He wasn’t jealous of his son, but he could admit the transition had a few bumps and growing pains. “I missed you today,” he said, cradling her cheeks in his hands and sweeping his thumbs across the soft skin.
“I miss you every day,” she replied with a smile. “But I saw the look on your face when you came in. Tell me what happened.”
His jaw tightened. “Where’s William?” he dodged, noting that his little man wasn’t in the bassinet.
“Sleeping upstairs.” She tilted her head. “Tell me, Jameson.”
“We’ve been denied permission to leave for the Pacific front,” he admitted quietly.
Scarlett’s spine stiffened against the counter, and he instantly regretted the words.
“You asked permission to go to the Pacific front?” Scarlett asked, stricken and sidestepping out of his reach.
“The squadron did. But I was in favor of it.” His arms immediately felt empty. “Our country has been attacked, and we’re all the way over here. It was only right that we ask. Only right that if we’re needed, we go.” It had been a highly contentious debate within the squadron, but the overwhelming majority had demanded they send the request for transfer.
Her chin rose, which meant he was in for a fight. “And at what point were you going to discuss the suggestion with me?” she asked, folding her arms under her breasts.
“When it was deemed a possibility,” he replied, “or now that it’s not.”
“Wrong answer.” Fire shone in her eyes.
“I can’t just sit here while my country goes to war.” He backed away from her, leaning against the kitchen table and clenching the edge.
“You are not just sitting here,” she fired back. “How many missions have you flown? How many patrols? How many bomber intercepts? You’re already an ace. How would you call that just sitting here? And the last time I checked, your country was also at war with Germany. You’re already where you need to be.”
He shook his head. “Who knows how long it will take for American soldiers to arrive? For America to do anything about the German threat? I joined the RAF to keep war from my door, to keep my family safe, to stop it here before it was my country being bombed or my mother becoming another casualty on the report. I came here to guard my home against the wolves, and while I was busy watching the front door, the wolves snuck in the back.”
“And that is not your fault!” she snapped.
“I know that. No one saw Pearl Harbor coming, but it happened, and it doesn’t change the fact that I might be needed there. If there are plans, I want to be a part of them. I can’t risk my life defending your country and not do the same for my own. Don’t ask that of me.” Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting, hoping she’d understand.
“Apparently I don’t get to ask anything at all, since you knew the 71st sent the request without so much as telling me.” Her voice pitched higher, breaking. “I thought we were partners.”
“William had just been born, and you had so much on your plate—”
“That you didn’t want to bother me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Because I have such a poor track record of handling stress?”
He rubbed his hand over his face, wishing he could take back every word since he’d walked in the door—or go back to a few weeks ago and talk this all out with her. “I should have told you.”
“Yes. You should have. Did you stop to think about what we’d do here if you were sent to the Pacific?” She gestured to the room above them, where William slept.
“They bombed Americans!”
“And you think I don’t know what it feels like to have my country torn to bits by bombs?” She tapped her chest. “To watch my childhood friends die?”
“That’s why I thought you’d understand. When England went to war, you put on a uniform and fought because you love your country just as much as I love mine.”
“I don’t have a country!” she shouted, then spun to face the window.
He saw her face crumple in the reflection of the window, and his stomach sank. Shit. “Scarlett—”
“I don’t have a country,” she said softly, turning to face him, “because I gave it up for you. I loved you more. I’m not British. I’m not American. I’m only a citizen of this marriage, which I thought was a democracy. So pardon my surprise when it turns out to be a dictatorship. Benevolent, yes, but a dictatorship nonetheless. I didn’t fight free of my father’s control to have you step into his shoes.” She scoffed and gave him a sarcastic, bitter smile.
“Honey…” He shook his head, searching for something he could say to make this better.
“It’s not just you anymore, Jameson. It’s not even just us. You can be as reckless as you want when you’re in the cockpit—I know who I married. But there’s a little boy upstairs who doesn’t know there’s a war going on, let alone that it now spans the globe. We’re responsible for him. And I understand wanting to fight for your country—I gave that up for us, too. Please don’t treat me as less than equal because I chose this family twice. If you wanted a wife who would do nothing more than cook your meals, warm your bed, and have your babies, then you chose the wrong woman. Do not mistake my sacrifices for smiling compliance. Also, since I don’t keep secrets, William received a gift today.” She motioned to a small box on the table, then walked out of the kitchen, passing him without another glance, and a few seconds later he heard her footsteps on the stairs.
Jameson rubbed the bridge of his nose and scraped his ego off the floor, where Scarlett had crushed it beneath her foot. He’d been trying to protect her, to ease her, to keep yet another worry from her shoulders, and in doing so, he’d cut her out entirely. From the moment he’d met her, he’d stripped away little pieces of her. It didn’t matter if that had never been his intention—the result was the same.
She’d transferred for him, left her first station where she’d had friends. She’d hauled her sister along so she could keep the vow she’d made to Constance, too. She’d married him, lost her British citizenship for it, then had to pull family strings once again to be reposted when he was so she could follow him. When she’d fallen pregnant, she’d given up the work she loved—the work she’d based her worth on—and after she’d delivered, they’d been reposted again, and she’d lost daily contact with Constance…with anyone outside this house, really.
She’d given everything, and he hadn’t protested because he loved her too much to let her go.
He glanced at the small box that rested near his right hand, then picked it up, plucking the note from the top.