“I’m not sure. I suppose it was crooked.”
She stares at my tie in disgust and grabs it, her hands trembling slightly. She seems to hesitate before pulling it off altogether, her fingers curling around the fabric for a moment before she lets it fall to the floor. I try my best not to smile — I’m relatively certain that’ll only make her more angry. “You don’t need a tie,” she says, her tone snappy. “Your workday is over now, anyway. There’s no need to straighten it.”
I bite my lip, intensely fucking pleased. “Look at me,” I murmur. She lifts her gaze, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, as though her own reaction surprised her. I love it when she loses that control she holds onto so tightly. Watching her mask crack is such a delight. “Tell me you didn’t like her touching me, and it won’t ever happen again. Just say the words, Faye.”
Her lips part a little, and something I can’t quite decipher flashes across her face. “I don’t like it,” she whispers. “I really don’t like it when she’s so close to you, Dion. I don’t like that there’s so much history between you two, and I don’t like all the rumors surrounding you. I don’t like any of it.”
I smile then. I can’t help it. “Good girl. Tell me what you want,” I urge her. “You told me you wanted to let me in, so start by telling me that much.” She never makes demands of me, but I want her to. I need her to learn that she can ask for whatever the fuck she wants, and the world will obey her. She’s a Windsor now, my wife. I want her to start acting like it.
“I want you to draw better boundaries between the two of you,” she says hesitantly, as though she isn’t sure she should be admitting that. “I don’t want her standing so close to you again, and she definitely has no business touching your tie like that.”
I nod, my heart pounding wildly. It took a few weeks, but she seems back to the woman she was in the days after our wedding. I haven’t figured out what happened while I was in Canada, but whatever it was seems behind us now. From the moment she kissed me on the plane, she’s been herself again. It’s surprising just how much I missed her.
“Done,” I say simply. She looks at me all doe-eyed, and I cup her cheek gently, pure fucking tenderness rushing through me. “Though I wish you hadn’t crumpled and thrown down my tie like that. I bought it because it’s the same color as your eyes — it’s my favorite.”
Her gaze darts to the floor. “Oh!” she says, her voice high-pitched. She moves to reach for it, but I pull her into me instead, my arms wrapping around her tightly.
“You can make up for it by letting me take you out for dinner,” I murmur. The last few weeks have been rough. She’s given herself to me fully in bed, but outside of it she’s been distant, going as far as devising obvious excuses not to spend time with me. It’s been near impossible to even get her to have dinner with me in our own home.
I’m done giving into fear. I want more of her. All of her, and I’m going to fight for it.
I’ll fight both her insecurities and mine, our shared past, and every obstacle we have yet to face. I’ll fight for just one single chance at happiness with her… because I think she might want it too.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dion
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.