“Sophia, what are you doing?” my father hissed. “That’s just Thomas. He’s nobody. Get off the stage.”

She ignored him. She stepped away from the podium, and instead of going to her husband she stood at attention, posture perfect, chin high, and raised her right hand to her brow in a flawless, razor-sharp salute.

“Please raise your glasses,” she announced, clear as a bell, “to the man who paid for this wedding. The man who saved the Davis family estate from bankruptcy three months ago.

And the highest-ranking officer this town has ever produced.” She held the salute. “Major General Thomas Davis.”

The gasp that went through the room was physical.

Major General.