I nod. “Of course. It’s blue.”
Sierra and Raven share a conspiratorial look and simultaneously burst out laughing. “So, hear me out,” Raven says as Val begins to pour shots, and Sierra opens a Tupperware box she brought filled with lime slices. “His favorite color right until my wedding day was green. A few days later, he shows up at my studio, telling me he wants a few ties and cufflinks in a very specific kind of blue. He spent an hour rejecting everything I offered him, and let me tell you, Dion doesn’t do that. He’s the most easygoing of all of us, so I was seriously confused. It made no sense at all. In the end, I had to custom mix colors for him and order him bespoke pieces. I spent months trying to figure out what was wrong with him, and in the end, it was Val who noticed it.”
Valentina laughs, her arm wrapping around me as she leans into me, her eyes on mine. “It’s so obvious, in hindsight,” she says, before bursting into laughter all over again.
Sierra shakes her head. “His new favorite color is the exact shade of your eyes,” she says, a teasing smirk on her lips.
The girls all burst into fits of laughter while I sit back on the sofa, dazed and flustered, my heart pounding wildly as I remember what he told me when I threw his tie on the floor in his London office.
I do 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.
Have I truly been missing all the signs he’s been giving me? Raven’s wedding was two years ago… back then he and I weren’t on good terms yet, but I remember that night vividly, because it was the first time he danced with me more than once. Even that would’ve been a small sign he was no longer doing the bare minimum. The first dance would’ve been an obligation, but the second and third ones were choices.
I bite my lip, eager to trust his actions. I learned long ago that a man’s actions weigh heavier than his words, yet somehow, I seem to have been missing everything he’s been saying.
Each step he’s taken toward me has been a hushed confession, an unspoken desire. In that regard, he and I are far more similar than I realized. We’re both too scared of rejection, of destroying the rocky foundation we built. Regardless, it’s time I start meeting him halfway. I wasn’t ready before, but I am now.
Chapter Forty-One
Dion
My body is taut with lingering tension from the flight as I quietly slip into the concert hall, the sounds of Faye’s performance the only thing disturbing the silence. The crowd is enraptured, and so am I.
I lean back against the wall, my heart racing as I stare at her, the spotlight illuminating her graceful form. She’s in a beautiful long gown tonight, and fuck, it’s insane that she’s my wife.
Just catching a glimpse of her is worth the lack of sleep and that truly dreadful turbulent flight. Thoughts of her carried me through, all the way into this venue.
She begins to play Debussy’s Rêverie, L. 68, and it truly sounds magical. There’s something about the way she plays that’s just unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. The only person who ever made me feel this in tune with music was my mother.
I smile to myself then, the memory of her bringing joy instead of pain for the first time in years. What would Mom say if she knew I flew back in a rush just to catch the tail end of my wife’s performance? She’d be proud, I’m sure. Dad would be too. He firmly believed that a man should put his wife and family first, above business, above profit, above anything and everything else.
My gaze wanders over the crowd with a hint of pride, only to settle on a familiar face. My blood runs cold at the sight of Eric. What the fuck is he doing here? Did she ask him to come here, knowing I’d be away? I bought this concert hall straight after that dinner at her house and expressly barred her father from so much as stepping foot into this place, hoping it’d prevent whatever it was that sent her spiraling when I went to Canada, but it looks like my darling wife took the opportunity to betray the vows she made.
I watch as she rises and bows to the audience, her gaze searching — for him, no doubt. She disappears behind the curtains, and I push off the wall, anger thrumming through my veins as I make my way backstage.
Faye looks up sharply when I walk into her dressing room, her face buried in the big bouquet of red roses that’s been placed on her vanity. The sight of it chills me to the bone, a white-hot kind of fury overtaking my senses.
“Dion!” she says, clearly shocked to find me here. While I pushed myself to get back to her as soon as I could, she’d been counting on my absence. I walk up to her and stare at her bouquet, my fingers trailing over the top of them, until I find a card hidden in between two flowers.
I haven’t stopped waiting. I never will.
- Eric.
I hold it up wordlessly, and her eyes widen as she steps away from her vanity and toward me. “I thought… I thought you sent them,” she says, her tone cautious, worried. She’s making excuses. Faye places her hands against my chest and looks up at me, her gaze pleading. “It isn’t what you think, Dion. I promise you, I had no idea they weren’t from you. I didn’t even look for a card.”
I reach for her and gently grab her chin, my eyes on hers, searching, waiting for a hint of the proof I’m after. “I would never send you red roses,” I tell her, my tone harsh. I’ve hated them ever since I saw them cover my parents’ caskets.
“Dion,” she pleads, a hint of desperation in her gaze.
I shake my head and cut her off. “I warned you,” I murmur, my hand slipping into her hair. “The day after we got married, I told you exactly what I’d do to you if I ever found you so much as dreaming of him, yet here you are, smiling into a bouquet he gave you. Did you think I was joking? Have I been too kind to you?”
“The only one I dream of is you,” she professes. “Only you, Dion.” My beautiful wife is wearing that expression I love, the one that tells me she’d do anything to please me, to take away my anger.
“Get on your fucking knees,” I whisper.
She looks into my eyes, her own gaze searching, though I’m uncertain what for. Whatever she finds makes her sink down to the floor slowly with an unexpected kind of confidence, her gaze unwavering.
“Take out my cock, Faye.”
Her breathing rapidly accelerates as she undoes my suit button in the middle of her dressing room, her tongue darting out to lick her lips as she frees my cock. She looks up at me for a moment, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. Does she think this is funny? “You warned me that you’d fuck my face if I so much of dreamt of him, didn’t you?” she asks, before slowly licking my cock from the tip to the base, her eyes never leaving mine. Fuck. “Is that what you want, Dion?”
I bury my hands in her hair and grip tightly as she takes the tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it and hitting every sensitive spot she can find. Goddamn. Who the fuck is getting punished here, because it sure as fuck doesn’t seem to be her.
“Suck,” I order, pushing deeper into her. She takes me eagerly and obeys, her mouth tightening around me. “Good fucking girl,” I moan as she begins to move her head properly. The way she’s looking up at me, pure desire dancing in her deep blues… fucking unreal. Faye moans on my cock and takes me deeper, angling her head just right for me to slip in all the way to the back of her throat. “Look at the way you’re taking your husband’s cock like the good girl you are,” I murmur, my anger draining away more with each swipe of her tongue. “You fucking love this, don’t you?”
She hums in affirmation and begins to suck me off in earnest, her movements eager, lust rapidly overtaking her expression. The sight of my wife on her knees and her mouth wrapped around my cock fucking undoes me.
I hold her hair and begin to thrust into her mouth, my movements increasingly erratic as she makes me lose control. She’s far too fucking good at this, and she doesn’t in the slightest look like she’s being punished. Fuck, she looks like she knows exactly who is in control here, and we’re both acutely aware it isn’t me. “You’re so good at letting me fuck your face,” I groan as I slip deeper into her throat, holding still for a moment to make sure she’s fine. She swallows around me in response, and I nearly fucking come right there and then. The amused look in her eyes tells me she knows it, and then she does it again.
“You fucking tease,” I groan, tightening my hold on her hair. I grit my teeth and begin to fuck her throat properly, keeping her head still as I use her mouth as I please, and she lets me. “You keep swallowing like that and I’ll come down your throat, Faye. You’re playing with fire.”