I hold Faye’s hand in mine as we walk into the restaurant I booked for us. “It’s beautiful, but it’s so empty,” she murmurs, confused. “This place is supposed to be famous. I saw it in all the articles about top things to do here.”
I don’t bother telling her I booked this entire restaurant out for tonight. She’d likely feel overwhelmed by it, and it’s not my intention to highlight how much money is now at her disposal, not when she isn’t quite comfortable with it yet. All I want is some privacy with my wife, and we’ve got it now.
“Mr. and Mrs. Windsor,” the chef greets as soon as we’re seated, his tone eager but respectful as he talks us through the bespoke menu he created for tonight. Faye seems engrossed in the details of every dish, and I simply sit back to watch her. When did being with her stop filling me with guilt? It must’ve been when I realized that the same darkness consumes us both, yet when I’m buried inside her, it can’t touch either of us. Each time I’m the one that brings the light back to her eyes, a little more of my guilt eases.
I thank the sommelier as he pours both of us a glass of wine, and the moment we’re left alone, I lift it to hers. “To us,” I murmur.
She taps her glass against mine, and my heart begins to pound wildly. Yeah, I really do want it all with her. I’m falling, aren’t I? I never meant for it to happen, but she owns me. Perhaps it was when I first kissed her in Hawaii, or maybe it was when I danced with her and made her laugh. Maybe it was far earlier than that, when I found her trembling in my arms, on the verge of a panic attack. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but she took what’s left of me.
“I want more,” I murmur, the words leaving my lips without thinking.
Faye’s brows rise, and she smiles. “More of what?”
“You.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, and a beautiful blush stains her cheeks. “Oh,” she breathes. “I… I’m not sure what you…”
“Let’s start with moving beyond small talk,” I propose. “I’d really like you to stop being so careful around me. It’s like you’re only truly honest with me when we’re in bed, Faye.”
Her cheeks become redder still, and she glances around to ensure our conversation is still private. I find even those furtive glances of hers cute as hell. I’m fucked.
“Now, don’t get me wrong. I love fucking you, my darling wife. I love making you come on my cock, and fuck, I love the taste of you. But it isn’t enough. I want you outside of bed, too.” I want to be able to ask her what’s wrong and receive an honest answer. When she has a tough day, I want to be the one she turns to, and not just because she needs an escape, but simply because I’m her person. “Tell me, do you want the same? Is that what you meant when you said you wanted to let me in?”
She lifts her glass to her lips and takes a sip, considering my words. “Yes,” she answers, her voice soft.
“Then let’s start by having conversations that are deeper than surface level. Each time I try, you brush me off with an excuse or an answer that sounds awfully well-practiced. I just want you, Faye. You don’t have to pretend in my presence — the only version of you I want is the real you.”
“Dion,” she murmurs, her voice breaking. “What if I don’t know which version of me is real?”
I smile at her, knowing all too well how she feels. “Then give me all of you, every last jagged fractured piece. Give me all of it, Faye, because those pieces you think are broken? They complete me.”
I reach for her and grab her hand, lifting it to my lips. She stares at me with such hope, and it lights something inside me that I thought I’d lost. “Tell me you want to try,” I murmur, my voice soft. “With me.”
She smiles then, and it’s one of those smiles that makes my heart beat outside my chest. I breathe a sigh of relief and gently kiss her knuckles when she says, “I do. I want to try with you.”
I entwine our fingers across the table as our server brings us our appetizers, the atmosphere entirely changed. The distance that’s always been so clear is notably absent now, and I can’t help but relax into my seat. It’s been so long since my thoughts stilled the way they have tonight, and it’s all because of her.
She smiles at me, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. Sometimes it hurts to look at her purely because I recognize so much of myself in her, and the things that hide inside me should never have found their way into those beautiful blues.
“Let me start with a simple question, then,” I murmur, and she nods. “How did you start playing the piano? You’re one of the youngest concert pianist in the country, and it’s an impressive feat, but I realize I know nothing about the origins of your career. Was it because of your mother?”
Our mothers were both renowned pianists, so it seems likely that Faye’s mom would’ve wanted her to follow in her footsteps. It’s what Mom always wanted for me, too.
My wife blanches, and I frown when I notice the way her hand trembles as she reaches for her glass. “Dion,” she says, shaking her head.
“Try, baby,” I plead. It’s such a simple question, but admittedly, there’s more to it. I want to know why she played until she bled. Her piano seems to be a source of both comfort and pain, and I want to understand why. Is it because her wounds are similar to mine?
Faye’s expression shutters closed, her gaze once more becoming unreadable. “It was because of you,” she says, her tone calm, even. “The only reason I’m a concert pianist is because of you. My father forced me to learn from the moment he found out about our future marriage. I was three. I had to learn because at that time, it still seemed like you would’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps. When it became clear that you wouldn’t, my father had already realized I’d inherited my mom’s talent, and he kept me in classes because he felt being a skilled pianist was a trait your family would appreciate. If nothing else, it’d be something we’d have in common and could talk about or bond over.” She grimaces then. “You say you discuss subjects beyond small talk? Pick any topic. Anything at all. My entire life was crafted to benefit and complement yours, so if you had an interest in it, so did I.”
I stare at her in shock. What? What the fuck? Faye’s expression morphs from resentment into horror, and she lifts her hand to her lips, as though she realized she said something she shouldn’t have. “I… I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t… that’s…”
I think back to our past, and everything slowly clicks together. Of course. While my family allowed me to run away from this marriage for years, hers trained her to become the perfect Windsor wife. My grandmother simply wanted to honor the promise our mothers made, but for Faye’s family, a lot more was at stake. The amount of money involved would’ve been life changing. Quite literally.
I feel sick to my stomach as I think back to everything I know about Faye. I’d felt guilty because of everything I took from her, not realizing it was far more than I ever could’ve comprehended. What right do I have to sit across from her now, asking for even more?
