Father’s gaze roams over my body, calculating, analyzing. “Faye,” he says, his voice soft. “From what I understand, Dion only just came back this morning. He stayed in London until the very last second.” His tone is accusing, as though I have any influence over Dion’s choices. “He didn’t come back alone,” he adds, his expression turning ugly. “His secretary, Maria, is moving back with him.”
My heart clenches painfully, and I lower my gaze as the photos The Herald posted flicker through my mind. Father moves past me and grits his teeth. The malice in his eyes makes Chloe whimper, and that only further agitates him.
He reaches for her and firmly wraps his hand around her hair before yanking on it so hard that she falls to his feet. She begins to cry, and I force myself to keep my breathing steady, to stay calm.
“You’ll need to keep an eye on Maria. He’s with her every second of every day, and he has been for years,” he says as he places his shoe on the side of Chloe’s face, pressing her into the wooden floor harshly.
I try my best to keep my heart intact as my sister’s sobs fill my bedroom. It pains me that I can’t defend her against him. The first time he hit her, I tried to jump in front of her, and he warned me that he’d only double her punishment if I ever tried it again. With Dion being back, he doesn’t want to risk leaving any bruises on me, but this is far worse. Chloe doesn’t deserve to be punished for my inadequacies, yet there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening.
“You need to steal Dion’s attention away from Maria and keep him happy. In that pretty dress, even you should be able to keep him enticed for a night,” he grits out. “Every single year, he takes you home within an hour of you arriving at the gala. Tonight, you need to make sure he keeps you around until the end of the night. If you dare come home before then, you can sleep outside, you hear me? I’ll give both Chloe and Abigail a new bruise for every minute you’re home early.”
His expression hardens then, and he kicks Chloe’s shoulder as she curls herself into a ball. “Do you need another reminder of what’s at stake?” he asks, his voice soft.
Fear runs down my spine, and I shake my head. “No, Father,” I reply instantly. If this engagement were to end, years of sacrifice would go to waste. We need the money we’ll get once I’m married. My father’s debts mean we’d lose our home if this marriage doesn’t happen, but that’d likely be the least of our worries. Chloe is still a minor, and Abigail won’t leave. If my father loses his last hope, he’d take it out on all of us, and I’m not sure I could save them.
“If you can’t get to Dion, you will need to start charming everyone around him. By the time you walk down that aisle, you’ll need to be entrenched in his life so thoroughly that there’s no way out for him without letting down his family.”
The thought of manipulating Dion and the Windsors in that way sickens me, yet I nod demurely. Is this what the rest of my life looks like? Endless manipulation and facades?
Chapter Thirteen
Dion
I lean back against my car and stare up at Faye’s house, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. She and I have attended this gala together for the last three years, but I’ve never once picked her up myself. I’ve always sent a driver and done all I could to keep some distance between us, convinced I was doing both of us a favor.
Some pleasantries when I see her in the crowd, one single mandatory dance, and then I ask her if she’d like to go home before escorting her out. That’s the script we’ve both adhered to for the last three years, but tonight will be different. From now on, everything will be different.
While I was away, I kept wondering what would have happened if I’d paid her more attention. Would she still have ended up with Eric? Or would these few months leading up to our wedding have been different — filled with anticipation instead of trepidation? I can’t change the past, but I can do better going forward. It’ll never be enough, but she still deserves my best.
I pause by the front door, feeing oddly conflicted. Sixteen years of being engaged to her, and I’ve never been here before. I have no idea what lies beyond this door, and I’ve never wanted to know. I’ve never let myself wonder, never let myself ask more of her than I should — not before I have to.
The door opens moments after I ring the bell, and Faye appears. “Fuck,” I mutter, my eyes roaming over her. She looks… devastatingly beautiful. She’s a vision in blue, and the way that dress clings to her body is positively sinful. How am I supposed to maintain my sanity for an entire night when she looks like that?
“Dion,” she says, her eyes widening in shock for a fraction of a second, before the despondency I’ve become used to replaces it. It’s odd, but somehow, I want more. More of a reaction, more light in her eyes, more words out of those pretty lips. More of her. Now that I know about the fire she keeps hidden deep within, nothing less will do. Before the night is over, I’ll make those beautiful blue irises spit fire.
“Ready?” I ask, offering her my arm. She nods, her gaze downcast as her arm slips through mine. Even with the heels that are clicking against the ground, she’s still so incredibly tiny, and having her on my arm elicits a feeling I’ve never felt before. It’s protectiveness laced with tenderness.
I hold the door open for her, and she nods at me in appreciation, her attitude as distant as it’s always been. It never bothered me before. Hell, I’m not sure I ever noticed it. I’ve always been so busy running away from her, I failed to notice that she’s never once taken a single step toward me.
She’s quiet as I get in the car, her posture subdued. I thought she might ask me why I picked her up myself, or at the very least, I expected her to ask how my trip was. She doesn’t. How come I never realized that she never initiates a conversation between us?
I twist toward her, taking her in. “Faye,” I murmur. She looks up, a hint of caution in her demeanor. “Did you miss me?”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I see panic in them as she tries to decide how to respond. Her expression is carefully blank, but those eyes. Oh those fucking eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I tell her, chuckling.
She exhales, seemingly in relief. It was such a simple question, yet she seemed genuinely worried about getting the answer wrong. Do I truly scare her that much? I’d meant to joke around with her a little, but maybe I shouldn’t have.
“Fine,” I murmur. “Tell me that you’ve been good for me, then.” This time, I’m not joking. I need to know she hasn’t spoken to him. I shouldn’t care as much as I do, but fuck, I can’t bear the thought of her going behind my back, of him on the phone with her all night.
“Yes,” she tells me, her mask cracking. “I’ve been a good girl for you, Dion.”
Fuck. I know what she meant, but her words bring an entirely different image to mind. I clear my throat and try my best to drag my eyes off her, but instead I find myself staring at her lips. My good girl. My future wife. I can’t wait to have her. She’s so fucking small… can she even take me?
“Dion?”
I snap out of it and straighten in my seat, praying she can’t tell how hard my cock is in this goddamn tight tux I’m wearing. I’ve never even kissed her, and she’s already got me fucked up over her. What changed? For years, I never thought of her that way, yet now I can’t stop wanting her.
“We’ll enter the venue through a different entrance to avoid the paparazzi,” I tell her as I start the car. “They’re rather eager for shots of my siblings and me tonight.”
My eyes drift toward hers, only to find her looking at me with an expression I can’t read. I’ve never been curious about what goes on behind those beautiful eyes of hers, but I am now. She merely nods at me and looks away, both of us falling silent.
Normally I would’ve been grateful for it, but tonight the silence speaks volumes. There’s nothing for us to say, nor do we know each other well enough to have a meaningful conversation. She’s just a stranger that’ll soon take my name, and I only have myself to blame for it.
The gala is in full swing by the time we walk in, yet I notice several men stopping mid-conversation, their eyes roaming over my fiancée. I grit my teeth and grab her hand, entwining our fingers. She stares up at me in surprise, and I suddenly realize I’ve never held her hand before. It feels so fucking tiny in mine, and nothing has ever felt more right.
“Did you forget?” I murmur, taking a step closer to her, until my body brushes against hers.
“Forget?” she repeats, a cute frown on her face. “What did I forget?”
“That I’m yours.” I lift our joined hands to my lips and kiss the back of her hand. “If you don’t hold my hand, I might get lost in the crowd. Then what?”
Her lips tug up at the edges, as though she’s trying her best to suppress a smile. “Dion, you’re a giant. You’re at least six-foot-three. I’m relatively certain you can look over everyone’s head. I think you’ll be fine.”
I pull her onto the dance floor and shake my head. “No, I don’t think I’ll be fine without you.”