Remington Steele smiled and waited for her to continue. Melissa Duvall, a short, bony woman in her late thirties, was obviously nervous, but it wasn't unusual. A lot of people were nervous when it came to hiring a private investigator.

"A friend. An old college friend," Mrs. Duvall continued, for a moment leaving the purse alone. "We studied together at Berkley and lost sight of each other later."

"Certainly, Mrs. Duvall," assured her Remington. "Give us your friend's name and I'll have my associate look into the matter - under my close supervision, of course."

Shooting a murderous look at her husband, Laura added, "It will also help if you tell us whatever else you can remember - her parents' address, for example."

"Or, Mrs. Steele, if it were only that simple," Mrs. Duvall heaved a sigh and continued. "Layne McCall - that's my friend's name - had some terrible fallout with her father after her mother had passed away, so I never knew where her family lived. After we lost contact, I heard she even had her name legally changed, but I don't remember what she changed it to. I wanted to find her myself, but I didn't know where to start."

"Well, it might take some time, but I'm sure we can find the information," Laura assured the upset woman.

"A while ago," the client continued, "I ran into our mutual friend who told me Layne had married in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, all I can remember is that it was in February of eighty-five. I just thought that, even though you don't know her current name, it would be easier to start your search at more recent events."

"Excellent thought," Remington praised the woman. "Surely there would be no problem tracking down someone by the name of Layne."

"Oh, Mr. Steele, but didn't I mention that she had changed her name?" Melissa Duvall asked, frowning.

"Of course you did," he confirmed, slightly confused. "I simply assumed you were talking about her surname."

"Oh, no, no. I'm sure she changed her first name as well as it had something to do with her family history. However," the woman added, seeing the puzzled looks the Steeles exchanged, "she always loved monogrammed clothes. Her entire wardrobe was embroidered with letter "L". I'm sure whatever name she would have chosen would start with "L" as well. Please, Mr. Steele, we are having a reunion next month and Layne is the only one we can't get a hold of."

The client patted her purse again.

"Mrs. Duvall," Laura asked suspiciously, "is something bothering you?"

"How do you mean?"

"You seem to be unusually nervous about your reunion."

"To be honest, Mrs. Steele, Layne and I didn't exactly lose each other after the college. We had an argument, I accused her of... well, it doesn't matter; anyway, we've never seen each other since. A while ago, I learned that I was wrong in my accusations. I just thought this reunion would be a great way for us to get together." Melissa Duvall rose from her chair and added, "Please, Mr. Steele, find Layne. I want to apologize to her."

"Well, Mrs. Duvall, I can assure you that my Agency will do everything in its power to find your friend," Remington stated proudly, escorting the client to the door.

"Laura, it's merely a figure of speech," Remington protested meekly.

"Our Agency would be a figure of speech!" she snapped again. "Ours as opposed to mine! Try to remember it if you don't want to learn another figure of speech."

"What might that be?" Remington inquired warily.

"Community property," Laura replied tersely. "I'll ask Mildred to get the information while you attend the luncheon at the Mayor's."

She was out of the door before he could say anything. Not that he really had anything to say...

Apparently, Tony had kept his word, as Immigration hadn't bothered them anymore. Neither did Tony; Remington knew Laura had had a long talk with him while they had still been in Ireland and they hadn't heard from Mr. Roselli since. He had never asked what they had talked about, allowing Laura her privacy, but he half-expected that she would at least tell him it had been over. He trusted his wife enough to know nothing had happened between her and Tony, but this little secret had been the first brick in a thick wall that was now erected between them.

After Daniel's funeral, they had spent several days in the Ashford Castle. Then it seemed as though all their past differences had been resolved as they had never been so close. Things had changed as soon as they had returned to Los Angeles.

Remington heaved a sigh recalling the events of the last month. Laura was hard to figure out. Surely she wasn't afraid he would leave her anymore. But right after their return she had started building invisible walls between them. Remington had thought she had needed time to adjust to the new side of their relationship and had allowed her to take things at her own pace, but that hadn't seem to resolve anything.

He couldn't blame her completely, though. Despite all his resolve to show Laura how he really felt for her, he knew he hadn't committed to her fully. Well, he had given her as much as he could at the moment, but he knew she wanted more and that was scaring him. He wanted more from their relationship but wasn't ready to give more. Somewhere deep inside he had a nagging feeling that something was wrong and he couldn't quite place it.

She sighed. They had been married for a month and she had gotten used to calling him Remington in public, but she still thought of him as "Mr. Steele." Maybe because deep down she still couldn't believe they were really married.

Upon their return from Ireland they had decided to stay married, partly for the authorities' sake, partly because neither one had really wanted to get a divorce. Since the Immigration seemed to have left them alone, they didn't have to live together anymore. Laura still lived at the loft, but left some of her clothes and toiletries at Remington's place so she could stay for a night every now and then. She rarely did, though. He didn't object to her leaving in the middle of a night, although he had always insisted on taking her home, never suggesting staying at her place, either. Actually, Laura mused, taking her home whenever she wanted to leave was the only thing he had insisted upon since their return. He hadn't even seemed surprised when she had moved her things back to the loft.

Her memory fled back to the last time she saw Tony. Upon his insistence, they had met in a small pub in Dublin. They had talked for several hours. Then, she had told him that her future lay with her husband and asked him to forgive her for leading him on and to forget about her. Then, things had seemed very clear between them. Now, she wasn't so sure where they stood anymore.

When she had returned to the Castle after spending the entire afternoon with Tony, she had expected Remington to confront her, to make her a scene, or to show at least some emotions. Instead, he had simply asked if she was all right and dispensed with the subject. She was aware he had been jealous and at the time she had appreciated him not saying anything about her meeting his rival and allowing her some privacy. However, later she had realized it had become the first brick in a thick wall that was now erected between them.

Everything between them seemed to have come to a stop. Advancing their relationship took talking it over; something Remington had always been opposed to doing and Laura was afraid to start. Breaking up needed some passion and sometimes Laura thought that maybe neither of them cared enough to fight anymore.

They worked side by side, had dinner several times a week, went out to a movie, and reminded Laura of some old couples that had outlived any feelings they had once had for each other and only stayed together for lack of better options.

Laura sighed again and tried to concentrate on the case. It was amazing how many couples had chosen Las Vegas to join in holy matrimony. She would have to ask Mildred to run a trace on everybody who matched Layne McCall's age bracket, but first it was worth looking at the records just it to see if anything stood out.

Suddenly Laura's finger faltered over one of the lines. Something most definitely stood out. She shook her head and blinked a couple of times, but the line was still there. Black letters clearly read, "Remington Steele and Laura Holt."

"N-no," Laura said uncertainly. It'd been a good fifteen minutes since she'd found the record, but she was still staring blankly at the printout, trying to digest the information.

"Are you all right?" he asked, walking into her office.

"Sure. Just tired," Laura said trying to get a grip on herself. She was not about to share her stunning revelation with her husband. "How was the luncheon?"

"Boring, as usual. At least it's a comfort to know that in a couple of hours we can call it a week... Laura, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

It was the genuine concern in his voice that prompted her to change her mind. "That's what's wrong," she said, pointing her finger to the marriage record in their names.

Remington's face went pale. He put his palm over Laura's hand and said desperately, "Laura, I know things could have been better since we got back from Ireland, but I thought we'd agreed to give it a fair try. Isn't it a little bit premature for such drastic conclusions?"

"Look at the date, Sherlock."

"February 8, 1985?" he read in disbelief. "How can it be? We weren't even there in February..."

"Weren't we? Eddie Grogan? Norman Keyes? Remember?"

Remington closed his eyes as his memories fled back to that case - paste jewelry, Laura's fantastic streak at the craps table, and him as Reggie Whitewood. Upon the conclusion of the case Mildred had told them she was going off to cry somewhere and he and Laura had decided to go back to the suite and celebrate the fiasco. Much to their dismay, their ridiculously expensive Presidential suite could only offer an inferior champagne label and, given their mood, they had settled for a shot of good old whiskey. Apparently, there had been more shots to follow since the next morning had found Remington waking atop a comforter with a hell of a hangover and no recollection of the previous night. Laura, whom he had found in the living room with a glass of water and a sour expression on her face, had seemed to be in a similar state. So they had packed their things and left for the airport, never discussing the case or that night since.

"Laura, you don't suppose we..." he motioned his hand toward the marriage records.

"It appears we did," Laura confirmed calmly.

"Don't you remember?" he asked, still trying to absorb the information.

"Well, what about yourself?" she retorted.

"I was as drunk as a lord," he said defensively. "You know I don't remember a thing when I'm drunk."

"It seems I was pretty much in the same predicament," she admitted.

"How to Murder Your Wife," Remington said suddenly. "Jack Lemmon, Virni Lisi, United Artists, 1965. At a bachelor party for a friend, Lemmon's character gets drunk, wakes up married to an Italian woman who speaks nearly no English, and..."

"And?" Laura prompted.

"...And spends the rest of the film devising ways to kill her. It's only a movie, Laura." Suddenly Remington broke into a wide grin and added, "You don't suppose we had a wedding night, too?"

"I don't see how that would make a difference now," Laura retorted, irritated by her flippant partner.

"I guess not," he said, not taken aback by the cold tone of her voice. "I wonder which one of us proposed."

His humor was completely lost on Laura, though.

"Surely you don't imply that I asked you!" she shot angrily.

"Laura, a little levity. It's not the end of the world, you know. After all, we are married anyway."

"On the other hand," she continued, not even hearing what he was saying, "maybe it was me. Somebody had to and we know you would have never asked."

"Well, what's the point of asking if I knew you would have never married me anyway?!" he said raising his voice.

"Damned right I wouldn't!" Laura yelled, standing face-to-face against him.

Her breath swept a strand of hair from his forehead, suddenly reminding him of their fight in the Sensitivity Spa. Then, he had just left the room allowing them both to cool off. He felt the urge to do the same again, but tried to get a grip on himself.

"Laura," he said firmly, "let's take a break."

"What?" she asked, taken aback by his suddenly calm voice.

"Let's stop before we say something else we're going to regret. It's all very unexpected; I need some time alone. I'll see you later."

Giving her a quick peck on the cheek, he left the office before she could stop him.

Remington was not the only one who needed some time alone. Her thoughts went back to that night in Las Vegas over and over again. She really didn't remember much of it, either. Just a long walk down the neon-lit streets, a bottle of whiskey in their suite, and waking up completely dressed sans shoes in the arms of a similarly attired Remington Steele. Embarrassed, she had quietly slipped from his embrace and went to the living room for a glass of water. He'd soon awakened and joined her, but he'd never found out she'd spent the night in his arms.

Laura knew nothing had happened between then that night, but now she wouldn't worry even if it had. Even the thought of having being legally married to him for so long didn't greatly disturb her. What was really eating at her guts was that she had no idea how he felt about it.

Lately, he had been standoffish. Laura could see something had been troubling him, but he had never wanted to talk about it. Sometimes, Laura had thought she should have simply asked him, but knowing the problem lay in their marriage and being afraid of the answer, she had just waited for her husband to deal with his demons on his own.

She couldn't understand Remington's reaction to the news. Surely he couldn't have been upset over finding out he had been married to his wife for longer than he'd believed. She smiled, remembering his reaction when he'd assumed she had been unhappy about their marriage. Maybe things weren't as bad as they sometimes had seemed.

Tossing and turning alone in her bed, Laura finally succumbed to an uneasy slumber in the wee hours of the morning.

Laura groggily got up and rushed to the door thinking that if Remington's banging at her door hadn't woken up the neighbors by now, then his voice had surely done the job.

"You're going to get me evicted!" she hissed, dragging him inside the loft.

"Perfect! You could live with me and good-bye stairs!"

"Aren't we chipper," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's late. Early. I don't know; I need to talk to you," he said, his voice suddenly serious.

Laura simply motioned toward the couch saying, "I'll make us some coffee."

"No. No coffee," he stopped he grabbing her hand. "I need you to know something. I though a lot about what happened and I realized I'm glad we got married in Las Vegas."

Laura's face told him she was completely lost, so he continued, "I know things weren't right last month. I wanted to make a full commitment to you, but I couldn't. Something was wrong; something was out of place. I couldn't be the husband you deserved because, deep down, I felt as though I'd forced myself on you - and I hated myself for it. And suddenly, last night, everything became clear."

"Are you saying things are different because you know our marriage is legal?" Laura asked in disbelief.

"No, it's not that at all. Frankly, I don't care one way or the other," he paused, unsure if his honesty hurt her.

"What is it then?" Laura prompted.

"It heartens me to know that somewhere down the road we did it on our own free will, without ulterior motives, simply because some... substance had lowered our inhibitions. It doesn't matter whose idea it was because, apparently, we both felt the same way."

He pulled her close. Overwhelmed, Laura hid her face in his chest and whispered, "I only wish I could remember our wedding."

"Get dressed," he suddenly ordered. "We'll buy tickets at the airport."

"Tickets?"

"We are going to Las Vegas."

"Does it ring any bells?" Laura asked impatiently.

"Laura, bad puns should be grounds for divorce in the state of California... But actually... Of course! Wedding Bells, Fred Astaire, Jane Powell, MGM, 1951." Oblivious to Laura's incredulous look, he added, "It was distributed in the States as Royal Wedding."

"Let me guess," Laura snapped angrily, "A woman gets drunk, marries a con artist, and spends the rest of the film strangling him to death."

"Actually, Fred Astaire and Jane Powell played siblings..." Laura growled and he added quickly, "Laura, I swear to you I've never set foot in this place."

"Well, at least it's close to the hotel," she said, heaving a sigh.

Finally, Remington asked worriedly, "Anything seems familiar?"

"No," Laura said slowly. "You?"

"Much in the same predicament."

"Hello. Can I help you?" a soft voice said behind them.

Turning around, they found themselves face-to-face with a short, stocky man in his late forties with a scraggly mustache and shrewd eyes. Smiling, he added, "Jonathan Carroll. Am I correct in assuming you came here to get married?"

"No," Laura said quickly. Noticing that her remark made Remington cringe, she clarified, "We are married already."

"Oh. Sorry, my mistake. Normally I can tell right away. So, what can I do for you, then?"

"Actually," Remington explained, "we got married in this chapel during our last visit to Vegas and just wanted to, uh, refresh our memories, so to speak. With your permission, of course."

"Please, by all means, take a look around. It probably was quite some time ago."

"What makes you think so?" Laura asked warily.

"Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't forget such a lovely couple soon," the minister answered with a quick bow toward her.

"February 1985," Remington supplied.

"Yes, February 8," Laura added, putting her arm through his.

The stocky minister frowned. "February, 1985?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Did I hear you right?"

"Yes. Why?" Laura asked suspiciously.

"You must be in a wrong chapel, then. We were closed at that time."

"Okay, buster," she ordered. "Out with it."

"What? Laura, surely you don't think..."

"Well, what else should I think? This is right up your alley."

Remington put his hands on Laura's shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. After a long pause, he said quietly, "Laura, I know I've put you through a lot. But do you really think I'd do something like that after this... after my..."

"Your escapade?" she supplied.

"Our wedding," he corrected.

She returned his stare and admitted slowly, "I'm sorry. I just assumed..."

He nodded and asked her quietly, "Do you understand what it means?"

"That we're still not legally married? It's okay," she tried to reassure him. "I don't mind, either."

"Come here," he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her slender frame as though trying to completely envelop her and to find strength and comfort in the embrace. Suddenly, he let her go and gave a quick kiss on the forehead, saying, "Don't go anywhere."

He went to the opposite end of the room where the minister was tactfully busing himself with some books and stated, "We would like to get married."

"I beg you pardon?" the minister asked, putting down the book and looking up at Remington.

From her vantage point by the window a dazed Laura watched as Remington, armed with his most charming, most cunning smile, told the minister about having eloped a few weeks earlier, getting married on a fishing boat, and now wanting to renew their vows in more worthy surroundings, which was precisely that very chapel. He kept going on and on how they hadn't been comfortable admitting it at first, hence making up a nonexistent wedding, and how they had just fallen in love with the place from the very start until finally the suspicious minister gave up and said, "I would need to see a copy of your marriage certificate and photo IDs, then we can dispense with formalities."

Laura didn't stir even when her husband walked up to her, took the driver's license from her purse, and hung it back on her shoulder as if she were a coat rack. She acted like a coat rack, indeed, merely watching him go back to the minister and pull their marriage license and his passport from his coat pocket. Both men kept talking about something, then Remington signed some papers, but she only regained her composure when the minister was gone and Remington returned to her.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked before he could say anything.

"Why, Laura, getting married, of course."

"Again? And to whom are you getting married this time, may I ask?"

"But Laura, I thought you..."

"You thought what? That you'll just decide to get married and that'd be it? That's all I get? You're not going to drop on your knee, ask for my hand and my heart; there'll be no flowers, no candles..." Laura stumbled thinking of other attributes of a perfect proposal.

"Do you really want me to be that predictable?" he murmured, lifting his eyebrow and wrapping is arm around her shoulders.

That stopped Laura's train of thought. "No, I guess not," she said quietly after a momentary contemplation.

"I'm incorrigible," he husband said, breaking into a wide smile. "Come on, I can call Abigail and ask her permission if it would make you happy."

"Well, aren't you even going to ask me?"

He turned her in his arms and looked straight at her, saying, "I would have asked you... if I weren't sure you would have agreed."

In reply, she slowly pulled his head down into a kiss.

Behind them, the minister cleared his throat and said apologetically, "We haven't reached that particular part yet, but if you're ready to begin the ceremony, it won't take long."

Remington offered his hand to Laura, who mischievously murmured, "I wonder if we can get a honeymoon suite on such short notice..."

"Why, Laura, I never thought I'd live to hear you say it!" Remington teased.

"You didn't, did you?" She traced his lapel with her finger and said, "It was better than Ireland."

"We'll make sure it lasts this time," he said, gently wrapping his arm around her waist.

Normally opposed to displays of public affection, not only didn't Laura protest, she even leaned into him as they walked into the elevator.

"One thing puzzles me, though," he admitted. "Whom do you think we have to blame for that marriage record?"

"We are going to find that out very, very soon," she replied with a dangerous smile.

"You don't suppose...?"

"Just follow my lead," she ordered as the elevator door opened on the eleventh floor.

"Good morning, honey."

Laura walked past Mildred's desk, then stopped abruptly, turned around and said, "Mildred, I need to look at the information you printed out for me on Friday."

"What information, Mrs. Steele?"

"The information on the couples that were married in Las Vegas."

"I gave it to you on Friday," the older woman reminded her.

"I know that, Mildred," Laura said, taking a step toward the receptionist's desk. "Unfortunately, I left it at the loft, so would you, please, just pull it on the screen, there is something I need to look at."

"And while at it, would you run a check on our client as well?" Remington added, slipping into the office unnoticed.

His voice startled Mildred. "Our client?" she repeated, turning toward him. "B-but what do you want to know, Boss?"

"Everything you can find," he said insinuatingly. "Her address, education, marital status, tax bracket, names of her pets and friends..."

"We suspect there is some major fraud going down," Laura added from the other side of the desk.

"What kind of fraud?" Mildred asked in shaky voice, turning toward Laura.

"Fake marriage licenses," Laura stated firmly. "Possibly even more. Once we've confirmed our suspicions, we should inform the police right away."

"FBI, Laura, FBI," Remington corrected causing Mildred to cast him a scared look. "The matter is too serious for the police to handle."

"You're right, Mr. Steele, tampering with marriage records is a federal offence," Laura picked up without missing a beat.

Not at all happy with the innuendo, Remington quickly decided to change the course of the conversation. "By the way," he said thoughtfully, "I think I'd seen our client before."

"Oh, Boss, you don't mean she is wanted in connection with some crime," Mildred mustered.

"No, no, I don't think so. She reminded me of somebody... one of the Dragon Ladies, perhaps?"

"She is Hazel's daughter," Mildred admitted meekly.

The revelation caused Laura, who had missed the resemblance, to shoot a surprised look at her husband. Quickly recovering, she charged at Mildred again, "What were you thinking, tampering with official records, interfering with our personal life, making up cases..."

"Miss Holt... Mrs. Steele, I didn't tamper with anything!" Mildred exclaimed defensively.

"Mildred, that printout with my and Mr. Steele's names in it is still in my office!"

"Well, I pulled up the information, saved it in a file, and added one more line," Mildred explained. "It's not really a fraud, is it?"

"But why did you do it?" asked Remington.

"Oh, the last month you two looked like a pair of zombies. You didn't even fight anymore! I thought you could use something to wake you up... a good clonk on the head, so to speak."

"So you decided to persuade us we were married?" Remington asked in disbelief.

"I thought it would be a push in the right direction," Mildred admitted. "Are you mad at me?"

"We'll talk about it later," Laura said, going into her office.

"Mr. Steele, I was only trying to help," Mildred pleaded.

"An admirable intention, Mildred, but I told you once that some things should be sorted out between Laura and me."

"I'm sorry."

"What made you think Laura and I would even believe that we had gotten married two years ago?"

"Oh, Mr. Steele, that morning after the case was over, I stopped by to say good-bye to you and Miss Holt; the bedroom door was open and you looked so right sleeping in each other's arms, so I thought it was such a pity you couldn't get past your differences. And I knew you both were dead drunk because I saw the empty whiskey bottle, so I decided it was worth a try... Did I screw up everything?"

"You could, Mildred. You could." Seeing how close she was to tears, he gave her a peck on the cheek and then asked suddenly, "In each other's arms, eh?"

Upon seeing her surprised look, he quickly said, "Never mind. Just don't forget to check the marriage records."

"What for, Boss?"

"For last Saturday," he said, disappearing behind the door to Laura's office.

"You know," Laura replied, "you should have married her. You two would have made a hell of a couple."

Remington's face split from ear to ear. "I knew it the moment I saw her in Acapulco," he said. "Although I'm sure she learned a few tricks from the master along the road. So, what shall we do with her - fire her or give her a raise?"

"We'll give her a bonus," Laura decided. "A one-time bonus with a last-time warning - no more tricks."

She pulled Remington close by his tie and, when their lips were about to touch, added, "Incidentally, it applies to you, too, Mr. Steele."

The End