A sick feeling slid through Scarlett’s stomach as she realized that Constance had yet to meet her eyes. “Come on, poppet, just one cup.” She reached across the threshold and tilted Constance’s chin up.
Rage filled her heart. She was going to bloody kill him.
With the living room light illuminating her little sister’s face, Scarlett now saw the bruise marring Constance’s eye. The skin around it was puffy, red in places, and light blue in others, speaking to the bruise that would no doubt appear overnight.
“It’s nothing,” Constance said, jerking her head out of Scarlett’s grasp.
“Get in here.” Scarlett tugged Constance inside and shut the door behind them, then led her sister to the kitchen where she put on the kettle.
“It really is—”
“If you tell me it’s nothing again, I’m going to scream,” Scarlett threatened, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
Constance sighed and removed her hat, placing it on the table next to Scarlett’s typewriter. “What would you have me say?”
“The truth.”
“There are degrees of the truth,” Constance said, folding her hands in her lap.
“Not between us there aren’t.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“I angered him,” Constance explained, her eyes lowering to her hands. “Turns out he doesn’t like to be kept waiting, or to be told no.”
Scarlett’s chest ached. “You cannot marry him. If he does this before you’re married, imagine what will happen after.”
“You don’t think I know?”
“If you know, then why go through with it? I know you love that land, and I know you think it’s the last piece of Edward, but Edward wouldn’t want you to be battered and bruised to keep it.” Scarlett crossed the distance between them and dropped to her knees in front of her sister, taking her hands in her own. “Please, Constance, please don’t do this.”
“It’s out of my hands,” Constance whispered, her lower lip trembling. “Announcements have been made. Invitations have been sent. By this time next month, we’ll be married.”
Scarlett felt tears prick at her eyes but would not let them fall. It wasn’t her fault that Henry was an abusive ass, but she couldn’t help but feel as though her sister had taken her place at the guillotine.
“There is still time,” Scarlett pressed.
Constance’s eyes hardened. “I love you, but this discussion is over. I’ll happily stay another hour or two, but only if you promise to let it drop.”
Every muscle in Scarlett’s body tensed, but she nodded. “I’d ask if you need to ring your section later, but I noticed your new rank,” she said with a forced smile, nodding toward the insignia on Constance’s shoulder.
“Oh.” The corners of Constance’s lips tugged upward. “It happened last week, I just hadn’t had time to see you yet.”
Scarlett rose to take the seat next to her sister. “You deserved it long before last week.”
“It’s funny, really,” Constance said with a small pucker between her eyebrows. “Robbins walked up to me after a watch, handed it to me, and simply said that my new duties would start the next day. Quite anticlimactic, really.”
Scarlett smiled in earnest this time. “Will he let you stay in?” she asked, unable to avoid the question.
Constance’s smile fell. “I think so. It turns out he doesn’t have much of a say as a civilian, since he isn’t physically fit to serve. But we both know that if I fall pregnant, well…”
“Yes, well, we know all about that.” She gave her sister’s hand a squeeze. “Since your immediate future isn’t up for discussion, what would you like to do?”
Constance’s gaze fell to the typewriter. “Did I interrupt you writing?”
Warmth flooded Scarlett’s cheeks. “It’s nothing.”
The sisters’ eyes locked, both knowing that what they’d written off as nothing really meant everything.
“I’d hate to stop you in the middle of the grand masterpiece,” Constance said, lifting her eyebrows.
“Hardly a masterpiece,” Scarlett replied as the kettle whistled.
“How about you finish up the tea, and I’ll be your personal secretary and type?”
Scarlett grinned at the impish look on her sister’s face. “You just want to sneak a peek at what I’m writing.” Nevertheless, she stood and made her way to the stove.
“Guilty,” Constance admitted, taking off her jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair before sitting in front of the typewriter. “Well,” she said, sending her sister a poignant look. “Go ahead.”
Scarlett looked her sister over, then turned her attention to the tea. She couldn’t stop this marriage. She couldn’t take the bruises from Constance’s face, nor would she ever be able to. But she could help her escape, if only for a little while.
“All right,” she agreed. “Read me the last line.”
…
Jameson brought the Spitfire down in a near perfect landing, though he felt anything but on his game. The Germans had been swift to retaliate, and the bombings had increased tenfold, if not more.
There were now three Eagle Squadrons, full of Americans ready to risk their lives. Rumor had it, by the fall, they’d all be back in American uniform, but Jameson had stopped listening to rumors ages ago.
He taxied, then turned his fighter over to the ground crew. He could’ve sworn his muscles creaked in protest as he climbed out of the cockpit. The number of hours he’d spent in the sky lately felt like they outnumbered the ones he’d spent on the ground, and his body had taken notice. It had been weeks since he’d been allowed to sleep at Scarlett’s side.
The few hours he’d managed to spend with her hadn’t been nearly enough. He missed his family with an ache so sharp, it threatened to slice him in half, but every day became more apparent that he should miss them more… That they should be as far away as possible.
“We’re off for the night,” Howard said with his arms raised in victory. “What do you say, Stanton?”
“To what?” Jameson asked as he removed his helmet.
“Let’s get out of here and blow off some steam,” Howard suggested as they headed for the hangar.
“If we are really off for the night,” Jameson said, “the only place I’m going is home.” Just the thought had his lips turning upward.