Marissa listened to Bridget's words, her lips pursing into a frown.  Not an act.  She supposed she'd expected to be able to fake herself through this, but maybe that wouldn't be fair to Cyril.  He'd been caretaker for as long as she could remember, both at work and at home.  And now she'd have to learn not only to take on that role but to relish it?  She wasn't sure if she could, although she would try.  For him and for their marriage, she would try.<br/><br/>She watched him carefully as he listened to Bridget's words.  He seemed tense, barely looking up when he was addressed.  He referred to the other woman as Mistress, and Marissa found herself disliking the moniker immensely.  Cyril had never bothered much with nicknames for her, had always just referred to her as Marissa.  But she supposed she'd have to see about him calling her something else, something that gave her authority, if she was to take on a new role in his life.  But Mistress?  No, never that.<br/><br/>A little nervously, she put her hands in her lap.  It was now or never.  "So, then," she started, stopping when she heard the trembling in her voice.<em>Be strong, Marissa!</em>She hardened her heart, focusing on the determination she had to save her marriage and the residual anger she had toward Cyril for giving to Bridget what was rightfully hers.  "Where do we start.  I'm ready to learn the mechanics.  And believe me, Bridget, it won't be an act."  She looked hard at her husband when she said the words.