The jaws of the officers dropped as they stared, in awe, at Evie, who had dared to talk back to their commander in this extraordinarily saucy way.
“Precisely,” he said in a clipped voice. “It doesn’t bear thinking about what could have happened, especially in times like these. Have you no sense at all, Evie?”
“No, I do not.” She lifted her jaw mulishly. “I have neither sense, nor patience, nor understanding for any ofthis,” she waved at the map on the table, and her overall surroundings, “this nonsense that is currently happening, and I am very, very angry. Oh! You have no idea how angry I am.” She looked around for something, anything to get her hands on, and since there was, alas, no vase conveniently within her reach she could hurl at him, she clenched her hands into fists, so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
She said it with such force that even Georg paused, and the officers took a cautionary step back, so that the two faced each other in the middle of the room.
“What on earth do you have to be so angry about?” he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
“This is beyond the pale. You are truly asking me that, you blockhead?”
Schneider coughed into his fist and retreated strategically, clearly overwhelmed with relief that he was no longer the object of Hartenberg’s attention.
“Indeed, I am.”
“After everything that has happened, or not happened? We were married, in case you have forgotten that tiny detail.” She took a threatening step forward.
“I did not.”
“We had a wedding breakfast.” Another step. Georg held his ground.
“So we did.” That came out after a pause.
“We were supposed to leave for our honeymoon.” She growled and tapped a finger against his chest, between two of his medals.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes. Well. I believe I see now where this is heading.”
“You barely had the decency to bid me goodbye before you left.” She tapped her finger against his chest with every word. “Just like that.”
Some elderly officers tutted and shook their heads at their superior’s grave error.
Georg rubbed his forehead. “In case it has escaped you, I believe something rather unanticipated happened which made it necessary to postpone, err, our honeymoon.”
Evie’s hands trembled at her sides. “I don’t care! Nothing and no one in this world, no Bonaparte, no war, no event, however momentous, is as important as our wedding night!”
There, it was said.
Her words rang in the air and settled into the stunned silence that followed.
A monocle fell, Schneider nearly dropped to his knees, and more than one officer’s mouth fell open.
A muscle jumped in Hartenberg’s cheek.
Then, with a disquieting glint in his eyes, he bent forward and scooped Evie into his arms.
She squealed.
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, it appears my wife and I have some unfinished business to see to.” And with those words he swept her out of the room.
“It wasa good idea you came after all,” Georg finally admitted, a wonderful eternity later, an eternity that had included some more arguing, and tears, but also sweet whispers, bashful laughter, and a good deal else besides.
“Just a good idea?” Evie snuggled into his shoulder.
“A most excellent idea.” He kissed her eyes, her nose and finally, her mouth. “The best idea of the century. My brave and brilliant wife.”
Evie smothered a yawn. “I told you so.”
He rested his head on hers.
