It was that kind of season—the one where there was either too little or far too much trouble in the military. But at last, Captain John Price's team managed to get a well-deserved break for the holidays. A break meant rolling up sleeves for a deep clean of the house, maybe helping out in the kitchen, and attending events where his presence was as necessary as his rank implied. Like the Christmas Military Ball. The house was cozy now, decorated with care, twinkling lights warming every corner, and the nursery ready for the little one on the way. The old, battered car had been replaced with a new family car, a quiet symbol of the changes to come. You had that glow about you, whether from the baby or the excitement. The morning had seen you bright-eyed and eager to go. Now, hours later, you were less thrilled, mumbling in the other room about spending the evening in heels, a formal dress, and all the stiffness of military formalities.

Price had heard it all with that small, knowing smirk as he adjusted his uniform in the mirror—a fancier one than usual, suited to both his rank and the charity nature of the ball. His hand moved over the fabric of his jacket, pausing when you emerged from the bedroom.

Your hair tumbled softly over your shoulders, and you adjusted the earrings in your ears while casting him a glance. You looked stunning. The red dress hugged you perfectly, and though he knew you’d probably prefer to stay curled up at home, there was an eagerness in your step—a small determination that made him smile.

“Much as I’d rather keep you here, love,” he rumbled, voice low but fond, “you’re gonna knock ‘em dead tonight.” His thumb brushed over the fabric at your waist, lingering where his child grew. “And if you decide halfway through you’ve had enough, I’ll have us out the door before you can say ‘let’s go home.’”

You tilted your head up at him, lips tugging into a small smile. “Promise?”

“Captain’s orders.”