He laughed, face red, not neat anymore.
Henry went to the other end of the bar, then came back with more beer. He always had more beer. He must have been made of it.
“I need to get married!” I yelled.
“What?” Henry bellowed.
“I NEED TO GET MARRIED!” I bellowed back. “WILL YOU DO THE HONORS?”
He blinked, slopped his beer over the rim as he laid a hand on my shoulder. “’Course! Ihatefunerals.”
“This calls for whiskey,” Leo said, then he let out a soft, rueful laugh. “Morewhiskey,” he amended.
Relief cut through the fog blanketing my mind. I had a chaplain. I had a priest.
And I would have Inez.
Thank Christ.
I raised my glass and embraced oblivion.
The lobby was quiet by the time we stumbled out of the bar. Leo made it a couple of feet before having to lean against one of the immense granite pillars. My limbs felt loose, but my mind was steeped in a thick haze, making every one of my thoughts hard to grasp.
“He said he was going to do it?” I asked, trying to recall the chaplain’s exact words. He had left an hour ago. Maybe longer. I had stopped looking at the wooden clock inside.
Leo nodded and then winced. “Don’t you remember screaming that you were getting married?”
“What? No.” That would have been extremely stupid—no one was supposed to know of our plans. Anyone could go back to the well-known Ricardo Marqués with the news.
“You were congratulated by nearly everyone inside,” he remarked. I stood a few paces from him, but even so, I could smell the hard liquor on his breath.
Even as the room spun, a feeling of unease rose. I swallowed down the taste of acid coating my tongue. We watched in silence as a parade of patrons exited the bar, some upright, others swaying, and a few who had to be carried out by friends. I was reasonably proud I was having no trouble remaining upright.
“Turn back,” Leo said suddenly, his eyes fixed on a large crowd loitering not ten feet from us.
I instinctively hid behind the pillar, away from the bar entrance. I peered at the group.
“Stop,” Leo hissed.
But it was too late—I’d already seen my former captain. Judging by the way he glared at my friend, it was quite clear he had seen the pair of us drinking—he might have even seen his chaplain with us.
Leo whistled sharply, and I heard several people draw near, laughing, talking loudly. I walked around the pillar, astounded to find my friend surrounded by soldiers. Several of whom had bought me rounds of whiskey. I knew Leo hoped to use their bulk to shield me from the captain’s observant gaze, but it didn’t work.
He approached, and the soldiers straightened, some scampering off to the hotel entrance. His decorated uniform showed off rows of ribbons and brass pins that shone brightly in the candlelight flickering around the room. The captain’s light eyes moved over me, assessing, his lips tight in disapproval. He took in my dusty boots and wrinkled shirt. My too-long hair and the alcohol on my breath.
“Whitford,” he said. “I heard you stopped by the club.”
It seemed best to keep my mouth shut.
“You’re still working for Ricardo,” he said. “Does he know you’re planning on marrying his niece?”
The blood drained from my face.
“I didn’t think so,” he said with a cold smile. “You’re exactly the same, Whitford.” He shook his head, contempt stamped across his stern features. “Your father deserved better.” His attention turned toward Leo, who was still using the pillar to remain standing. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked away, shoulders straight, back stiff.
Thunder roared in my ears. “How did he know it was Ricardo’s niece?”
