ice bucket and recalled how impressed Illya had been the first time they’d gone away together and she had demonstrated her tea preparation kit. She had told him that since it was virtually impossible to get tea in an American hotel, she had had to create her own survival kit.
She handed him his cup, took hers and sat down in the chair facing the bed. He took a long sip of tea and said, “Ah, Elizabeth, thank you. That’s very good.” Illya sat his cup on the nightstand and got up and went over to his suitcase. He pulled out the folder and then turned toward Elizabeth.
Smiling, she met his eyes, “Please put on a robe, my dearest one.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t look at you all glorious and golden and think of anything other than making love with you.”
He reached back into the suitcase, “Well, if you think it would help,” he tied the belt. “I can tell you, though, your being in a robe only makes me think we need to do this quickly and get back to making love.”
“I agree.” She followed along as he went through the two life insurance policies and she told him that she had already made him her beneficiary, that she had done that on Thursday when she had the university’s attorney review their wedding license. He nodded understanding then put the policies in her suitcase.
“You already know the protocols for reaching me at headquarters. You know that if I’m in the field Lisa Rogers will contact me as soon as possible. If it is vital that you speak with me immediately, I want you to tell whoever you deal with that your Uncle Alex asked you to call. That way they will know it’s you.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. She had spoken with Lisa Rogers several times, when Miss Rogers was calling to tell her that a visit from Illya had to be postponed. “I’ve been able to leave messages for you before.”
“Elizabeth, this is vital. If you need to talk to me immediately, if you’re ill or hurt, or if something unusual happens, someone you don’t know has suddenly appeared, don’t second guess yourself, call and ask for Uncle Alex. If Lisa, or whoever you talk to, hears that code phrase, she will know that it is urgent.”
He looked a little unhappy, and it was obvious to her that he did not want to explain any further. Then it hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. Anyone who knew they were married, and could actually get in contact with UNCLE, could pretend to be her. She quickly built the entire scenario in her mind, someone pretending to be her claiming that she was in desperate trouble, and that Illya must rescue her immediately.
“So you won’t be led into a trap.” She could tell that he was relieved that she understood without his having to be more explicit. Once again that image of Napoleon carrying an unconscious Illya came into her mind, but she resolutely put it in a mental box. They had less than a day left to be together; she could be terrified on the way back to Asherton.
“Okay, I get it,” she sighed, “anything else?”
“Just you and this beautiful afternoon. Please remove your robe.”

They lay drowsily in each other’s arms and he drifted off to sleep. She lay perfectly still, almost drunk with total happiness. She heard the soft click of the outer door and knew that Napoleon had returned. Slipping very quietly from the bed she put on her robe, then bent down and kissed Illya. She was relieved that he had not awakened, usually he was wide awake before her foot hit the floor.
For a few seconds, she gave herself the luxury of just looking at him, then quietly rapped on the almost shut door. Napoleon immediately pulled the door open, smiling at her but also quickly scanning their bedroom. Apparently deciding that Illya was safe, Napoleon gestured toward the small couch. As she made her way over and sat down, she thought again how rare it was for both of them to be relaxed at the same time, and how hard that kind of life must be.
She turned down Napoleon’s offer of a drink, and still thinking about how hard their lives were, murmured, “That’s only the second time.” Sitting down at the desk chair, Napoleon was obviously puzzled and asked her what she had said. “That’s only the second time Illya has drifted off to sleep and I’ve been able to get up without waking him.”
Napoleon smiled slightly, “Well, I don’t know if you can appreciate this, Elizabeth, but that’s quite a tribute to you.”
“I know, or I think I know.” Elizabeth was surprised at how nervous she was, but she was determined to tell Napoleon how grateful she was. “Napoleon, I just wanted to thank you with all my heart.”
“Thank me?” He seemed genuinely confused, but Elizabeth was well aware that Napoleon was as good at masking his feelings as Illya was. “You don’t have anything to thank me for.”
Her mouth was suddenly very dry, and so she said in a rush, “Oh, yes I do, and I’d like a gin and tonic if you can fix one.”
Napoleon went over to the bar and quickly fixed her drink. As he handed it to her he smiled, “If anything, Elizabeth, I should be thanking you. I’ve never seen Illya so relaxed and happy.”
She took a small sip of her drink, it was excellent, and pressed on, “No, Napoleon, I do have to thank you. If you had disapproved, Illya would have never married me. I always knew that.”
“Elizabeth, Illya’s a grown man …”
She cut him off. She had thought about their relationship – Illya’s and Napoleon’s – long and hard. It probably would have surprised them both to know that the only thing that had made her reluctant to marry Illya was not his being an UNCLE agent, but the relationship that he had with Napoleon. They constantly referenced each other, checked with each other and she did not want to interfere with that at all. Having read those reports she knew they had to be closer than brothers to do the work they did, that they had to have that kind of closeness to survive.
She smiled at Napoleon and took a sip of an excellent gin and tonic. She knew Napoleon could not make a bad one. Elizabeth absolutely believed that if she came between them, only disaster would follow. They would either lose that closeness, and they both would come to resent her, or they would lose that closeness and Illya would get killed. She was certain it would be Illya because he believed in self-sacrifice the way he believed in Napoleon, and maybe her.
“I know what you and he do. At least, I know a little of it. I don’t know if Illya Nikolayevich (here she was being formal) told you, but three months ago I met your Mr. Waverly in Chicago. He had me go through three case files, and then after I read them told me that Illya and, I suppose by inference, you, had been on one of the missions.”
Napoleon breathed out an “oh” and Elizabeth saw that he had let his ‘debonair face’ slip a little, probably thinking that ladies shouldn’t read such things. That night in the Palmer House with Mr. Waverly had been a shock, but even as he had talked to her after she read the mission reports she knew it was much too late, she had already fallen completely in love with that shy, brilliant, gentle assassin.
“He wanted to convince me that it was a terrible idea to marry Illya, but I already knew that.” Seeing Napoleon’s shock, she smiled wanly, “I mean I already knew that we would not be together very often and that it wouldn’t be …” She was at a loss for a word to describe a relationship that had to be lived in bits at a time.
“Traditional?” Napoleon supplied a useful word and Elizabeth thought that he, too, had a devastating smile.
“That’s a good word, Napoleon. Thank you, I knew that our marriage would not be traditional, but I didn’t care and that’s what I told him. If he had shown me those files before I met Illya, I probably would never …” Her voice fell away as she once again pictured Illya, terribly injured, being carried out of a somewhere by Napoleon. She took another sip, “But I had already met him, you see.”
“I know, Elizabeth, I was there. I thought he was going to ravish you on the spot.”
“Well, I was certainly prepared to be ravished,” she relaxed, lost in the memory of when these two men had walked into her office. She had been standing on a step stool to get a book down and was turning toward the sound of the door opening when her hand had been taken by a man with blond hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He held on to her one hand and reached for the book with his other. They were skin-to-skin for a second and Elizabeth had felt the electricity. He had then set the book down on her desk and took her other hand to help her down. Safely on the ground, their eyes met and she had seen that he felt it, too.
“And do some ravishing in return,” she smiled at Napoleon. That would always be one of the purest, happiest memories of her life, sitting next to him, their pouring over several books, together, and having this man ask her questions and really listen to the answers. She had been so completely in lust that she had surprised herself at being able to function at all. After they had finished talking, resolving the issue of the Fabergé egg, he had shyly asked her if she were free that evening and, oh, she was.
She later learned that they hadn’t been planning on staying in Asherton and that Napoleon had spent a dull night in a Howard Johnson’s while she and Illya had talked and talked and talked. Just like the songs, she had thought, they fell in love with ‘just one kiss.’ But she knew that in an odd way she owed it all to Napoleon.
“But this is not what I wanted to talk to you about, and I really want to say this.” It was important, she knew, that Napoleon understood that she had no intention of in any way, shape, or form, coming between him and Illya.
Ever the consummate gentleman, Napoleon asked, “May I freshen your drink, first?”
“Please.” She watched him walk over to the small bar and quickly return. He handed her the glass and she took a large drink and took a deep breath. “Napoleon, if you have disapproved we never would have been married. I know that.”
He looked as if he were going to interrupt but she shook her head and went on. “Please let me finish. You two love each other deeply. I know you’re not supposed to say that about men, but it’s the truth. You two are more than brothers, and I’m just amazed and grateful that I get to have a little part of it, every once in a while."
Napoleon took his own deep breath, “I think you’re right, but I also think you are underestimating how much Illya loves you. I’ve known him for almost three years, and I have seen a lot of women and frankly, some men, throw themselves at him, and you’re the only person he ever …”
“Loved.” Illya was standing in the doorway and Elizabeth marveled again at how quietly he could move, and wondered how much he had overhead. He walked over to the couch and smiled down at her, pulled her up and kissed her on the cheek. “There is far too much emotion going on. Now, let’s get ready and go find this Greek restaurant.”
“How in God’s earth can you eat again?” She asked in amazement and Napoleon laughed at her question.
“Quite easily.” He kissed her again, “Now, Elizabeth, go get dressed and I will show you. I love Greek food.”

She showered and changed into the last of her new outfits. ‘My trousseau,’ she had thought on that fun afternoon in Marshall Fields and Filene’s Basement. Waverly had given her the suite for another night, and had even arranged for a driver to take her back to Asherton. Even though she had disappointed him by not renouncing Illya, he had been courtesy itself in all things. At breakfast they had talked, not about UNCLE, but about her book on Alexandra Feodorovna. She had been pleased and flattered that he had actually read it, and as they talked about it she realized that he actually knew some of these people.
That breakfast with Mr. Waverly had put her in the oddest position. Not only was he the head of what Illya called ‘Section One,’ and thus, Illya’s boss, he was also a potential source of information and contacts about Russia. At the end of the breakfast, when he had given her the suite, he had said he would help her line up some interviews with people in New York and London.

She heard Illya come and plug in the kettle. She stepped out of the bathroom and he gave her another wolf whistle. “Very nice, Dr. Darrow, very nice.”
“You say the sweetest things.” She smiled at him and put teabags into their cups.
“Napoleon said that he would be happy to stay here if you want it to be just the two of us.”
The way he said that gave her no clue as to what he wanted, so she went with her first instinct. “No, I think he’d really enjoy this place, and I love being squired by the two most gorgeous men in Michigan.”
Illya smiled, and Elizabeth rejoiced to herself that she had given the better answer. Napoleon was so right, she thought, this would not be a traditional marriage. “I have told you before, Elizabeth, that men are not gorgeous.” He hugged her and then went to take his own shower.
Elizabeth supposed hers was really a very strange honeymoon, ‘or honey weekend,’ she thought. Once again Napoleon was driving and she was in the backseat, which was their usual arrangement when Illya and Napoleon were in Asherton. She gave directions to the restaurant, about a fifteen-minute drive. They were discussing different types of cars and she had no interest in that.
As they entered the restaurant she gave them the background, that it was owned by the parents of one of her students. As soon as Maria saw them, she ran over and hugged Elizabeth. Elizabeth returned the hug and then turned Maria to face the two men behind her. “Maria, I’d like you to meet my husband, Dr. Kuryakin, and our great good friend, Mr. Solo.”
Smiling broadly, she shook each of their hands, picked up three menus and led them to their table. As they were walking Maria said, “Dr. Darrow, I didn’t know you were married.”
“Well, it’s a recent thing,” Napoleon pulled out her chair, “and I want you to know my husband loves Greek food.”
Illya and Napoleon both maneuvered their chairs so that they had views of the entrance and kitchen. She supposed it was automatic and moved her own chair as Illya had indicated. Maria looked a little puzzled but then smiled, “I’m so excited you’re here. Let me bring you a complimentary bottle of retsina.”
Illya smiled at her, “That would be very kind, Miss Papadopoulos, and if it is alright with my wife and our friend, I would love to order for us.” Elizabeth realized that that not only was the first time she had ever heard Illya say those two beautiful words, but this was also the first time she had called Illya ‘husband’ out loud. She nodded and looked over to see Napoleon nodding assent as well.
Illya ordered for them in rapid Greek, and Maria very conscientiously took their order. As soon as Maria walked away Illya opened the bottle and poured each of them a glass. Elizabeth took one sip and made a face. Illya smiled at her and murmured, “It’s an acquired taste but I like it.”
“Well,” she whispered, “I’ll have to drink it. I can’t hurt her feelings.”
“Don’t worry,” Illya said as the kitchen door opened, “Napoleon and I can finish it off.”
Maria, grinning broadly, sat the pan of cheese down on the table and set fire to it. Maria was delighted in Elizabeth’s surprised reaction, said she hoped everyone enjoyed it and went back into the kitchen. Illya gave Elizabeth the first piece and then, as he was serving Napoleon and himself, Elizabeth said, “I am not sharing, not at all, not one little bit.” Illya was obviously pleased that she liked it so much.
Just as they finished the saganaki, Maria and an older man came out of the kitchen, walked over to Elizabeth and bowed, saying how delighted he was to meet one of Maria’s professors. He and Illya started chatting in Greek, then he turned and hurried back to the kitchen. “He wants to take Elizabeth’s picture.”
However, it was more than that. The gentleman’s gestures made it plain that Elizabeth and Maria were to stand side by side, with Illya behind Elizabeth and Napoleon behind Maria. Elizabeth watched the ‘conversation without talking’ between Illya and Napoleon, and knew that they were not happy about it. She did not want to embarrass Maria or her father, and before either of them could do or say anything, she reached out and touched Illya’s sleeve, hoping that he and Napoleon would just go along with it for her sake.
Illya nodded once in that small tight way he had, and they allowed Mr. Papadopoulos to take the photo. Maria’s father took the photo, thanked them all, and then told Maria they had a feast to bring out. As they again sat down, Illya said, “Elizabeth, I can’t let that happen again.”
“I don’t know what you expected me to do about it,” she said more sharply than she had intended. Maria’s father was obviously so proud of her, and thrilled to have her professor visit his restaurant. He had wanted to take a picture to mark the occasion, and Elizabeth had been happy that he and Maria were so happy. Then she thought that of course Illya and Napoleon did not want their picture taken by someone they didn’t know, and they had broken one of their rules for her.
“You’re right, I should have been quicker. Just be aware that if a situation like that comes up again, Napoleon and I will have to do a fast fade.”
She apologized and thanked them both, then sighed, “Well, forewarned is forearmed, and you did warn me that UNCLE would always be there.” She sighed and Illya looked at her intently. “I just think it is sad that you cannot ever get away from it, not even at a Greek restaurant in Lansing, Michigan.”
Illya replied in a very quiet voice, “It is not sad, Elizabeth, it just is. This is my life, and if I were not an UNCLE agent, you and I would have never met. I, for one, am very happy to be right now sitting in a Greek restaurant in Lansing, Michigan, with my wife and my friend.”
She wanted to tell him then that she really had not understood how all pervasive it would be, but that she really did not care. Illya was light and joy to her and she knew that the world was a better place because he was in it. She had often thought about how they had both grown up so isolated, first by the war and then by their academic successes, that for them to have found each other would always be the miracle of her life.
Napoleon must have misread her silence, and thought that she needed reassurance. He quickly said, “Me, too.”
Illya went on as if Napoleon had not spoken. “We have only this moment, Elizabeth, so let us enjoy it.”
‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘there is only this moment, so let us enjoy it.” Although she did not realize it at the time, this was the moment that she began truly accepting what being married to Illya meant, and knew that the moments of happiness with him were worth any price.
He held out his hand and she took it, pressed it to her cheek then said, “You’re right. I’ll get better at this.” Something in her response told him that she really was in a different place, and he held her hand for a moment, touched her face lightly, then got down to the always for Illya serious business of eating.
Napoleon could also sense that the atmosphere had changed, because he quickly said, “For what it’s worth, Elizabeth, I think you’re doing fine.” He patted her hand and then added, “And I think you’re lucky to have found each other. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who might be smarter than Illya.”
Elizabeth was surprisingly pleased that Napoleon thought that of her, but knew it was far from the truth. “Not possible.”
Illya looked at her appraisingly, then grinned, “Is very possible. Smarter than me and gorgeous. Irresistible.”

As they left the restaurant Maria’s father not only pressed bottles of wine on Illya and Napoleon, but refused to let them pay for the dinner. He looked over the register with soulful eyes, “Maria has said that you are a friend to her, Mrs. Darrow, and have helped her so much. Besides,” he suddenly laughed, “she also says that you are newly married. Please, accept this from me and her mother.”
They understood it would be an insult to insist on payment, so they all three thanked him profusely. As Illya helped her into her coat, he and Napoleon had another one of those ‘conversations without talking,’ and Napoleon slipped back to their table and left a substantial tip.
As they waited for Napoleon outside, Illya asked, “You are close to this young woman, Elizabeth?”
“She’s a fish out of water at Carston, just as you and I have been.”
“Ah, yes, I understand. I like that phrase.” He kissed her lightly then let go of her hand. ‘UNCLE protocols back in place,’ she thought.
On the drive back to the hotel Illya and Napoleon again talked about cars, a subject in which Elizabeth had absolutely no interest. She was content just absorbing the sounds of their voices, until Illya asked, “Elizabeth, what would you think of a Volvo?”
She thought a Volvo would not go over very well in a town in Michigan, “I think it would create some issues in Michigan. I’m already too much of a foreigner for a lot of people at Carston. And that was before I started hanging out with a Soviet spy.”
“You are teasing, yes, Elizabeth?” and she realized her joke had not gone over very well.
“Yes, I don’t think anyone knows that you two are UNCLE agents, but I have been asked who are the two men I’ve been seen with.”
“Who has asked, Elizabeth?” She met Napoleon’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and understood that, from their point of view, anyone asking questions about them was an automatic threat. However, the people who had asked were colleagues or students, acting with all the nosiness that acquaintances indulged in when a single woman was suddenly in the company of two men.
“Amazingly enough,” she said gently, “it’s people prying into my business, not yours. It’s a very small college town, Napoleon, and everything revolves around the university.”
She watched as they had another very brief silent conversation as Napoleon considered, and accepted, what she said. That byplay in the front seat only confirmed to her what she had told Napoleon earlier, that if he had really not approved, their marriage would not have happened.
Illya leaned over the seat, “I know you must be very tired of all this, Elizabeth, but if you ever feel that anyone is asking too many questions, call the number I gave you and …”
“Ask for Uncle Alex. I know, Illya. We went over all that this afternoon.” She was coming to truly understand how much more observant and careful she must be. ‘Part of the price,’ she thought, ‘and the piper must always be paid.’
“Well, good, then we will never have to discuss it again. And I think you should have a Volvo.”
“Well, I have no opinion on cars, so you do whatever you think best.”
“I usually do, Elizabeth.”

When they got back to the hotel Napoleon proposed a nightcap. Elizabeth smiled and told them to enjoy themselves, but that she was going straight up to the room. She leaned over, kissed Napoleon ‘good night’ and walked over to the elevator. As the door opened, she turned to them, smiled and waved, then let the doors close.
Once back in their bedroom she put on the negligee and made herself a cup of tea. She did not have to wait long for Illya. He took off his suit coat and holster and plugged in the kettle to make himself some tea. “I could look at you in that negligee for hours,” he smiled at her.
“I can think of other things for you to do.”
“Me, too.” He made his tea then sat down in the chair. “I have made a kit like this for myself, because I also love to have tea.”
“Your flight is late tomorrow morning?”
“Yes.” He sat his cup down and took both her hands in his. “Veyeta, when I can I will try to make you the happiest of women.”
“Moye serdtse,” she said softly, “I already am.” They undressed each other slowly and got into bed.

The slight withdrawal began as usual the next morning. Elizabeth was determined that Illya would never see how sad and unhappy she was for him to be leaving. ‘Part of the price,’ she constantly told herself during these moments. He was packing his suitcase and she saw him hold the boutonniere for a second then put it in the compartment with his UNCLE passport and extra clips. Her heart filled because she knew that was where Illya put the things most important to him.
He picked up both their suitcases and quietly shut the door to the bedroom. They heard Napoleon stirring around but Illya motioned her on to the door, clearly not wanting to wait. This time there were other people in the elevator so they simply stood next to each other. She waited for him at the entrance to the restaurant while he put her suitcase in her car. He came back in, handed her the keys, “It’s starting to rain, Elizabeth. Please drive very carefully.”
She smiled at him and they walked to the buffet. As they ate they sneaked glances at each other, and Illya laughed when they finally caught each other. Napoleon came into the restaurant, spotted them and walked over and kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. She smiled up at him and then he walked over to the buffet.
As he sat down, Illya said, “I have put Elizabeth’s suitcase in her car and I have told her that you and I would prefer to take a taxi to the airport.” Napoleon nodded and started eating. Illya got up and went over to the buffet, Elizabeth and Napoleon both smiled at the looks exchanged by one of the servers. “They will certainly remember him,” Elizabeth laughed.
As Illya sat down Elizabeth said, “Well, I won’t be sorry to not come to Lansing, but I do hope you work it out so that we can meet in Chicago every once in a while. Asherton’s not the most cosmopolitan city in the world.”
“I thought you told me it had a vibrant night life,” Napoleon said in mock horror.
“I lied, Napoleon,” Elizabeth deadpanned. “It’s pretty boring unless you like football and hootenannies.”
“Not to mention the two movie theaters,” Illya added.
“Well, I for one can hardly wait.”
A few minutes later Elizabeth sat down her cup down, “Well, I’d better get going.” She rose and they both rose with her. While Illya reached for her coat and purse she hugged Napoleon fiercely. “Take care of yourself; take care of both yourselves,” she whispered and then hugged him again. In a more normal voice she said, “I want to thank you for this weekend. You were a wonderful flower girl.”
“Happy to oblige,” he smiled, then kissed her cheek. Illya helped her into her coat, handed her purse, then told Napoleon he would be back in a few moments. He held her hand as he guided her out of the restaurant. Elizabeth treasured the rule breaking.
Once outside the hotel they were suddenly a little more formal with each other. They had parted before, they both realized, but this time it was clearly a little different. Standing beside the car, they both were hesitant, then Illya said, “Napoleon thinks we might be able to do a ‘Thanksgiving’ here if you would like.”
“Of course I would like. I’ll even learn how to cook it. I’m sure Judith can coach me.”
He glanced up at the sky and then looked at her intently. “I am glad you have a friend, Veyeta. It’s odd, but I think in some ways you are much more isolated than I am.”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. It’s you …” She broke off as he kissed her, then opened the car door.
“Drive carefully. You have made me a very happy man, and I promise not to fret about ‘things.’” He smiled that soft, shy smile, and she fell in love with him all over again.
“Illya Nikolayevich, you and I can handle ‘things.’ I shall hope to see you at Thanksgiving. Now I must go. Please thank Napoleon again for everything.” He touched her cheek and shut the car door.
Pulling on to the main highway she thought, “Well, Mr. Kuryakin, I am going to buy a house and learn to cook turkey.”