All hail the server complex. Long may his algorithms reign.
Jackson’s smile had relaxed into an easy, natural grin by then. He chatted with other couples about our wedding day, which I hadn’t ever heard him detail to anyone not related by blood. When one man mentioned hownervoushe’d been, Jackson confessed he’d been nervous, too, but look how well it had come out! He’d netted himself one hell of a husband, and he’d wrapped an arm around my shoulders so I’d lean my head against him.
I felt like I’d finallyarrived, with him. Like whatever walls remained between us could crumble down now, and the armor would fall away so I could openly love the man beneath it.
Which was when the anvil fell from on high to pummel us back down to Earth.
I’d seen the looks as Jackson and I circulated. Not many. Not malicious. An occasional glance, a raised eyebrow, and a sudden conversation while eyes darted in our direction. My fear had been that a soldier who’d served during Jackson’s deployment might have heard what happened with leaving the wounded behind and spread a rumor.
A rumor had gone around, all right, but not that one. I caught another of those sudden conversations out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a bunch of civilian spouses gossiping while their military counterparts raided the buffet. When I turned my head, my gaze locked with one of those involved. I saw his resolve firm up, and cussed to myself when he strode over to us.
“You’re Sebastian Hendrick, right?” he said to me.
I shook my head. “I’m Sebastian Sadler. Used to be Hendrick, though, before I got married.”
Faint annoyance flashed over his face before he said, “So you’re the guy. The accidental husband.”
Terrific.
We had a few problems pissing in our breakfast cereal there. The first one, I covered way back when I started talking. I always meant to be a husband! That was semantics, though, and secondary to the next problem. Mail Call Mates promises the most rigorous privacy standards in their matches, and legal ramifications for any employee with loose lips. No one will forget the court case in the early days of Mail Call matches, when a personal assistant blabbed about a partnership and found himself in a very public, very brutal trial.
The details of our match should not have made it past the doors of Mail Call’s posh offices. I knew Jackson hadn’t mentioned the issue to the others on his flight. We should not have had them thrown in our faces at a mixer, or anywhere else, because no one should have known.
Jackson turned into a pillar of taut muscle and unhappiness. I put my hand on his arm and leveled my best unhappy-teacher stare on our unwanted questioner. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what you mean.”
The man dug in. “Your match was a mess-up, wasn’t it? You put in for a woman and got a man instead? That had to be a shocker, right?”
Reporter? Curious asshole? I wasn’t sure. “I put in to have a match made for me. One was. Why do you think that was shocking?”
“Um. I mean, you know.” The first hints of self-awareness seeped into the man’s expression. “You expected a woman. You got a man. That’s got to be weird in the bedroom. Unless you’re waiting to stoptakingand startgivingwhen he’s deployed, if you know what I’m talking about.”
I just kept staring with laser focus on the shitheel in front of me. A crowd had started to coagulate, and I didn’t want to look at them anyway. “Are you asking about what happens in my bedroom? Is that a usual conversation you have with strangers you’ve just met?”
Nervous laughter. “Well, I mean, expecting to have- You wanted a woman, and now you’re- You have to admit-”
“No. I don’t.” I cut the stammering off. “I especially don’t have to admitanythingto a rude stranger who feels it’s appropriate to insinuate that I’d cheat on my husband when he’s gone. Or to ask about intimacy with the man I married. Unless you’re a pervert as well as rude, and you were hoping for details about how I suck my husband’s cock. Is that what you were hoping for?”
Both hands flew up to stave me off. “No. I was just-”
“Is that your new wife over there? I recognize that medal. She’s one of our frontline battle armor bearers, isn’t she?” I pointed, as conspicuously as I could manage, toward a woman with a death glare and a formal military uniform. “Shall we tell her about your interest in my relations with my husband?”
“I’m not married!” He flailed to try to erase that notion. “She’s my sister. She brought me as her plus-one, because one of her soldiers was supposed to marry one of the people here, but the soldier died, and my sister wanted to talk to the widower, and I wanted to see what it’s like before I sign up, and then I heard about you and…”
I let him ramble for several seconds before I stopped him. Already, his sister had started to excuse herself from her conversation, and I think everyone knew this gibbering shitmonger had a lifespan of minutes at most. That woman meant him grievous harm.
I wondered if she’d sell tickets to the beating. I’d buy one.
“Where did you hear about it?” I asked. “Because what you heard is wrong. This is my husband. He is perfect for me.”
“I-”
“You have insulted my marriage. You have upset my husband. Your sister is five feet away and closing. Where did you hear about my marriage being an ‘accident’?”
His head sunk into the neck of his tuxedo like a turtle who needed Viagra. “There’s rumors all over in here tonight. I don’t know where they started. I’ve just heard that one of the matches in this group was a computer error, and some guy ended up with another dude by mistake.”
Damn it. I’d hoped for a source. Instead, I had to console myself with the look on his sister’s face as she slammed her hand down on her brother’s shoulder. “Kevin. What are you doing? Are you bothering the Sergeant and his husband?”
“No?” Kevin attempted.