Chapter 4 - The Pageant Changes
At exactly 7:20 PM, the ambient noise of the ballroom shifted. The quartet stopped playing, and an admiral’s aide in crisp dress whites parted the crowd with purposeful, measured strides.
He didn't look at Helen. He didn't look at Frank.
He stopped directly in front of me, squared his shoulders, and came to a crisp, flawless halt.
"Captain Whitmore," the aide said clearly, his voice carrying easily over the sudden hush of the surrounding guests. "Admiral Mercer is ready for the formal procession. The briefing room is prepared."
Helen’s champagne glass froze halfway to her mouth. The bubbles fizzed quietly against the rim.
"Captain?" she echoed, her voice pitching upward in forced amusement. "Did you say Captain? Oh, how charming. Do you young men just call all the wives 'Captain' tonight as some sort of cute military joke?"
The aide did not smile. He remained completely expressionless, staring straight ahead at the bridge of my nose. "No, ma’am. I address senior officers by their proper rank."
Frank closed his eyes, exhaling a slow, quiet breath of pure vindication.
I unclasped my small evening clutch, pulled out my glass, and handed it directly to my husband.
May you like
"Excuse me," I said, looking smoothly at Helen’s slack-jawed expression. "I need to change."
I turned and walked toward the private VIP staircase leading to the upper officers' suites, leaving Helen standing in a wake of frozen silence.
