They catch the high-speed train to the border and cross over into hot, dusty Mexico. Compared to Seacouver's quaint market district, Revolucion Avenue is the third world. Cars jam every available inch of asphalt. Music pumps from the open windows of bars and strip clubs. Strangers jostle Tessa at every turn. The harbor cruise would have been nicer. "Let's get a drink," Duncan says. Yes. Alcohol will help. They duck into a dark club that smells like beer, rancid oil and charred beef. Tessa downs something blue and fruity. At the next place, she finishes something pink and icy. Amidst thousands of other tourists, they wander in search of cheap trinkets - postcards, a shot glass for Jonathan, a refrigerator magnet for back home. Tessa doesn't even like refrigerator magnets, but she feels giddy and the cute donkey with the sombrero is too cute to pass up. The heat of the day burns her and the air pollution clogs her throat, but she is young and carefree again, a bikini girl. She knows if they go into a club and some man makes unwanted advances, Duncan will defend her. She doesn't want his protection, but she enjoys the thought anyway. They eat dinner in a restaurant courtyard - nachos and salsa and enchiladas washed down by tequila. Duncan's phone rings again. Jonathan has another question. "Tell him to close the store and go home," Tessa orders. They dance at a loud discotheque. She clings to Duncan, grinds against him, tosses her hair in intriguing ways. "I don't think you want anything more to drink," Duncan says. "You're going to have a hangover in the morning." "I'm fine." She's more relieved than drunk. In four or five hours the clock hands will cross into midnight, and though she'll still be fifty years old, at least there won't be daily reminders. The deejay announces Oldies Night and starts playing songs from her college years. "Let's go," she tells Duncan. He goes to the use the restroom first. He's gone a long time. Tessa goes in search of him and pushes her way past lithe girls in leather skirts, young girls with bright lips. She sees Duncan by the pay phones, caught up in conversation with a pretty Mexican senorita. His head is bowed as he listens closely. The girl sees Tessa, smiles uneasily, steps away. Duncan returns to her. "Ready?" "Ready," she says, and leads the way outside. Duncan insists on stopping at each of the next four stores. Night has brought cooler temperatures, although she barely notices. He buys her a blue shawl, but she doesn't like the brush of it against her skin. She doesn't like his hand on her arm, either. Duncan doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't stop chatting all the way back to the border train, but his talk is meaningless - this and that, that and this, not a word about the Mexican girl. Because of his dawdling, they have to wait fifteen minutes for the next departure. Still he doesn't hush. "I have a headache," she finally says when they board the train. "Let's just be quiet and look at the sights." There aren't any sights to see. The landscape is dark in all directions, except for a ribbon of car lights on the highway that runs back up to San Diego. Tessa can smell the girl's perfume on Duncan's clothes, but the bright kernel of anger in her has faded to sadness. If his eye was going to stray, he could have at least waited until tomorrow. A cab takes them from the train back to the Del. "Let's go for a walk along the water," he proposes. "I'm too tired." "But the moon is out - " Tessa walks past him into the vaulted lobby. Burnished wood, golden railings and plush rugs signal the hotel's opulence and glorious past. Jazz music floats out of the crowded ballroom. She foregoes the line at the ancient elevators and heads up the twisting main staircase instead. Duncan stays at her heels. "Tessa, wait up - there's something I have to tell you - " She turns to him on the second floor landing. "What? What do you need to tell me?" He is pale beneath his tan. "I'm sorry - " She folds her arms. " - I wanted to do this earlier," he finishes, and goes to one knee. Tessa puts a hand to her mouth. Duncan on one knee. That can only mean - oh, no. Oh, yes. The fifty-year-old princess is about to be asked for her hand in marriage. "Marry me, Tessa," he says. His upturned face is earnest and sincere. "It's been fifteen years since the last time I asked you, and that's fifteen years too long." Tessa doesn't answer right away. Her scars ache. Are they both tempting fate? She can lively happily ever after without a piece of paper to prove their commitment to one another. She feels like hot and cold, caught in a spotlight, standing on the edge of a cliff. The Mexican girl means nothing. Self-pity lifts from her shoulders. Still, she must be certain. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Last time . . . " "Last time was nothing more than bad luck," he says. He grips her hand tightly. "Will you marry me?" As if there was any doubt. "Yes," she says, and before she can take her next breath she is locked in his arms and swinging through the air. Duncan twirls her twice before setting her down and kissing her so thoroughly she can feel it from lips to hips to toes. Dimly she hears familiar voices. "That's a relief," one of them says. "I'd hate to think we've been running around all day for nothing." Tessa opens her eyes. Connor MacLeod and Richie Ryan stand just a few feet away, smug looks on their faces. Connor is wearing a gaudy Tijuana T-shirt. Richie's nose is sunburned. Behind Richie stands the Mexican girl from the bar. "What are you doing here?" Tessa demands. "We came to see you get married," Connor says. "Although it was touch and go for awhile." "First he was going to propose in the courtyard, but you didn't want to go for a walk after breakfast," Richie complains. "Then he was going to propose on the cruise, but you decide to go do tequila shots. Oh, hey, by the way - this is CeCe. You haven't been formally introduced." "Nice to meet you." CeCe smiles, then shyly hides her face against Richie's shoulder. Tessa turns to Duncan. "I can't believe you were so sure of yourself." Duncan laughs. "I wasn't so sure at the end." "At least you don't have to go call fifty people and tell them not to show up tomorrow," Richie says. "Tomorrow?" Tessa feels a little dizzy. "We're getting married tomorrow?" "If it's all right with you," Duncan says. "Who's coming?" "Our friends from Seacouver, your niece, Joe Dawson - " More romantic than some cheap chapel in Vegas, she supposes. Much more romantic. This might, in fact, be the most romantic thing he's ever done. She teases him anyway. "How can I get married tomorrow?" Tessa asks. "I have nothing to wear." "You underestimate us," Connor says. Connor and Richie have been busy. In the turret room, champagne and more flowers. Hanging on the back of the door is a gown Tessa has seen only a few times over the last fifty years. The lace is old but clean, the stitching immaculate. She runs her fingers over her mother's wedding dress and blinks back tears. "Something borrowed," Richie says. The new camera, the old locket, the blue shawl - Tessa dabs her eyes. "What time tomorrow?" Duncan takes her hands. "Whenever you want. I rented the gazebo all day." "I want to do it now." Duncan doesn't understand. "Now? It won't be legal. And there's no one to officiate." Tessa kisses his cheek. "We'll do it now and do it again tomorrow." Connor, a former ship's captain, will perform the ceremony. Richie will be best man and CeCe the maid of honor. CeCe helps Tessa pin up her hair and don her mother's dress. The white shoes they bought her are pretty but tight, and she refuses to get married with pinched toes. Slippers get her to the lobby and bare feet carry her outside. The hotel is awash with silver and gold light but the gardens are darker, and the moon guides her way. Music drifts from the ballroom, accompanied by the roll and wash of the ocean. The gazebo blurs in her vision, but she can see Duncan. Her handsome, dashing prince. She is twenty-one again, and they have just met on a boat on the Seine. She is eighty, and he is at her side. She is thirty-two, fighting for her life in an operating room. She is five, tucked in her pink bed and listening to her mother tell fairy tales. She is exactly as old as she feels, and right now she feels like she will live forever. She has never been more beautiful, more happy, more loved. The five of them stand beneath the flower-draped gazebo. Connor asks, "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, do you take this woman to be your wife?" Duncan squeezes her hand. His voice comes out husky. "I do." "And do you take this man to be your husband?" Connor asks Tessa. "I do," she says. She is fifty years old. Today is her birthday. THE END