A Midnight Clear by Emma Barry & Genevieve Turner Page A

hers. Respectfully, since they were in a church, but with a hint of what she could expect this wedding night.
    The wedding night…
    Joe broke off the kiss before he could go too far down that path and gazed down at his blushing bride, who was also grinning from ear-to-ear. She was a vision in deep ivory, lace covering her shoulders and arms, seed pearls studding the blonde curls pinned atop her head.
    He rubbed his thumb over the thin gold band he’d just placed on her finger, his own ring a reassuring weight on his hand. “Enjoying yourself?” he said to her, too low for the chaplain to hear.
    “Yes.” Pitched only for him. Even in the middle of hundreds of guests assembled in the Naval Academy chapel, this moment was painfully, pleasurably intimate.  
    But for now—“Ready to face them all?”
    She settled her face into more dignified lines. “I am.”
    They turned as one to face the congregation. The chaplain boomed, “I present to you Ensign and Mrs. Joseph Reynolds.”
    The cheers surrounded them, wrapped them in the warmth of everyone’s regard. He tightened his hand on hers, feeling as if his face might split with his smile. They marched down the aisle stride for stride.  
    They reached the chapel doors and came out into the July sunshine, the Yard glowing green before them. He squeezed her hand once more and the smile she gave him was dazzling. His wife. He could hardly believe it, even now.  
    The ushers were lined up and waiting for them. The admiral, as the ranking officer, commanded, “Draw swords.”
    Eight blades flashed as they were unsheathed, and then chimed against each other as the men formed the arch. Joe led his bride through them, past his brother officers as they saluted him and Frances on this special day. As they reached the last set of ushers, the officers lowered their swords to halt them.  
    “Welcome aboard, Ensign and Mrs. Reynolds,” Steven announced, barely suppressing his grin.
    The swords lifted once more and they stepped through, into the crowd of guests still cheering for them. Joe knew that no matter what the future brought, they would face it—together.

    A bride wasn’t supposed to spend her wedding night in the bathroom.
    But Frances found that opening the door and greeting Joe—her husband, a title that creaked in its newness—in only her nightclothes was beyond her at the moment. She had to, she knew, but… but not yet.
    The train whistle sounded as if from far away and the carriage gently swayed. It ought to be soothing, the sounds and motions of the train, but the atmosphere couldn’t penetrate the shell of her anxiety.
    She rubbed her arms and the thin silk of her dressing gown slithered across her skin. The set had been a gift from Suzanne. Frances appreciated the gesture, but the ivory silk made her feel as if she were wearing someone else’s clothes. Usually she went in for white cotton, or flannel if it was cold.
    Joe might expect her to wear things like this though. She had no idea. She missed her mother’s guidance more than ever, because even now Joe was waiting on the other side of that door while she pondered her sleepwear.  
    What did he wear to bed? She stared at the doorknob, her fingers sinking into her upper arms. She was going to find out. Tonight. Almost this instant.
    She swallowed down a lump. All right. Time to be brave. Not that she was scared exactly—more like nervous. About-to-vibrate-out-of-her-skin nervous.  
    Joe probably wasn’t nervous. No doubt he’d done this before and was simply impatient.
    She shivered at the thought. She didn’t like the idea of Joe touching, let alone kissing, let alone doing that ,with someone else. So, like Juliet, she was going to stay that mansion of love that had been bought and not yet possessed for a bit longer.
    She concentrated on the train’s clacketa-clacketa-clacketa for a few beats.
    No. Enough of this! Lurking about in the bathroom was only making things worse. It was time to be a