Marissa listened to Bridget's words, her stern tone.  Anger... was it so obvious what she was feeling then?  Marissa tried to not be so open about her emotion, but she supposed it shouldn't surprise her that Bridget had picked up on it.  After all, this woman made a living studying human emotion and its nuances, at least in a way.<br/><br/>"I'm trying very hard to not be angry," she admitted in a small voice, her gaze remaining on Cyril.  What did he think of any of this?  "I love my husband.  It's why I'm here.  I want to be what he needs, and I want to fulfill him without him needing to turn to someone else.  I'll listen to you while I'm here.  If I understood him better, he and I wouldn't be where we are, and it seems that you are in a better position than I am to know his needs."  God, it stung to make that admission.  "I can handle this.  Cyril, can you?"<br/><br/>She hadn't addressed him since she'd been in this house, but she did now.  They were here, and their trying this was no longer something abstract.  Was he still up for this?