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"Do you truly want to know the reason why I cry myself to sleep every night?" Sarah asked Andrew in a choked whisper, having managed to quell the stream of tears, but only just. "Why I chopped off my hair?"
"Of course, I want to know," he insisted, sitting up beside her in bed. He flicked the light on, bathing them both in a sickly shade of pale yellow. "I love you, Sarah. Why wouldn't I want to know what's upset you?" He paused. "And, about your hair, I don't mind if you like it short," he added, reaching out and twisting a lock around his finger. "You're still the woman I loved enough to marry."
"I miss you," she wept, tears flowing anew. "Drew, I understand that we have responsibilities and duties, I knew that when I married you, I'm not stupid. I'm aware that there is more to being a member of the royal family than simply donning a tiara. I just…your parents promised us we could be together wherever you went in the Navy."
"I remember, Sarah–"
"I just wish that I could stop missing you," she continued. "No one else is upset when their spouses are gone."
"I'll speak to my superior and see if I can make a transfer to the Ministry of Defence," he offered. "Or have them facilitate a conversation with my mother, to see if she can find it in her to reconsider."
"Would you really want us there? Me and the girls?"
Beatrice and Eugenie were soundly asleep in their beds, oblivious to their mother's distress, a fact that Sarah was grateful for. She was decidedly less enthused by the reaction of Bendicks, whose slumber at the foot of the bed had been disturbed by her tears. At the dog's glower, she sobbed harder.
"Yes, of course, I want the three of you with me," he murmured, arms encircling her. "As for Bendicks, don't pay him any mind. I'll deal with his rudeness later."
She drew in a shuddering breath. "I think there's something wrong with me."
"Maybe you ought to see another psychoanalyst?" Andrew suggested. "I could find you a different one than the one the Princess of Wales procured for you, since I realise that option sold your secrets to the Sun on Sunday. The Navy has a programme–"
"I don't want to embarrass you."
"You don't embarrass me," he scoffed. "The programme is confidential, anyways. I've even considered going myself."
"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"
He shook his head. "I love you, babe." He brushed his lips to her forehead. "I just want you to be happy."
"Duch said that I embarrass you. That you'd be around more if I was still fun."
"She's wrong," he whispered. "I promise. I will find a way for us to be a proper family, even if it means getting you away from here and from Diana. Would you be okay with that?"
"I don't care about being around Duch if it means that I can be around you," she said after a moment. "You're my husband, the father of my children. They miss you, Drew, just as much as I do, if not more." She squeezed his hands. "Please, speak to whomever you have to. I didn't want to tell you about how badly I feel about myself because I thought you would be ashamed."
"Of you? Never."
"Mum said–"
"She's wrong. Put whatever she said out of your mind entirely. I know that she's your mother, but I really don't like her."
"You don't?"
"Not particularly, no," he sighed. "I wish she'd bugger off back to Argentina." He licked his lips. "Sorry, luv, that was a bit rude, I suppose."
"No, Drew, it's okay. I'd rather you be honest. I'm glad that she's wrong. I didn't want her to be right."
"Well, that's helpful, cos she never is." He shifted closer still. "Want to sneak down to the kitchens and skive off a midnight snack?" He waggled his brows. "I heard they've got chocolate profiteroles."
"Do you really want to?"
"Yeah, I'm keen. Sounds like fun. So long as it's with you."
"Yeah. Let's."