The sound of Faye’s sorrow fills the bedroom in my suite, each choked back sob another vicious stab at my heart. I always knew I’d make her cry, but I never realized how deep those tears would cut.
My gaze roams over the woman seated at the edge of my bed, her previously perfect makeup smudged, and her golden skin a few shades paler than usual. Faye has the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen, but today they’re filled with nothing but sorrow and guilt.
She keeps running her hand through her long dark hair, messing it up. I’ve never seen her so undone. It hurts to look at her, but I can’t tear my eyes away. She’s stunning, even now.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
Eric is probably pacing in my suite’s seating area, needing an explanation she doesn’t want to give. I’m not sure what I was expecting from her when we barely speak, but I certainly wasn’t expecting her to be dating someone mere months before our wedding.
I walk toward her, and her head snaps up, her tear-stained eyes meeting mine. “Faye,” I murmur, my heart aching at the sight of her. Never before has she shown me such raw, unfiltered emotions. It’s ironic that the first time I’m seeing them is because of someone else. It’s almost like the universe is telling me that I don’t even deserve her tears, let alone her smiles — like I didn’t already fucking know that. Perhaps equally ironic is the fact I’m only here because my home is being renovated in preparation for our wedding. It’s being renovated for her. This entire situation fills me with a kind of bitterness that nearly fucking wrecks me.
I kneel in front of her and place my hands on my bed, either side of her hips. She inhales shakily, pure unadulterated heartbreak in her gaze as she lifts her face. Fuck, I could drown in her eyes if I’m not careful.
Another tear rolls down her cheek, and her lashes flutter closed. I sigh and reach for her, noting the way her body tenses as I gently cup her cheek with my right hand, my thumb brushing away her tears. “Look at me,” I plead.
She does as I ask, revealing her vulnerability, her pain. “Dion,” she whispers, her voice breaking. Fuck. “I’m s-so sorry.”
I use my free hand to move her hair out of her face, unable to suppress my desire to touch her, to console her. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I reassure her, though the words taste like fucking cardboard on my tongue. “We aren’t quite married yet, and our engagement is hardly conventional. You don’t owe me anything — not yet.”
She inhales shakily, a fresh wave of tears escaping her eyes. My heart wrenches, and I act entirely on instinct when I carefully thread a hand through her hair before pulling her against me. Faye falls apart in my embrace, her knees pressed against my ribs and her face nestled against my neck.
“I sh-should’ve known b-better,” she sobs. Faye quivers against me as she loses control over her emotions, and I try my best to hold her together. She was never meant to affect me in this way, yet here I am, on my knees for her, desperate to take away her pain.
I hold her against me until her sobs come less frequently, her breathing a little steadier. My hands wrap around her shoulders, and I gently push her back until she’s sitting upright again, my need to look her in the eye greater than my desire to hold her close.
“How long has this been going on?” I ask, unable to keep the question buried. Her answer won’t make a difference, but I need to know. Why, I’m not quite sure.
Faye flinches and looks away, as though she can’t bear to face me. “It’s not what you think,” she tells me, her voice catching on the last word. Her arms wrap around herself, and my heart stirs, yet my anger is far from appeased.
“It’s not what I think?” I repeat. “So you aren’t dating one of my family’s lawyers?” Eric and I aren’t as close as we were when we were younger, but once upon a time, I’d have called him a friend.
She parts her lips to answer me, and my gaze drops to her mouth. The mere thought of Eric having kissed those pretty pouty lips of hers when I never have… fuck. Why the fuck did it have to be someone I know?
“Does your father know about this?” I ask, unease running down my spine. How the fuck did this happen without me realizing? I might not know Faye as well as I should, but I do know she’s always been meek and obedient in her father’s presence. It’s what made me underestimate her.
Fear flashes through her eyes, and she instantly shakes her head. The fact that she’s here at all, behind his back, means she’s willing to go quite far for Eric. The thought of that is accompanied by an unfamiliar ache that reeks of… jealousy.
“Were you planning to run off with him?” The mere thought of it makes my blood boil. I spent so much time convincing myself that I didn’t want her, I never realized how often she’s on my mind.
“No,” Faye says, reaching for me. She places a hand on my bicep, and I wonder if she’s aware that this might very well be the first time she’s taken the initiative to touch me in any way. “It’s not… that’s not… I was going to end things with him today. I knew you were moving back soon, so I…”
I stare at her, trying to determine whether she’s being truthful. That torment in her eyes, the sincerity. I doubt she’s faking that, yet her story doesn’t add up.
“It certainly didn’t look like you were about to break up with him,” I murmur, keeping a lid on my venom. “If anything, it looked an awful lot like you were on your way up to do something else altogether.” My stomach twists at the thought of her underneath Eric. How many times has he had her? I grit my teeth and push the mental image away, lest it consume me.
“It really isn’t what you think. We…” her voice trails off, as though she’s all out of excuses.
I reach for her and wrap my hands around her waist, catching her by surprise. Her eyes widen, and a humorless smile tugs at my lips as my palms slide down to her thighs. I part them and watch her black skirt ride up before pulling her closer, until she’s seated right at the edge of the bed, her thighs bracketing my waist and her face mere inches from mine. I’ve never had her so close, never in such an intimate position, but it feels right. It takes the edge off my unease, though it’s not quite enough.
“Faye, were you on your way up to fuck him, or not?” I ask, my voice rough, pained. My gaze travels back up to her eyes, and the guilt I see in them fuels my torment. “Answer me.”
I watch her throat move as she swallows, her breathing quicker than it was moments ago. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
Her words fucking wreck me, and the way she looks at me tells me she knows it. Would it have hurt less if it hadn’t been someone I know? If I’d never had to see her with him? It’s true that I’ve been avoiding our marriage, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want her. I’ve never fucking dated anyone else, and I’ve certainly never imagined myself married to anyone but her. I’ve been so caught up in my shame and guilt that it hadn’t occurred to me that my coldness would push her into someone else’s arms.
“Dion,” she whispers, placing her hand on my chest. I glance down at her empty ring finger, something akin to remorse washing over me. I spent so much time running away from her I didn’t consider what my absence would invite. Hardly anyone knows I’m even engaged, much less to whom. I should’ve put a noticeable engagement ring on her finger, like my grandmother told me to.
I watch her as she tries to gather her courage. She straightens her back a little, and that fire in her eyes blazes a little brighter. Does she have any idea how fucking mesmerizing she is? Somehow, I doubt it.
“I’ve seen the British gossip articles about you,” she murmurs eventually, her jaws clenching for a moment. I tense, and my first instinct is to refute her words. I haven’t been with anyone else since she turned eighteen, but admitting that would invite far too many questions that I don’t have an answer to. “We never promised each other fidelity,” she continues. “Matter of fact — we’ve never promised each other anything at all.” She’s so fucking tiny, yet she doesn’t look the least intimidated. Where has that ardor been all these years?
Faye’s always reminded me of a porcelain doll — beautiful, but devoid of emotions. Every interaction I’ve ever had with her seemed eerily practiced, robotic even. I now realize she’s been putting on an act for me, hiding the best parts of herself. What I don’t understand is why.
“Is that so?” I murmur, my gaze roaming over her face as I grab her waist, my thumbs drawing circles over the silky material of her blouse. I’ve never touched her so intimately before. Even when we danced at the events we’ve attended together over the years, we were both detached, playing our roles. This moment… it’s different, and we both know it. “Last I checked, you promised me your hand in marriage.”
Her breath hitches, and her gorgeous eyes widen a fraction. “I did nothing of the sort.” Her voice is soft, pained. “Our marriage agreement was made by our families. Neither of us had anything to do with it, and I’m pretty sure neither of us wants anything to do with it either.”
She stares up at me, and I’m fucking captivated. My usually numb heart is aching in a way I never thought it could, and for the life of me, I can’t look away. So this is what my future wife looks like when she isn’t acting.
“Do you really think I want to marry a man who couldn’t care less about me?” she asks, indignation chiseled into her expression. “I’m pretty sure you changed your phone number weeks ago and never even bothered to tell me. You drew a line between us, Dion, and I stayed firmly on my side.”
I flinch involuntarily, unable to deny her words. She’s right. A few weeks ago, I switched my UK number to a US number, and I never told her. It just… hadn’t occurred to me. She and I never talk, after all. I can count the times she’s called me on one hand.
“I’ll admit, I fucked up there,” I concede. “Don’t you think I realize I have no grounds to stand on? I know I barely paid you any mind throughout our engagement, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn a blind eye to whatever the fuck is going on here.”
My gaze roams over her face, and she gasps when my thumb brushes over her bottom lip. So fucking soft. What will she taste like when I finally get to have her to myself? I’m the last person that deserves to have any part of her, yet here I am, about to take more from her than I already have.
“This thing between you and him ends now.” The despair in her eyes fucking guts me, yet I forge ahead. “I can’t share you, Faye. I won’t. Either you end our engagement, or you end things with him right here, right now. What is it going to be?”
She’s as capable of breaking this engagement as I am — that is, not at all. The ultimatum I’m giving her is an empty one, born of unwarranted ruthlessness and ire. This is exactly what I’ve always feared. My guilt toward her doesn’t outweigh my need to possess her, and it should. Fuck, it should.
Her eyes fall closed, and she chokes back a sob. It fucking kills me, and for a moment, my resolve wavers. Could I live like that? Could I turn a blind eye if it’ll bring her happiness?
My gaze roams over her body, and I clench my jaw. No. I can’t bear the thought of her coming home to me after being with someone else. I wish I was a better man, but I’m not, and I never will be. I know I don’t deserve it, but if she is to be my wife, I want all of her. That’s always been the problem — I’m a selfish fucking monster.
Faye looks into my eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’ll end it,” she whispers, and relief rushes through me.
“Good,” I tell her, my tone harsh. “Let me be clear, Faye. From now on, you are mine as much as I am yours. Don’t you dare so much as dream of pulling this shit again.”
Her expression shifts into something I can’t quite decipher, and I find myself wanting to unravel her and discover the parts she tries to hide. “One chance,” I murmur. “I’ll only give you one chance. I’ll forget this ever happened and won’t mention it to your father, but in return, you won’t speak to Eric after today. Deal?”
She nods and averts her gaze, but fails to hide her heartbreak. She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know that she loves him. She’ll break up with him because she has no other choice, and she’ll always resent me for it. It’ll be yet another item on the list of grievances she’ll end up creating.
