PART 2 — The Message Camille Didn’t Want Read
Evan kept staring at the text.
Then at me.
“Why would she tell me not to mention your rank?”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“You should ask your fiancée.”
His jaw tightened.
“I intend to.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Why are you here, really?”
He lifted the garment bag.
“My dress uniform needed one final adjustment. Your father said you had the drawings and were five minutes from the tailor.”
Another family convenience.
Different packaging.
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Evan hesitated.
“Ma’am—”
“At ease, Captain.”
That made him blink.
Camille had apparently never told me his rank either.
Interesting.
He entered.
My phone was still on the kitchen counter.
Fourteen missed calls.
Mom.
Dad.
Camille.
One voicemail from Dad.
I played it.
“Mara, please don’t make today harder than it needs to be. Just give Evan the drawings and keep things civil.”
Evan heard every word.
His expression changed.
“They really uninvited you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I poured coffee.
“Apparently I’m not classy enough.”
He stared.
“That’s what she said?”
“Among other things.”
His phone buzzed again.
Camille.
This time he answered.
“Hey.”
I could hear her voice immediately.
“Did you get the drawings?”
“No.”
Pause.
“Is Mara there?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Just leave. Please.”
Evan looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because she’s angry and I don’t want drama before the wedding.”
“She’s not angry.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He corrected himself.
“She’s drinking coffee.”
Camille’s voice sharpened.
“Evan.”
“What?”
“Just don’t start asking questions.”
His face hardened.
“What questions?”
Silence.
Then Camille said:
“This is my wedding day.”
Evan replied quietly:
“And apparently I don’t know your sister.”
The call ended.
He stood at my kitchen counter for several seconds.
Then asked:
“Do you know Colonel James Mercer?”
I looked at him.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“I know of him.”
Evan nodded slowly.
“My dad spent twenty-nine years in the Army.”
“I know.”
“He’s talked about you.”
That surprised me.
“What did he say?”
Evan gave a humorless laugh.
“Never your first name.”
He looked at my uniform again.
“He used to mention a Colonel Bennett from Joint Operations.”
I said nothing.
“Afghanistan?”
“Some of it.”
“European Command?”
“Some.”
His expression shifted.
“You were that Bennett.”
I drank my coffee.
“There are several Bennetts.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“My father only talks about one like that.”
At 7:11, headlights swept across my front window.
A black SUV stopped outside.
Evan looked through the blinds.
“That’s my dad.”
I frowned.
“Why is he here?”
Evan checked his phone.
“I texted him.”
Of course he had.
Colonel James Mercer stepped out wearing formal uniform.
He came up the path.
I opened the door.
His eyes found mine.
Then my insignia.
Recognition hit immediately.
“Mara Bennett.”
“Colonel Mercer.”
He smiled once.
“Been a long time.”
Evan stared between us.
“You two actually know each other?”
James looked at his son.
“Know her?”
Then back at me.
His expression changed from warmth to confusion.
“Why aren’t you at the wedding?”
Evan answered before I could.
“She was removed from the guest list.”
James went completely still.
“What?”
I said quietly:
“Apparently I don’t fit the image.”
He looked at Evan.
Then at his phone.
Then back at me.
And for the first time that morning, he looked angry.
Not at me.
At the situation.
Then James said something that made Evan’s face lose color.
“Does Camille know your sister was the officer who signed the recommendation that got me my final command?”
Silence.
I looked at him.
“That was confidential.”
“Not anymore.”
Evan whispered:
“Mara helped your career?”
James nodded.
“More than helped.”
Then he looked toward the road leading to the wedding venue.
“And if Camille deliberately hid this from my family…”
He paused.
“…then I think my son needs to know what else she’s been hiding before he says ‘I do.’”