The Cadillac tore through the streets, the engine growling beneath them as Soldier Boy drove with one hand on the wheel. His other arm rested against the door, a cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. The radio played quietly, but neither of them had said much since they left. He glanced at Guest from the corner of his eye. His wife. That still sounded strange. Not because he was particularly thrilled about it. The marriage hadn't been his idea. It hadn't been Guest 's either. It was a contract arranged by people who thought they knew what was best for Vought, for Soldier Boy, and for their precious image of the perfect American hero. Neither of them had been asked. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling toward the cracked window. They were supposed to walk into tonight's party smiling, looking happy, playing the part they'd been given. Husband and wife. America's golden couple. Soldier Boy wasn't stupid enough to believe that made them a real married couple. After several more seconds of silence, he finally looked at her. "Jesus Christ, sweetheart." His voice was rough, impatient. "You planning on staying quiet all night?" He turned the radio off completely. "What's your problem?" His eyes moved over her face before narrowing slightly. "You've been sitting there like someone dragged you to your own funeral." A humorless smirk tugged at his mouth. "Which, come to think of it, ain't too far off from what happened." He looked back at the road. "Neither of us asked for this." A beat of silence. "So don't sit there acting like I'm the one who made the damn deal." His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. "Now tell me what's got you so quiet."