The General’s Dinner Job

They were lazing on the lagoon one morning when Eliot’s phone rang. Ophelia barely noticed; she had been napping half in the shade on the pier in the middle of their lagoon for hours. Devil, being the furriest of them, was completely in the shade. Eliot had been reading Ophelia’s latest book again.

After a short trial period, Ophelia decided a small tent was in order for the pier so that Devil wouldn’t get heat stroke while also having a place with cool fresh water. Eliot thought that idea made perfect sense, and listened to the plan she devised for getting everything out there. It was a solid plan, as long as there wasn’t an excited, super helpful German Shepherd in the way. They had both ended up sunburned and ingesting far more seawater than either of them would have preferred, but Devil loved his watery digs.

“Spencer! Do you like the place?” General Flores asked. They had been in it more than a week, so he felt they were more than likely settled in.

“We love it, sir. I’m positive Phee is measuring for drapes. When she’s up there, I mean. It’s hard to drag her out of the cabin even for lunch.”

“Good morning, General,” she said jovially and without waking entirely up.

“Good morning, Miss Ophelia!” he returned. “Spencer, I have called to invite you all to dinner. My wife insists you must bring nothing except Devil with you, and please enjoy a night of our company.”

“I speak for Ophelia when I saw we’d be glad to, sir. Although I’d also be glad to cook if your wife would like to take the night off.”

“Maria will not hear of it,” he insisted. “You can also meet my sons, my daughters, and my new grandson. I have been instructed to ask whether next Friday is convenient for you all. I am the leader of the military, you understand. I cannot be trusted with the planning of a dinner. This task is more than I should handle.”

“I believe I understand, sir,” Eliot commiserated. “We’ll see you next Friday evening.”

“Ask can we bring anything,” Ophelia murmured.

“And Ophelia says can we bring anything.”

“This would be the horror to end all horrors, I have been assured,” General Flores laughed. “I appreciate her offer, but would rather face a firing squad.”

“He says no thank you,” Eliot replied to Ophelia, knowing that this conversation would not end here.

“I knew you would understand this, Spencer. We will see you at 7. Tell Devil I look forward to seeing him as well.”

Devil, who could hear perfectly well when he wanted to, thumped his tail on the deck.

“We’re very excited, sir.”

After a few more pleasantries, Eliot hung up and tossed the phone back in the cooler. They had decided early on that they needed to be able to take things to and from the deck without getting them wet, so Ophelia located a small cooler that would hold things such as books and cell phones and bottled water that was also buoyant enough to float them across the lagoon. She liked to be sure everyone was well hydrated since they spent a good deal of every day out in the sun.

When the sun started to climb in earnest, everyone headed back inside for lunch, with Devil enthusiastically leading the way. He loved swimming nearly as much as he loved a midday snackum, which Eliot always thoughtfully provided.

Ophelia came out of the bedroom, having showered off the saltwater and the sand, rubbing her hair with a towel and wearing Eliot’s robe.

“We’re agreed that we can’t show up empty handed, right?” she asked. He set a fancy sandwich in front of her while pulling chips from the cabinet. “Because that would be rude.”

“You realize there are cultures where it’s rude to bring something if your hosts says not to,” he answered futilely. They’d had this conversation before; the Southern Lady in her could not comprehend the concept.

“So my question,” she continued blithely, “is whether to take something like a bottle of wine or a small hostess gift.”

He took his seat across the bar from her.

“How is a bottle of wine not a hostess gift?”

“A bottle of wine is in addition to the hostess gift. You can’t just take a bottle of wine to someone’s house if they’re not well-known to be wine drinkers. That’s like calling them drunks.”

He had been led to understand that this was not so much of a problem in Savannah, since the legal drinking age seemed to be based on when one was tall enough to reach the counter at the bar.

“What kind of gift?” he asked, mostly so she could get this out of her system.

“A candle they’ll throw away immediately after you walk out the door,” she said. “Or a set of tea towels in a print nobody in their right mind would display. Something you got at a white elephant party that you can’t take back because everyone in the group has already passed it as fast as they could. If it’s a bridge party, maybe a new set of cards or tally sheets or place cards.”

“Do you play bridge?”

“Not well,” she admitted. “My grandmother tried to teach me, but she also took it on herself to teach me to mix drinks, and those were not two things that worked well together.”

He laughed, because that seemed very on-brand for stories she’d told about her grandmother.

“But I’ve had your drinks; you’re pretty good at that.”

“Guess which one was the real priority,” she winked.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve,” she said before returning to the previous subject. “If you know their taste, a scarf or a pin or something. Something vintage, if it can’t be construed as a rude remark about their age.”

Eliot got the feeling she could go on all day.

“We’ll take a bottle of wine,” he decided. “I know they both like it. Can you offend wine drinkers with a bottle of wine?”

“Depends on whether or not San Lorenzo has anything like Boone’s Farm,” she chuckled.

She went in earlier than Eliot and Devil on Friday, leaving once she had secured their promise they would be nice and for one not to leave the other stranded on the deck.

“She’s gotta pick clothes,” Eliot confided to Devil, who gave a woof of agreement. “So we need to leave here in about 30 minutes to go inside and get her to decide on something.” Devil enjoyed these harmless little conspiracies with Eliot, but more than that, he was looking forward to dinner with his general friend. Very often, food was left completely unattended in their kitchen, and it was always yummy.

Ophelia was generally indecisive about what to wear in front of Eliot’s friends; today was not different. She stared at three outfits laid out on the bed in a room they were not currently using, studying them with a frown.

“Do you have a preference?” she asked. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“They all look great,” he said. “But I like the green one best.”

It was the same outfit she’d worn to Uncle Henry’s engagement party, but he liked the outfit still. Plus, as her outfits went it was fairly simple and if he timed things right…

“Eliot Spencer,” she teased. “I believe your intentions are less than honorable, sir!”

“What could be more honorably intended than a shower?” he asked, not waiting for her answer before he tossed her over his shoulder. They had time.

Because Eliot was very good at timing things, they arrived at the Flores compound much less windblown than they might have been. In part, this was due to his excellent timing, and in part because he drove. Ophelia thought of time as a malleable, squishable concept that applied mostly to other people and could be bent to her will, despite copious evidence that, in fact, it could not. Devil led the way to the front door, barking excitedly in case the general had forgotten they were supposed to be there.

“Have you met Mrs. Flores,” Ophelia asked as they approached the door at a less rapid pace.

“Not even once,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I mean,” she started.

“Fine,” he repeated.

“It’s just—”

“Fine, Phee. Relax, okay? Despite what General Flores says, she does not have the power to put you in front of a firing squad. I promise. Okay?”

“Did Thomas Jefferson own this bottle of wine?”

He laughed out loud at that.

“Phee, they don’t teach American history in San Lorenzo schools. I would never steal Thomas Jefferson’s wine to bring it as a gift for dinner.”

“Have you stolen a bottle of Thomas Jefferson’s wine?”

“Three,” he said. The number was actually one, but he enjoyed her scandalized yet delighted look. “You’d hate them.”

By then they were at the door, where Devil was getting belly rubs from the Minister of Defense of San Lorenzo.

“Eliot! Ophelia! Welcome to my home! We are pleased to have you tonight!”

“Thank you, General,” Ophelia answered as Eliot smiled. “We’ve been looking forward to this for days!”

“Roberto, please,” he reminded her. “Come in and meet my family!”

Devil sat up and twisted around to look at Ophelia; it was a game they played where he pretended she was in charge.

“Go on,” she said. “Stay out of the kitchen.” Devil bounded inside with a happy yelp.

“Devil Spencer!” shouted a voice from inside the house. “You stay out of my kitchen!”

“Maria!” the general interrupted. “Our guests are here!”

A small but domineering lady emerged from a vast kitchen into the equally vast reception hall, shooing an unrepentant dog ahead of her.

“This is your dog?” she turned on Eliot, who stepped back.

“He’s her dog, ma’am,” Eliot answered. He didn’t even hesitate.

“You chicken!” Ophelia exclaimed, outraged. She even slapped him on the arm.

“He is your dog, Phee,” Eliot reminded her. “You had him when I met you.”

“No dogs in my kitchen!” she said, loudly. “Do you hear me, Devil Spencer?!”

“She used your name!” Ophelia said. “That makes him at least part your dog.”

“Peaches, he is in no way my dog,” Eliot insisted.

“Who are you?” the tiny, black-haired woman asked suspiciously. She had to look up at both of them. Eliot had rarely been more terrified.

“Eliot Spencer, ma’am, and this is my wife, Dr. Ophelia Mason. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The woman crossed her arms and glared at him, clearly peering directly into his soul before she turned an equally fierce look on Ophelia.

“You are a medical doctor?” she asked.

“No ma’am. I’m a history professor.”

The woman’s entire demeanor changed as a radiant smile covered her face.

“I know, dear. Roberto, he is a huge fan of your books. He has not let me read Blitzkrieg Bop yet, even though he stayed up all night reading it and has already finished.”

“It was a gift to me,” he insisted.

“Mrs. Flores can read it too,” Ophelia said. “Right now, even. It’s not a secret.”

“You may call me Maria, dear,” she said. Then she turned back to Eliot. “I am watching you, Spencer.”

Back to Ophelia, “Come, you can meet my daughters. They are tired of hearing about you from their father, so beware.”

She grabbed Ophelia by the hand and towed her out of the foyer. Devil tried to tiptoe in behind Ophelia, only for Maria to turn and shoo him away with a fairly violent exclamation in Italian. Devil retreated behind Eliot.

“Your dog speaks Italian?” Gen. Flores seemed impressed.

“He’s her dog,” Eliot repeated. “And, I don’t know, maybe? If he decided he wanted to learn it, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Come, let me show you around! Then we shall meet my sons and my sons-in-law and perhaps have a drink, yes?”

“I couldn’t stop Ophelia from bringing a bottle of wine,” Eliot said bashfully. “It’s how she is.”

“Who does not love a good wine? We understand these things, Spencer. Let us go, Devil. There are appetizers.”

In the kitchen, Maria introduced Ophelia to her daughters and her daughter-in-law. After a little conversation and about half a drink, Ophelia sorted out that Amalia was the oldest and had been married the longest, while Felice, the younger, was more recently married with a small son who had been sent to the terrace to play with the rest of the boys. Which left Dalila to be the French daughter-in-law.

“He’s seven months,” Felice said with a world weariness that spoke to being the youngest of four and also a mom. “Everything in our house? It’s a drama.”

Amalia snorted from the counter.

“Remember when you wanted 12? I think you must have revised that number by now.”

“12?!” Dalila exclaimed. “This number is ridiculous! I do not wish to know 12 children!”

“I remember,” Felice nodded. “I have changed my mind; I do not want any. Papa says he is too young for the army, but I believe he could change the rules if he wanted.”

“Do you have children, Dalila?” Ophelia asked politely. This was the sort of conversation she hated most, although she was fluent in it.

“Two boys,” she said. “They are very like their father. Which is good, otherwise I would wish to sell them to gypsies most days. They play soccer and break everything.”

“She is married to our brother Antonio,” Amalia supplied. “You will not like him. He is, how you call, stubborn as an ass.”

“Amalia! This is not a nice thing to say about your brother,” Maria reprimanded.

“She is right,” Dalila laughed. “He is stubborn, but I am stubborn too, and I am more stubborn than he. You will not like him because he does not read.”

“I mean, lots of people don’t,” Ophelia started.

“But I do, and I cannot wait to hear about your new book. Will there be another?”

“He loves to read,” Felice argued. “You just want to get the new book first.”

“Again, you say the quiet part out loud, petite souer.”

“Can I help with anything, Miss Maria?” Ophelia offered as the sisters degenerated into good-natured bickering. “Eliot cooks most of the time at our house, but I do know my way around the kitchen. And I take clear instructions very well.”

“He cooks?” Amalia cut in, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Right?” Ophelia laughed. “He even went to chef school in Belgium. He cooks really well.”

Maria rapped her on the hand with a wooden spoon.

“You are a guest! You cannot help,” Maria scolded. “He must not be much of a cook; you are too skinny.”

“I mean, playing on the beach every day helps,” Ophelia offered, catching the glance between the other girls.

Maria shoved a bowl and a whisk at Felice with some rapid instructions in another language.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Amalia said quietly.

“Playing frisbee with the dog,” Ophelia clarified. “Swimming. Running. But not very fast.” Amalia stared at her. “Plus that too,” Ophelia finished, blushing pink.

“How long are you married?”

“Six months, about,” Ophelia said.

“Everyone is going to want to know when the baby will get here,” she warned. “Brace yourself.”

“Oh, we’re older than you probably think,” Ophelia began uncomfortably.

“It is what they do,” she said. “Do not take it personally. Tell them to mind their own business. I know how to say it in four languages, if that will help. I have been there. I have not met your husband, but Papa loves him like a son. Do not be afraid to call on him for help.”

Ophelia smiled a little as a she nodded. The questions weren’t totally unexpected, but she wished it was permissible to hand people a fact sheet up front that dealt with churches, political leanings, children, family, and possible future career plans. It would be such a time saver.

“I like your outfit very much,” Amalia continued, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “Is it vintage?”

“It isn’t, but it’s by an English company that specializes in vintage styles. I like your brooch!”

“I know the owner of the best vintage store in San Lorenzo,” she said proudly. “We must go there one day.”

In retelling that to Eliot later, he would understand Amalia and Ophelia’s nearly instant bond much better. He wouldn’t fear it less, but at least he’d get how it started.

Finally, Maria relented enough to let Ophelia pour all the ladies a glass of wine, which they used to toast the upcoming meal, before sending everyone out with the mountain of food she had prepared. Ophelia looked back toward the kitchen, intending to help ferry out the smaller dishes too; she was thwarted by Mrs. Flores, who had other plans.

“Amalia, Ophelia, please to bring the gentlemen inside. Leave the children with the nanny.”

“There’s a nanny?” Ophelia asked.

“This is usual; children are not seen or heard here during a dinner party. Do you mind this?”

“No, I don’t—”

“Thank God,” Amalia grinned. “They multiply when they are together. It is chaos. Nobody can get in a word. Not that anyone can get in a word anyway. My brothers, they will argue about the color of the sky, unless there is a soccer game about which they can argue. Does Eliot Spencer play sports?”

“Not…not really?” Ophelia answered, floundering with what she knew but shouldn’t say. “He’s not so much a team sports guy. But he does watch them.”

“We are told you do not have his name,” Amalia commented. “This was your choice?”

“We agreed,” she said. “I was already published under Mason, not that it would have mattered. I had all the paperwork to change my name filled out and ready to send, but he really likes it when people know who I am. I think he thinks it’s cool to be OJ Mason’s husband.”

“He must be a most unusual man to do this,” she pointed out.

“He doesn’t think so, but he really is.” They descended a flight of wide, shallow steps that had a water feature running beside them into a koi pond. “How big is this house?”

Amalia laughed. “It is eleven bedrooms in the main house, and Antonio has his house here as well. We are taking the long way so I could show you some of the interesting parts of it.”

They crossed a massive marble-floored game room to a set of French doors that opened onto the breathtaking back yard that ended in a cliff with a spectacular view of the sea.

Amalia watched in appreciation as Ophelia took in the view all the way to the horizon.

“This is the most interesting part,” she confided. “But there are others. I will show you more after dinner.”

“Papa!” she called. “Tomas! Barto! Antonio! Francesco! Mama says it is time to come in for dinner! She says she will not wait a minute longer!” She turned back to Ophelia. “It does not hurt to add this part, as it is something Mama would say.” She pointed out into the crowd of exceptionally handsome men as her father passed the baby along to the woman who must have been the nanny. “My husband is Tomas,” she said. “He is a pilot in the San Lorenzo Marine Corps. He is very, how you say, proud of this. You must ignore him if he talks too much.”

There had been something of a soccer game in progress in the yard with everyone participating except General Flores, the nanny, and the baby, but including Devil, so it took a moment to sort out the big boys from the smaller ones and get everyone headed in the right direction.

“This is your husband?” Amalia sounded stunned, which made Ophelia smile more smugly than she intended. “We did not know he was so handsome. Papa described him somewhat differently.”

“And he cooks, too,” she chuckled.

“Dios Mio,” she breathed, which Ophelia was fairly certain was Spanish. “Does he have a brother?”

“Just a sister,” she apologized. “But your husband is very handsome.”

“I could trade one of my brothers for him,” she giggled. “And have something to look at occasionally.”

The brothers got to the door first.

“Amalia, nobody but Mama calls me Francesco,” the younger one complained. “Everybody calls me Frankie.”

“This makes you sound like a five-year-old,” she shot back. “Antonio, Frankie, this is Ophelia Mason, the wife of Eliot Spencer. Do not be rude.”

“We are never rude,” Antonio said before turning to Ophelia. “Welcome to our father’s house. He has been most excited. He would not shut up all week. We are very glad you are here.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We appreciate the invitation.”

“Also, he will be in trouble because he did not tell us you are hot,” Frankie said as Eliot reached the bottleneck at the door.

“You’re too young, kid,” Eliot said. “She’s into guys who have—”

“Good insurance,” Ophelia threw in, causing everyone to laugh.

“Should you want a younger man,” Frankie winked before his father shoved him in the door.

“I must apologize for Frankie,” Roberto said gravely without hiding his smile. “He is very immature. He brings shame to the family.”

“Should we send Devil with the nanny?” Ophelia asked. Devil thought this was an excellent idea. Although children tended to be sticky, they also tended to drop things. Like chicken nuggets.

“Nonsense!” Roberto returned. “Devil is far too old to need a nanny. He may come with us to the dining room.”

Devil trotted away with the general as if he was performing in a dog show, gratitude filling his puppy expression.

“This is Barto,” Amalia said. “He is the husband of my sister Felice, although none of us know why. She is a brat.”

“But a most charming brat,” he grinned. “Who has given me a most charming son. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ophelia.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “You must be very proud.”

“To be the father of the future minister of Defense? I am indeed.” He kissed Ophelia’s hand, which Eliot tolerated with only a little bit of growl. Barto walked away laughing.

“And this is my husband Tomas,” Amalia continued. “He will want to talk to you about airplanes. You should not let him get started, you will not be able to eat in peace.”

“I’ll try,” Ophelia promised.

“After dinner, then,” Tomas insisted. “I feel we will have many things to discuss.”

“Eliot, this is Amalia,” Ophelia said.

“Welcome to our home,” Amalia said graciously. “I am the oldest, but you will not know this if you listen to my brother Antonio. You will also not know this if you listen to Frankie. But you should not listen to Frankie.”

“Eliot Spencer,” he said, with a grin that made Amalia go weak in the knees. “A pleasure.”

“One time,” Amalia said to Ophelia.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Ophelia offered. Eliot turned a speculative look on her. “I told her you cook,” she explained. “After that it was a bidding war.”

“My sister-in-law Dalila, she will flirt with you,” Amalia warned him. “Do not be flattered. She is, how you call, a slut. And she is married to Antonio, so she is not available anyway.”

“I…,” Eliot started, baffled.

“She does this to everyone,” Amalia said carelessly. “Even to Tomas. This is right, Tomas?”

The four of them walked back to the dining room together. They could smell the food well before they reached it, and it smelled like Ophelia’s personal heaven.

“She speaks the truth,” Tomas admitted. “Harshly. I would not call her—”

“She is not impressed by you anyway,” Amalia said dismissively. “Eliot is fresh meat. I have tried to rearrange the seating so you are not near her, as I know this about her. But Felice, she enjoys the drama and has not had much adult company since the baby arrived. There is no telling what she has done. But now you are warned.”

Ophelia reached for Eliot’s hand with a mischievous grin.

“You’re warned,” she repeated mirthfully. Eliot hoped she was keeping good notes, because he was drowning in a sea of names and at least one of those names was attached to Amalia’s slutty sister in law.

“You are screwed,” Tomas offered.

Dinner was both lively and delicious, and Ophelia could not imagine that three small children would have had that much of an impact. The General was in full-on host mode, telling stories and keeping the conversation moving. Somewhere during dinner, Ophelia made the briefest eye contact with Eliot before turning back to Amalia, who was telling a joke about something her father had said. He wondered if Ophelia had figured out which character in Roberto’s very edited story was him, and whether she would ask questions about it later. He hoped she wouldn’t.

They all moved to the living room after dinner, Maria having violently declined an offer from both Ophelia and Eliot to clear the table.

“Do not worry,” Amalia confided. “We have a number of maids who will clear the table. She likes to pretend it is magic, and that illusion is ruined if other people see them. We let her have this because it is easier.”

“I understand,” Ophelia giggled.

Tomas was the one who finally got a word in between the general’s stories.

“Ophelia,” he said suddenly. “Please tell us about your new book. You have given it to General Flores, who will not give it to the rest of us. We do not know what happens, despite that we have begged the General to share it with us.”

“It’s really good,” Eliot grinned, trying to draw fire from his wife. It was the least he could do. “You’re gonna love it.”

“He has read this as well?!” Dalila demanded, outraged. “This is not fair! I wish to protest!”

“Ophelia should protest you licking her husband on the face,” Amalia murmured, touching Ophelia’s elbow in commiseration.

“I know how we can remedy this situation,” Felice announced. “If you will give me a moment?”

She vanished down a hallway and returned from another a scant few minutes later, holding the general’s copy aloft.

“We will have a private reading with the author!” she beamed triumphantly. “Will you, Dr. Mason?”

“I…sure?” Ophelia stammered. “If you’re sure that’s what you want?”

“This is my copy!” Roberto exclaimed. “How did you find this?!”

“Papa, we discovered your hiding places when we were children,” Amalia chided. “You should have figured that out by now.”

“This book was in the safe!”

“Perhaps you should occasionally change the combination,” she shot back. “Ophelia?”

Ophelia reached for the book with a glance at Eliot, who nodded. Her reluctance to read her own work out loud had been a stumbling block; it had taken most of his persuasive tactics to get her to read them out loud to him even though she had established on their second date that reading to him was her love language. Besides, he had troubles enough of his own right now trying to get Dalila to stop pawing at him. Maybe if he could get the feisty French woman’s attention pointed elsewhere, he could avoid getting the shit kicked out of him by Antonio. Devil padded over to sit by Ophelia, leaving his position beside the general. Ophelia rubbed his ears gently, which he took to mean she would give him a treat later; she probably hadn’t brought enough to share with everyone.

Ophelia opened the book, which was already surprisingly worn, to the first chapter.

“Wait!” Felice insisted. “Can we ask questions?”

“Sure,” Ophelia shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

She returned her attention to the book.

“I have one,” Frankie said.

“Go on,” she invited him.

“What if the questions are spoilers?”

“Then I guess you can vote on whether or not to hear the answers?”

“Americans,” Antonio said to Eliot, right before he remembered that Eliot was also an American.

“It’s part of our charm,” Eliot replied. “Or part of hers, anyway.”

“Do we need to vote on whether or not we should vote?” Frankie said, which earned him a solid round of jeers from his family.

“Quit stalling,” Amalia ordered, pointing a stern finger at her brother, then turning it on Ophelia. “You. Start reading.”

Ophelia read three chapters before they let her stop. It took more than two hours, because there were a number of questions, and more than once a fight broke out over the nature of the question, and also the voting, the result of a vote, and in one case the answer.

“I have a question,” said Tomas.

“Continue,” Ophelia said as she signaled to Eliot she’d love a drink right about now. He sprang from his chair, glad for the chance to get out from between Dalila and Antonio.

“When do we get the next one?”

She grinned.

“Next year, about this time,” she told the assembled company. “But I need to warn you the story ends in this one. The last one is some general wrap-up and some short stories.”

Chaos erupted.

Eliot handed her a drink, talking under the din.

“They’re not going to let us leave now,” he said. “You’re going to have to stay until you finish the story.”

She drained off half a glass of Proseco before smiling at him.

“Do you think this means they liked it? Or am I about to be brought up on charges in San Lorenzo?”

He studied the family, noting with interest the way the fighting had broken out. It seemed to be sisters against brothers, older siblings against younger siblings, wives against husbands, and couples against everyone. There was also, he noticed, a certain animosity on Amalia’s part directed entirely at Dalila that had nothing to do with any of the other fights. Also, Maria had taken the opportunity to bend the General’s ear in a literal sense, although he was unclear what she was exactly angry about.

“I think they loved it,” he assured her. “I’m pretty sure, anyway. Any chance you can get a digital copy and settle some of this?”

“Maybe,” she nodded. “I’ll have to see. You know that’s going to make the problem worse and not better, though. Because then they’ll just fight about who gets it first.”

“Enough! Enough!” General Flores shouted. Devil barked in support, which was the noise that actually got everyone’s attention. “This is enough! Everybody sit!”

Ophelia dropped into the seat she had occupied on the couch, while Eliot sat on the arm. The consequences of being violated by his own wife were far more palatable than continuing to fend off his host’s daughter in law. Everyone else sat down too, although some with more seething than others, and a noticeable amount of shoving.

“I think we are agreed,” he continued. “Miss Ophelia, you must return to read to us some more. We will not hear otherwise.”

“I would be glad to,” she answered.

“Excellent. I hoped this would be the case. And now it is time for cigars. Gentlemen, if you will join me in the front courtyard?”

This seemed to be time for an obligatory protest. Felice said she needed to collect her son and get him to bed; her expression said Barto need not argue. Her decision on this was final. Additionally, and with visible regret, Dalila agreed she and Antonio should fetch their boys and go home, although home was within walking distance for them.

“You two,” Maria said as she pointed at Eliot and Ophelia, “will stay tonight. I will not hear arguments. It is too late for you to be driving into the woods. We have plenty of room. Amalia, show them a room.”

“But I don’t have—”

“Silence!” Maria decreed. “We can provide what you need. Amalia has enough clothes here for an army. You may borrow something of hers. I am watching you, Spencer.”

Eliot and Ophelia exchanged a look; they didn’t have a choice that wouldn’t cause an argument.

“We are pleased to accept your hospitality,” Ophelia said. “But only if you let Eliot cook breakfast.”

“If he must do this, I will accept,” she nodded. Eliot realized he didn’t have a vote here. This was entirely between his wife and the wife of their host now. “I will not be happy about it.”

“I think I can make something you’ll enjoy, ma’am,” he offered. “It’s an honor to cook in your kitchen.”

“We will see,” she replied ominously.

“Go have a cigar in the courtyard,” Amalia said to Eliot. “Ophelia and I will find a suitable room and possibly a drink.”

“Devil is not allowed to have a cigar,” Ophelia said, her glance taking in Eliot, Devil, and General Flores. “No matter how much he begs.”

“But he is allowed bacon?” General Flores clarified. Devil’s ear snapped up and turned in the direction of his very best friend.

“He is,” she nodded. “Because bacon smells better than cigars on dog fur.”

General Flores escorted Tomas and Eliot, plus Devil, in the direction of the courtyard and some time for talk amongst the men, which Ophelia recognized was a universal and cherished ritual.

“Let us go to the kitchen first,” Amalia suggested. “Mama baked a cake earlier today. We can have cake and wine, yes?”

“Very much yes,” Ophelia agreed. “May I help you put anything away, Mrs. Flores?”

“Be gone with you both!” she thundered. “Good night and pleasant dreams, my dears. Amalia will show you how to ring should you need anything tonight.”

The girls stopped through the kitchen. Amalia directed Ophelia to a bottle of champagne while she cut off a large section of cake.

“Where are the glasses?” Ophelia asked.

“Get the mugs from the cabinet,” Amalia said. “We will need fewer refills.”

Ophelia grinned and complied. This would be fun.

“Come,” Amalia said. “We will go to the green room.”

“You sort your rooms by colors?”

“Not always,” Amalia said. “Sometimes we call them by other names. For example, sometimes we call the Blue Room the Room Frankie Believes is Haunted.”

“Is it? That sounds exciting!”

“Of course it is not,” Amalia snorted. “It is the room in which Felice and I used to hide when we were drinking out of Papa’s liquor cabinet.”

The men relaxed in the courtyard, which was a little oasis of tranquility after dinner and Ophelia’s impromptu reading. Devil cavorted around the yard, gleefully giving chase to a rabbit.

“Are those your rabbits, sir?” Eliot asked, mildly alarmed. “I don’t know if he could catch one, but it won’t be pretty if he does.”

“They are not,” the general assured him. “They eat Maria’s herbs and many times she has cursed them. She may changer her opinion of Devil as a house guest if he brings her a rabbit. She could perhaps be persuaded to cook it for him.”

Eliot was far more concerned that it would just be part of a rabbit, and also worried that Ophelia would find out. Devil was usually a gentle if enthusiastic dog, but the rabbit seemed to have activated a prey drive in him that Eliot had never witnessed; if he caught something, he would definitely have to be talked out of taking it to Ophelia. Eliot was very sure that his wife would not react well to her pet bringing in the remains of a rabbit, no matter how proud he was.

After a pleasant interlude punctuated by crickets chirping near the pond, a light came on across the courtyard, followed quickly by Amalia and Ophelia’s appearance on a balcony. From that distance, all they could hear was the sound of hearty feminine laughter and the occasional clink of what sounded to Eliot like coffee mugs.

“These two, I believe will become inseparable,” General Flores predicted. “They have much in common. I hoped they would become friends.”

“It sounds as if they are already on the way. Spencer,” Tomas asked, “does your wife like champagne?”

“She loves it,” Eliot nodded. “Like, a lot.”

“And shopping?”

“More than anything except Devil.” Devil, having given up on the rabbit, thumped his tail in confirmation.

“We should get used to being very poor men, Spencer. Their friendship might prove to be a most happy disaster.”

“She sort of draws disasters to her,” Eliot answered as he reflected on some of her other friends. “It’s the real reason she puts up with me.”

They sat for a moment and smoked in silence, watching Devil, before General Flores asked what was really on his mind.

“Spencer, I know it is your honeymoon, but I wonder if you would be open to a proposition?”

“You know I would be, sir.”

“We will see. I am optimistic. Tomas is in charge of an elite force within the San Lorenzo Marines, and for this I am very proud of him. However, I believe the detail has become complacent. I wonder if you would be willing to help Tomas and myself plan some exercises. Some, how do you call them, war games? They are good men, and loyal, but they are accustomed to Tomas.”

Eliot glanced at his host’s son in law, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Apparently they would discuss this more at another time.

“Any way I can help, sir, I’d be glad to.”

“Ophelia will not mind this?”

“She’ll probably be glad to have me out of the house occasionally,” he chuckled, knowing full well that wasn’t true. She wouldn’t object, and she would probably be excited on his behalf when he told her, but it wouldn’t be because she wanted to find something for him to do. But the General and Tomas laughed along with him, because that was the expected response.

“I shall clear it with her as well, and also must promise that we will return her husband safely and in one piece. We cannot have her bearing ill will towards San Lorenzo. I thank you, Spencer, for your agreement.”

They discussed tactics and strategies for a while as Eliot tried to glean as much as he could about the composition of the unit. It would be nice to train with soldiers again, even on a temporary basis.

“San Lorenzo shall pay you for your services, of course,” General Flores continued.

“I don’t think—”

“I must insist,” he said finally. “We cannot accept this service for free. But perhaps we can convince you to extend your stay, to make up for the time you are working for which you had not planned.”

Eliot reached for his wallet to pull out a business card.

“You can email me here,” he said. “It’s a secure address and anything that comes there is encrypted. Hardison set it up for me, just in case.”

“This is most excellent,” he said. “I need a few days to arrange the details, which I will send to you. In the meantime, the business of the state calls me, even at this late hour. I bid you goodnight, gentlemen.”

He rose, prompting Devil to perform a huge stretch then get up to follow him.

“Devil, you need to stay out here with us,” Eliot said. Devil cast an appealing look at the General.

“Nonsense! He may consult on the business of state as well. It is possible we will also need a snack while we examine the state of the world. Is this not correct, Devil?”

Devil gave a soft, happy woof, which earned a laugh from General Flores and Tomas.

“If he starts giving away state secrets, just send him to Phee,” Eliot instructed.

“He does not know where she is!”

“He’s a very smart dog, sir. He can find her anywhere.”

“Spencer, I love this dog.”

“Thank you for dinner, General.”

“Oh, what time for breakfast?”

“There will be nobody stirring about before 9, unless Antonio and Dalila choose to send their boys over.”

“Yes sir,” he answered. The general and the dog continued into the house, conversing over an issue that was currently vexing only one of them.

“Listen, man, I can say Ophelia pitched a fit and I can’t do this,” he began to the general’s son-in-law, his voice low.

“Do not be troubled, Spencer,” Tomas assured him. “He mentioned this possibility before you arrived; this was not a surprise to me. And I have no fear that you will attempt to usurp my authority among my troops. In fact, I have many questions about the so-called war games. This will be a most interesting exercise, I think.”

General Flores strode confidently into his son-in-law’s office.

“Tomas, I have a friend who will be visiting soon.”

Tomas waited, certain there was more to the story.

“I have known him quite a long time. He is a good man and a good soldier. I believe while he is here, you may wish to have him review your unit.”

“Yes sir,” Tomas answered. “Who is your friend?” Tomas didn’t really care, but the general was his father in law. Some questions were to be expected.

“Eliot Spencer,” the general answered. “We have worked together before.”

Immediately not a fan of this idea, Tomas had to keep from recoiling at the name. He was not careful about his next question.

“Are you sure this is wise, sir? You have said yourself that Eliot Spencer is a mercenary. I know he was…involved with the election,” such an understatement, “but are you sure it is wise to involve him with our military?”

“He is quite loyal, and devoted to those he loves. He will not pose a threat.”

This was not going to be up for debate.

“What brings him back to San Lorenzo?”

“He has married, and is bringing his bride for a honeymoon. He will be doing this as a favor. To me.”

“He has agreed to this?” What kind of man, Tomas wondered, would agree to forego part of his honeymoon to assist foreign troops? And if the general was right about Eliot Spencer, what kind of woman would marry him?

“I have not asked him yet, but do not worry. He will agree. We will discuss this again before his arrival.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eliot leaned his head back against the chair to look at the stars, which were bright here on the edge of San Lorenzo near the beach. Maybe Ophelia would like a telescope.

“Will you bring the dog?” Tomas asked. “He seems an asset.”

“He’s her dog,” Eliot replied almost reflexively. “I mean, he’s a really smart dog, so he’s smart enough not to get himself roped into camping for a week. But he’s also her guard dog, so I’d prefer he stayed with her if I’m gone.”

“You are the man Roberto mentions in his stories, yes?”

“Think she figured that out too?”

“I have read the briefings, Spencer. It is easy for me to see. She does not know this about you?”

“Not all of it,” he admitted. “At first it was to protect her, but now it’s more to protect me.”

“Amalia extends me this courtesy as well,” he said. “She does not tell me the things she knows. I am concerned she worries.”

“Think she’ll worry about this?”

“I think she will be too busy shopping with Ophelia to worry about this.”

It was late when the two men returned to the house.

“I shall help you find your room,” Tomas offered, “since Amalia did not tell you what she was thinking.”

The lights were still on in the room Eliot supposed she had chosen, and laughter occasionally drifted across the courtyard.

“I appreciate it,” he said. “But I can find her.”

“In a house such as this? That you have never seen?”

“She’s my north,” he answered. Upon reflection, he realized that was true. “I’ll send Amalia your way.”

“I look forward to working with you, Spencer.” Tomas offered his hand.

“I look forward to working with you too,” he said.

He didn’t know why, after all they had experienced in San Lorenzo so far, that he should be surprised by the quality of the room to which they had been assigned. Without even asking, he could sense that Ophelia was redesigning her dressing room to look like this jewel box of a room. For a guest room, it wasn’t small, it had its own en-suite bathroom, and looked like it came straight out of one of Ophelia’s favorite costume movies.

He crossed the spacious room, with a glance for the mural on the ceiling, to the French doors to the balcony, pausing for only a moment to listen. Whatever they were talking about wasn’t immediately obvious to him, so he didn’t feel bad about opening the door.

“Ladies,” he said sternly, “there’s been a noise complaint.”

Which sent them both off into peals of laughter. If he had to guess, the empty champagne bottle had as much to do with that as anything he could have said.

“Jones!” Ophelia answered excitedly. “We saved you some cake!”

“We ate that, remember?” Amalia said. “It was really good, you would have liked it.” She turned to Ophelia. “Does he like cake?”

“I’m right here,” he said, smiling. “Time for the party to break up. Do I need to escort you home, Amalia?”

“Oh, would you?!”

“No,” Ophelia said. It was a much longer word than usual, to only have one syllable. “You grew up in this house. You’re not going to get mugged in the hallway.”

“Spoil sport,” she mumbled. “In that case, I will see you both in the morning. Give me the dishes; I will hide them from Mama.”

“Will we get in trouble for having cake in the guest room?”

“We will get in trouble for eating most of the cake and drinking all of the champagne,” Amalia corrected. “But we will not be in much trouble. She will be too busy fussing around Eliot for messing up her kitchen.”

“Hey! I’m not a messy cook! Tell her, Phee!”

“He’s not a messy cook,” she repeated. “Really. He’s a very good cook.”

“I know something he could stir up—”

“Out!” Eliot laughed. “Out! Go to bed! Sleep it off!”

“I am going!” she insisted before holding a hand up to her ear and stage whispering “Ophelia, call me!”

He closed the door firmly behind her and noted that it in no way diminished the sound of her laughter echoing down the hall.

“Did you and Roberto and Tomas solve all the world’s problems?” she asked. She had flung herself around him, which made it extremely difficult to pull back the extensive covers on the bed.

“It’s just the first night, Peaches. Fixing the whole world takes time.” He set her down so he could step out of his shoes. She grabbed a t-shirt off the chair and stumbled into the bathroom to change and brush her teeth to the extent she was able. Two girls and one bottle of champagne drunk out of coffee mugs was probably an adventure this room hadn’t seen since Queen Victoria’s reign.

She stumbled back out of the bathroom attired in a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt and very little else. Eliot caught her before she face-planted into his chest.

“Didn’t you have Devil?” she asked, looking around in confusion, as if she might somehow have missed a giant dog bouncing around in the middle of all this.

“He’s in a top-secret meeting with General Flores,” Eliot answered seriously. “I don’t suppose you and Amalia found me any pajamas, did you?”

“It was all I could do to get her not to sleep here, Jones. You can forget getting any extra clothes. But!” she interrupted herself. “I know there are two clean shirts in the back of the Jeep. I got them from the cleaners. Remember?” She prodded him on the shoulder. “The shirts you had at the cleaners?”

“I remember, Princess,” he grinned. “That worked out pretty good for us, didn’t it?” He decided to ignore what she’d said about Amalia; it would be for the best later. “Need some help getting up there?”

She had walked from one side of the bed to the other at least three times, he guessed looking for a step or something. As beds went, it was massive. With the right provisions, he felt like it could easily house three to five troops for a week. “What do you think? Was Victoria’s secret that she slept here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jones,” she scoffed. “Her highness could have walked under this bed. She would not have been amused.” She frowned at it for a minute. “Do you think you’re supposed to sleep under it? Is that the deal?”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly before tossing her up onto the mattress, making sure she bounced back towards the interior instead of forward. Falling off this one would take a while and also end badly. He stripped down to his shorts before locating the light switch. It was…frankly not where he would have put it, but that figured as it was probably added significantly after the mansion was constructed.

“Need anything before I turn the lights off? Water? A rope ladder?”

“There’s bottled water on the table,” she called back, sounding very far away. “I’m good.”

He leapt easily onto the bed, barely catching himself before he rolled right over her.

“You might have mentioned about the mattress,” he accused over her giggling. “This is like sleeping in a feather pit.”

She readjusted, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Did you have a good time talking about your all-men things?” she asked. “Your super-secret things?”

“They’re not that secret for now, Princess,” he promised. “Although the General and Tomas asked if I’d be willing to act as a consultant and do some war games with Tomas’s elite unit.”

“That sounds cool” she enthused. “Are you?”

“You wouldn’t mind? General Flores said it’s our honeymoon and I can be excused.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she scoffed. “I hope you didn’t tell them you’d have to ask me.”

“I told them I thought you’d be glad to have me out of the house,” he admitted. “Tell the truth. That’s what you’ve been waiting for this whole time, right?” He tickled her ribs to get her to laugh.

“I thought you’d never leave,” she answered, laughing. “But whatever shall I do now that you’ve gone off to war?”

“I hope you’ll wait for me to come back, Princess. You can make your very own homefront.”

She was still smiling as she drifted off to sleep. He was too.