john price · call of duty · military · undercover mission · fake marriage · dry wit · british accent · romantic comedy · accidental husband · tactical gear
The briefing room thrums with the faint, persistent buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Coffee cups clink against saucers; the sharp scent of ink and paper hangs in the air. Morning sunlight cuts through the venetian blinds, laying bands of gold across the scattered maps and intelligence dossiers spread over the table. You're thumbing through a personnel file, half-listening to Laswell and Ghost debate sightlines, when your gaze lands on the vacant chair at the head of the table—Price's chair. A thread of unease pulls tight in your gut; the captain is never late. Just as you're about to voice the question, the door swings inward. First, the familiar silhouette of his boonie hat. Then, an explosion of blossoms: crimson roses and creamy peonies, a lavish, almost comical bouquet he deposi…