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Bethan raised her glass. “Please join me in a toast to my marvelous sister, her amazing husband, and all the years of happiness they have ahead of them.”

Everyone toasted and cheered as Ellen rose from her seat in an elegant rustle of white to hug Bethan, tight.

“I love you,” Ellen said fiercely in her ear.

“I love you, too,” Bethan replied.

When she finally sat down again, after more hugs to Matthew and some of the bridesmaids, she could see her parents gazing at her. Fondly, she was forced to conclude. There was no other word for it.

And the revelations kept slamming into her.

If she accepted the possibility that her parents and sister had always been fond of her, she had to accept that a huge part of the awkwardness she’d felt with them was of her own doing. So determined to make herself different. So sure that they had nothing in common.

When the reality was, this wedding, her family—these were the things she fought for. Love. Hope. The possibility of a bright future. How had she spent all this time thinking that what she was doing was no more than proving a point? Bethan knew better than that. Most of the soldiers she’d known were wild, unbridled idealists. At least at first.

Something shifted in her as she thought that, sitting there next to the brooding man who’d told her that he’d enlisted because he was a nihilist.

She didn’t believe him.

“What?” he asked when she looked at him, his dark gaze moving over her face.

“Dominic Carter,” she replied, because there was no other possible way to answer that question.

“Oh, I see him,” Jonas replied. “Seems a little over the top.”

“What fascinates me”—and Bethan leaned in close so it looked like she was whispering little love words into his ear—“is what would make a man like him look so personally outraged at us? If it’s an Alaska Force thing, theoretically he already won. He should be smirking, not glowering.”

“What else could it be?”

But Bethan had no answer for that. And there was nothing to be done about it in the middle of Ellen’s wedding reception. There were more speeches, food, and laughter, and then the dancing began.

“I know we didn’t discuss this,” Bethan said then, leaning closer to Jonas than strictly necessary. “And I don’t know how much attention you were paying at the rehearsal. But you do know that as part of the wedding party, I’m going to have to dance in a minute. And when I finish dancing with Marcus over there, who walked me down the aisle—”

“Marcus”—and Jonas’s voice was dark—“can’t hold his liquor. Or shoot pool.”

“When we’re done, you’re going to have to come outonto the dance floor. And then dance.” He was staring back at her, steel and stone, so she smiled wider. “With me.”

“I understand the responsibilities of my position,” he said. Perhaps a bit grimly.

“I don’t know what that means, Jonas. Not with you.”

His grin felt real when she knew better. “I can do anything in character. You should hear me sing.”

“Just get ready to dance, swabbie,” she told him.

Bethan suffered through the indignity of best man Marcus’s too-warm hands and propensity to step on her feet. But soon enough the music changed, and Jonas was there.

And nothing changed. Not the mission, not the party. Not the fact that Dominic Carter was lurking around, doing God only knew what. It was just one song. Three or so short minutes in the grand scheme of things, and nothing more than a performance.

But Jonas pulled her into his arms so easily, it was as if they’d danced together all their lives. His hands moved to the small of her back. Hers moved over his fine shoulders. Then he swayed with her, holding her close, his black eyes lit up from within.

“Jonas...” she began, because her heart was beating too hard.

“Just dance,” he rumbled.

And that was what they did.

It was like a dream. The music and their bodies swaying together, creating their own melody. There was heat in his eyes, something stark on his face. And her heart kicked her over into the final revelation of the night, but it came in softly. Because she already knew. She’d always known.