“You’re not seriously planning to wear that uniform to the wedding, are you?”
The question landed like a depth charge in the quiet of Aunt Meredith’s kitchen. Vice Admiral Louisa Carter stood holding her Navy dress whites—the uniform she’d earned through twenty-three years of service, through deployments to the Persian Gulf and the South China Sea, through command of destroyer squadrons and carrier strike groups, through decisions that had shaped naval policy and protected thousands of lives. The uniform represented everything she’d sacrificed, everything she’d become.
And her aunt was looking at it like it was a costume from a discount store. Meredith crossed her arms, her expression somewhere between concern and irritation. “Louisa, sweetheart, you know how important this day is for Mark.
We just don’t need you… overshadowing things.”
Overshadowing. The word hung in the air like smoke. Louisa felt something twist in her chest, that familiar sensation she’d learned to suppress during her years climbing the ranks in a male-dominated military structure.
She’d faced down hostile foreign naval commanders with more composure than she felt right now, standing in her aunt’s kitchen being told she was too much. “I’m not trying to overshadow anyone,” Louisa said carefully, keeping her voice neutral. “I’m just attending my cousin’s wedding.
In my dress uniform. Which is appropriate for formal military occasions.”
Her cousin Hannah appeared in the doorway, already dressed in her pale pink bridesmaid gown, her hair swept up in an elaborate updo that had probably taken hours. She gave Louisa that look—the one that said please don’t make this difficult, please just go along, please be reasonable.
“Louisa, come on,” Hannah said with forced cheerfulness. “You know how Khloe’s family is. They’re very… traditional.
Very concerned about appearances. The bride’s father is Robert Jennings—he’s some kind of big deal in defense contracting, super influential, knows everyone. Mark’s really anxious about making a good impression.
Can you just… blend in? Please? Just this once?”
Blend in.
Vice Admiral Louisa Carter, the third-highest-ranking woman in the United States Navy, commander of Carrier Strike Group Eleven with operational authority over eight thousand personnel and assets worth approximately fifteen billion dollars, strategic advisor on Pacific Fleet operations, oversight officer for multiple classified defense programs—blend in. She’d taken emergency leave to be here, flying commercial from San Diego after seventy-two consecutive hours of meetings regarding Project Neptune, the deeply troubled naval communications and weapons systems contract that had become a bureaucratic nightmare. The contractor on that project was Jennings Maritime Technologies.
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