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“You don’t like me much, do you?” Diana asked.

Peggy grinned boldly at her. “I like you just fine.”

The dance hall was sparsely populated, still vulnerable to German bombing runs, with most of the wounded and the off-duty stuck closer to the air defenses of the base, gripping about it. But there was a madness for art in the French stock, and at least a few of them showed up to play their instruments in stubborn defiance of the Germans. And if they were playing, Diana insisted on listening.

Peggy didn’t know how Diana had railroaded her into accompanying Diana away from Steve’s bedside, where even his enhanced healing needed time to work. It was possible that this was what Peggy’s own indomitable will felt like to those she trained it on. But now there they were, listening to the music, drinking their drinks, and not worrying about the bombs.

Diana smiled back. “I can be very aware of when someone’s being deceptive.”

Peggy fixed her with a stare as she drank. She wasn’t being deceptive. Well, no more than usual for an SSR agent. Diana was exactly her type. Strong, smart, bold. It was just that everything came so easy to her. She made the war seem effortless.

“I’m being polite.”

“On Themyscira, we don’t draw much of a distinction between the two. If there’s something to be said, better it be said in terms of reason and affection, rather than buried in bitterness.”

Now I’m bitter, Peggy mused. The band played on, seeming louder. It was almost narcotic, having those stunning blue eyes trained on her. Someone could get addicted to the heady sensation. “You sure you want to know?”