Eric turns her toward me, confusion flitting through his eyes at her reluctance, and I take my time to study her. My gaze roams over her body, taking in the way her short skirt and that silky blouse highlight her curves — all for Eric, no doubt. Her long dark hair falls to her waist in big waves that only seem to accentuate her gorgeous face, and all of a sudden, I’m hit with a desperate need to find out what those strands would feel like between my fingers. This is why I’ve grown increasingly fearful throughout the last few years — she’s becoming harder to ignore, to resist.
Faye seems to just get more and more beautiful each time I see her, but her beauty has never hit me quite as hard as it does today. Perhaps it’s the way that sexy full bottom lip of hers trembles, or the way she’s attempting to defy the inevitable by refusing to look me in the eye. Fuck, maybe it’s simply that sweet coconut scent of hers. Whatever it is has me spellbound.
“Faye,” I murmur, her name a fucking treat on my lips. Her breath hitches, and I smile humorlessly. “What are you doing here?”
My gaze lowers to Eric’s hand on her waist, and my own hands slowly curl into fists. For a moment, I wonder what it’ll sound like if I break every single finger he’s laid on what’s mine, but then Faye raises those deep blue eyes of hers, and every drop of anger drains away.
With each passing second, more of her blues are drowned out by the force of her panic, but despite that, she doesn’t look away. Even as a tear spills from her stunning eyes, she faces me head-on, defiance warring with her obvious fear. She’s mesmerizing. I’ve seen her countless times throughout the years, but she’s never looked at me with even a fraction of the emotions she’s showing me right now. Her smiles have always been cold and distant, our conversations polite, nothing between us ever straying beyond what’s appropriate. The woman standing in front of me right now is not the girl she’s had me convinced she was.
“Eric,” I murmur. “How exactly do you know Faye?”
I need to know how far she’s taken this. Faye doesn’t owe me a single thing until we’re married, but I need to know. Is this just a casual fling, or is she about to walk down the aisle wishing I was him?
“She’s my girlfriend,” he says, his voice soft, perturbed, as though he’s finally realized something is wrong.
My stomach twists painfully, yet I don’t look away. Neither does she. I watch as guilt dances in her eyes, her breathing coming quicker as she succumbs to the panic that is so obviously seizing her.
“Faye, what’s wrong?” Eric asks, his tone caring, concerned. He brushes her hair out of her face, unaware that his actions propel her further toward a panic attack.
She gasps for air, and a tear runs down her cheek. Fuck. This situation should have been a relief — an escape, a reason to keep her at bay even once we’re married. So why do I find myself reaching for her, angling my body so I’m standing between the two of them? Why do I find myself cupping her face, my touch more tender than I thought myself capable of?
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice soft and carefully controlled. I gently slide a hand into her hair before tipping her head up to face me. She’s so fucking tiny, and she’s never looked more breakable.
Her gaze lands on mine, but she struggles to focus on me, to regain control over her body. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” I plead, my guilt eating at me. I’m already infecting her — I’m the reason she’s in this state. I should’ve handled this situation with more care, but I let my anger and indignation take over. “You’re fine, Faye,” I whisper, as though I can wish it into existence.
Her breathing becomes less labored, her body relaxing against me as she finally manages to focus. “Dion,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
I hold her just like that, one hand in her hair and the other cupping her cheek, my eyes on hers as she finally breathes in deeply.
Eric attempts to reach for her, and I pull her closer, unwilling to let her go — unable to. “Faye,” I say, my tone brooking no argument. “Are you going to tell him, or should I?”
Chapter Five
Dion
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…”