When my grandmother asked my siblings and me to gather in our formal drawing room, I’d known. I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself, but I’d known that my time was up.
Grandma’s eyes roam over the room, and while she studies my four brothers and my little sister, I study her. I take in her perfectly styled shoulder-length hair, the blue suit she’s wearing, and the sheer uncompromising ruthlessness in her demeanor. There’s no kindness in her gaze today.
I tense when she clears her throat, my stomach sinking the moment those cold green eyes settle on me. I knew what she’d say before she even parted her lips, but that doesn’t lessen the weight of her words.
“Dion, your wedding date has been set,” she announces, her tone carrying a finality that I struggle to come to terms with. “The wedding will be held six months from now.”
The tension in the room is palpable, the air laced with defeat. “I see,” I murmur, unable to keep my voice steady. My usual mask of indifference fails me tonight, and I lower my gaze, unwilling to worry my siblings needlessly.
Arranged marriages are a Windsor tradition, and I’ve known for years that this day would come. Out of all my siblings, I’m the only one who’s been engaged for years, the only one who’s known who I’d marry for over a decade now. That never made it easier. No — if anything, it’s felt like a slow walk toward the gallows, until, at last, my fate is sealed.
My grandmother begins to discuss wedding plans, details, and timelines, but I struggle to focus on her words. All I can think about is Faye, my fiancée.
Thoughts of her are always accompanied by remorse, and today is no different. Remorse for everything I’ve taken from her, and everything I’m yet to destroy. She should’ve had her entire life ahead of her, but instead, I’ll ruin what’s left of her.
“Dion?” my grandmother says, cutting through the haze. My eyes snap up, and I realize the room has fallen silent. “Need I remind you of our agreement? It’s time to stop avoiding Faye.”
I clench my jaw and nod curtly. Faye and I have been engaged since we were children, but I wasn’t informed of it until I was sixteen. The second I could, I escaped to boarding school, followed by college overseas. The idea of marrying someone ten years younger horrified me, but even then, there was more to it. It was the fact that it was her.
I kept running, choosing to focus on the global expansion of our conglomerate after college, just so I didn’t have to face her more than a few times a year. Working overseas bought me a bit more time, but it wasn’t enough.
It’ll never be enough.
My grandmother continues to speak, but I can’t take another moment of this. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m out the door and halfway through our estate, my thoughts whirling. I keep walking, needing the fresh air, the chill in the wind — anything to keep my mind off Faye.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t been fully aware of where my feet led me. My heart twists painfully as I pause in front of a familiar building, the sharp pain a welcome deviation from the numbness that had overtaken me when I left the drawing room. I hadn’t meant to come here, but there is obviously no escaping my guilt tonight.
My fingers gently brush over the hidden compartment in the wall, and I push against one of the bricks, exposing a spare key. Our childhood home is the only building on our estate that we never upgraded with the new tech we installed everywhere else. Though we never discussed it, my siblings and I came to a silent agreement to leave it untouched. Perhaps we all simply wanted to preserve what’s left of our parents, or maybe none of us are quite ready to let go. I’m not sure we ever will be.
The house is quiet when I walk in, and though it looks the same as I remember it, it feels different. This home, that was once filled with warmth, feels empty, and it hits me just as hard as it did twenty years ago.
Somehow, a small part of me expected my mother to walk down the stairs, a sweet smile on her face as she welcomes me home. Knowing I’ll never get to see her again still hurts the same. More so today than usual.
I draw a shaky breath, and my lungs seize as I try to breathe through the dull pain in my chest. I’d give the world to have my parents here with me today, and knowing that nothing I could ever do will bring them back tears at my tattered soul.
I pause in front of my father’s liquor cabinet and let myself wonder what it’d be like to share a glass with him. What advice would he have for me tonight? He adored Faye when she was a child, and I doubt that would’ve changed.
My hand trembles as I grab a bottle of his finest whiskey and bring it to my lips. The liquor warms my throat, and I welcome the feeling as I continue to walk through the house, until my feet come to a standstill in front of my mother’s piano. I stand frozen in place, my heart hollow. The concert grand was custom-built for her, right down to the Windsor crest detailing in real gold on the top board, and the rosewood finishing that she let me choose. It’s a beauty fit for the queen she was, and I’d give the world to hear her play for me one last time. I’d lay down my life to see one more smile.
I take several more deep swigs of my father’s whiskey, and for a brief moment, I wonder what Mom would think if she saw me now. Would she be disappointed that I stopped playing the piano? Once again, my thoughts turn to Faye, and I take another step forward.
My mother would’ve loved the woman Faye has become, even if it’s just because she’s a concert pianist, just like both of our mothers were. Mom would’ve asked to play duets with her in this room, and they’d never run out of things to talk about. She’d tell Faye all about how she once taught me to play, and how she wanted me to follow in her footsteps. If I hadn’t lost her, would I have?
I sit down on my mother’s piano bench, the sheet music untouched. La Campanella. Her favorite. She didn’t even need to read the notes to play it — the sheet music was for me. It’s the last piece she tried teaching me, and one of the few I never had the heart to master. Not truly.
I lightly brush my fingers over the ivories, my heart heavy. “I miss you,” I whisper, desperate for a reply. When none comes, I lift my father’s bottle to my lips again, drinking deeply. Desperation dictates my moves as I place the bottle by my feet and begin to play, the melody starting off slow. My eyes move across the notes, and for a moment, I remember why I loved playing so much, back when the sound of a piano didn’t rip my heart to pieces, back when it was our thing — Mom and mine.
The song is distorted, ruined by the piano’s need for tuning, but somehow, it suits my mood far better than the normally light and uplifting tilt of Liszt’s famous tune. It sounds as broken as I am, and the notes I miss would’ve made my mother cringe. She’d have flinched at the way I’m butchering her favorite piece, the way her piano sounds due to my negligence, and then she’d have pasted on a bright reassuring smile, because that’s who she was. She was warmth, love, and the light in my life. My world has been cast in shadows since the day I lost my parents, and I don’t think I’ll ever claw my way out.
The melody turns darker, rougher, the acoustics of this room still as perfect as they’ve always been, but it does nothing to soothe my aching heart. The final note echoes, and I exhale shakily as I rest my forehead against the music shelf.
“I never thought I’d hear you play again.”
I tense and turn my head to find my sister standing in the doorway, her expression as haunted as mine likely is. How did she know where to find me?
I shake the thought off and smile wryly. No, of course she knew. Sierra and I are made of the same ilk. She shines brightly, the way Mom always did, but behind her smile hides a depth most can’t fathom. Out of all of us, she’s the most observant, the most caring. She feels things deeply, both highs and lows, and she hurts alongside every one of our siblings. Tonight might be hard for me, but witnessing my pain will break her heart more than it does mine. I know I should fake it for her and be the big brother she deserves, but I can’t. Not tonight.
She walks toward me and kneels beside my bench, a shaky smile on her lips. I hold my arm open for her, and she hugs me tightly. I sigh as I place my chin on top of her head and hug her back.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. She’s the only person who knows about the guilt and shame I carry, the sins that weigh heavy on me.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dion,” she lies.
“I can’t do this to her. Not her.”
Sierra pulls away to look at me, her expression guarded. “But you must, and if it’s absolution you seek, what better way to find it than by making Faye happy? Maybe you’ll find that in doing so, you’ll experience the happiness you deserve, too. Because you do, Dion. You deserve to be happy.”
I look into my sister’s eyes, taking in her sincerity. How could she possibly believe that with such fierceness, such conviction? How could she sit here without blaming me for everything I’ve taken from her, from us?
Would she still feel the same way if she knew about the viciousness I hide away? I’m worried my venom will end up infecting Faye too. Being with me will taint her, corrupt her — and a sick, wicked part of me wants it to. What would Sierra say if I admit that I haven’t just been running away from my fiancée out of guilt?
