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Rage burned through Ash, as it had done for the last few hours since they’d walked into Fliss’s home and met her mother.
Rage and an interminable disquiet that, over the course of the evening, the snipes and derisory comments had destroyed the Fliss he knew. The Fliss he had begun to fall in love with. Right now, his fiery, loving, spirited Fliss was barely a shell of herself. Ash could easily see how her mother, in one of her less amiable moods, would have raged at her daughter, whether Fliss was four or forty.
It had taken every last ounce of his self-control not to retaliate on Fliss’s behalf. But now they were back at the house and finally alone in the kitchen, he found that he couldn’t smother his ire any longer.
‘You can’t keep doing this, Fliss.’ He swung her round, taking the cafetière from her shaking fingers and placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘You need to say something.’
Misery emanated from her as she dropped her head to her chest in defeat, but still she managed to shake it weakly from one side to the other.
‘You have to,’ he growled. ‘If you don’t, I will.’
‘You can’t,’ she gasped, her head jerking up painfully fast.
‘Someone has to.’
‘But not you,’ she whispered fiercely, shaking his hands away.
The fight was there. He could see it; he just didn’t know how to bring it out of her.
‘Can’t you see what she does to you?’ His voice softened. ‘Even now? The Fliss I know—the courageous, loyal, passionate woman, the skilled, dedicated, driven trauma doctor—has gone and this...this sullen, irascible teenager is in her place. It isn’t healthy.’
‘I know that.’ He had to strain to hear the words she mumbled so quietly. ‘But I can’t. I can’t do it.’
‘Yes, you can. I know you can.’
‘I keep hoping.’
‘For a different outcome?’ He barely managed to disguise the contempt in his voice. ‘Don’t bother. She’ll never change, I know the type.’
‘She might.’
‘She won’t.’ He put his hands back on her shoulders. ‘You need to do this. And I need you to do this.’
The tiny light which usually sparked so brightly in her eyes flickered faintly back into life; its significance left Ash winded.
‘Why?’
‘Because I love you.’
He’d thought saying the words would be difficult. He was wrong.
‘I love you,’ he repeated, the words practically singing in his ears. They sounded good. They sounded natural. They sounded right.
She stared at him incredulously and then shook her head.
‘No, you don’t. You can’t.’
‘I love you,’ he said firmly. ‘But you’re right. I love the bright, animated, confident Major Felicity Delaunay, who leaps off helis
and stands up to arrogant colonels who she’s only just met. I don’t love this husk-like version of you.’
‘We’re the same person, Ash.’
‘No, you aren’t. And I can’t be around that version. Tonight, your mother has stripped out every last bit of character and confidence and essence of Fliss, and you let her. I can’t watch you let someone do that to you, year in and year out.’
His voice was thick with emotion; he hadn’t felt so utterly trapped and powerless in a long time. He’d sworn as a kid he’d never go through that again and he knew, for his own sanity, that he couldn’t afford to break that oath.
He could only hope to make Fliss understand, because she was the one who held the power to save them both.
