Maria smiles back at me, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you know what hurts the most? I’ve been trying to make you smile like that for years now, and the mere memory of her does what I never could. I just thought… if I just waited long enough, once your three years with her passed, then maybe you’d finally look at me.”
Regret washes over me, and I force myself to look her in the eye. I suspected she had feelings for me, but I’d hoped she’d get over them once I got married. I’ve never given her hope, or even any indication that I was interested in her at all, because I’m not. I never have been.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I love my wife more than anything, and that won’t ever change. If I have ever done anything to make you believe otherwise, then I sincerely apologize.”
She shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “You never have. You’ve never been anything but perfectly professional.” She pulls a hand through her hair and sighs. “Thank you, Dion. I just needed to hear that.”
I nod, uncertain what else to say. She’s been a great team member, and I’d hate for this to change anything between us, but I know it’s inevitable. “My offer still stands,” I tell her. “I’d hate to lose you as my secretary, but if you wish to leave, I’ll write you a glowing letter of recommendation.”
The smile she throws my way seems genuine, and it takes the edge off my discomfort. She’s stood by me for years, both as a secretary and friend, and I’d hate for her to feel entirely unvalued simply because I can’t return her feelings.
“I think I’m ready to take you up on that offer,” Maria says, her tone carrying a hint of relief.
“I’ll spend our entire flight writing it for you.”
And I do, though I do it with great difficulty. It’s almost as though I’m being punished for ditching work and running home to my wife, because the amount of turbulence that hits us on the way back is positively sickening. It isn’t enough to wipe the smile off my face, though.
No. That doesn’t happen until I walk into our house and find it empty.
Chapter Sixty
Dion
My gut tells me something is wrong when I find room after room empty, not a trace of my darling wife to be found. I’ve been texting her incessantly, so she would’ve told me if she had plans for the evening that involved her leaving home, right?
I can’t temper my restless heart as I call her, impatience making me pace our living room. She picks up after two rings.
“Dion! Isn’t it super late for you right now?”
She sounds excited to speak to me, her tone the same as usual. “Couldn’t sleep,” I lie. “What are you up to, darling?”
She sighs, and I vaguely hear something that sounds like the rustle of sheets, but she definitely isn’t in our bed. My heart begins to pound wildly as nausea hits me hard.
“Nothing much. Sierra told me about this movie she loved, so I thought I might watch it and snuggle up on the sofa. What about you? What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”
I fall silent, unsure how to respond. She’s acting like she’s at home, when she isn’t. So where is she? My mind begins to play tricks on me, showing me images of her with Eric, and all of a sudden, I see all of my business trips through fresh eyes.
Me being away so often would’ve given her enough time to maintain a relationship with him if she wanted. Her bodyguards are instructed to protect her, not to report her every action to me. I didn’t want to control her the way her father did, but perhaps I should have.
“Yeah, a nightmare,” I murmur. “Hey, you know what? I think I’ll try to go back to bed. I’ll speak to you later, alright?”
“That’s probably a good idea. Dream of me,” she says, her tone light. “I love you. Night!”
“I love you, too,” I murmur, before ending the call, the words feeling empty. If I hadn’t been standing in our house, I’d have believed she was right where she’s pretending to be. How many times has she deceived me?
I stare at my phone, uncertain whether I want to know. If I pursue this and learn something I never wanted to know, things will never be the same again. I could just remain ignorant and hold onto this illusion of happiness, but would I ever stop wondering?
I bite my lip and call Silas, my mind made up. “Where is she?” I ask the moment he picks up.
“Dion,” he says, his tone hesitant. “I wasn’t informed that you’d be returning ahead of schedule. I’d have handled the border security clearance for you if you’d let me know.”
He’s deflecting. “Answer me,” I snap. “Where is my wife?”
Silas sighs. “It’s nothing like what you’re imagining, Dion. I’m just worried you wouldn’t understand. If she’d been doing anything immoral, I’d have told you.”
“I want an address within the next three minutes,” I warn him, before ending the call. I’m not interested in convincing him to do his goddamn job. Thankfully, he doesn’t fuck around and gets me exactly what I asked for.
It takes me nearly two hours, but eventually, I find myself standing in front of a small wooden cottage in a tiny suburb I’ve never even heard of. So this is where she is, huh? I stare at the front door, still apprehensive. What will I find when I walk in here? Am I really sure I want to know?
I lift my hand to the doorbell, hesitating for a moment before pressing it. My heart is in my throat as I wait for the door to open. It’s almost as though a small part of me is still hoping that I’m wrong, that I won’t find her here.
But then the door opens, and there she is, standing in front of me in the same deep blue silk robe Raven gifted her. I have a matching one at home — our home.
Her eyes widen, and I watch as panic sets in. My darling wife tries to close the door on me, and a soft huff escapes my lips as I stop her and force my way in. “It’s lovely to see you too, angel,” I murmur.
She stumbles back, her gaze roaming over the hallway. I don’t have to proceed any further to know she designed this place herself. Her signature touch is in every last detail, right down to the wall paneling and the same gold shade she chose for the fixtures in our house.
“D-Dion,” she whispers, her hand raised to her chest. “W-what are you doing here? How did you find this place?”
She takes another step back when I move closer to her, and I grit my teeth as I brush past her, walking further into the cottage. It’s adorable and finished to an incredibly high standard. It would’ve taken her months to decorate this.
“I think the more apt question is what are you doing here?”
I walk into the living room, relieved to find it empty. Just as she’s told me, she appeared to have been watching a movie. A soft fuzzy blanket is thrown over a comfortable looking cream fabric sofa, the interior far more rustic than our house. My eyes pause on the picture frames scattered throughout the living room — all of Faye and her mother. There isn’t a single one of us.
I move toward the armchair in the corner and sit down on it, anger and pain warring for dominance right below the surface. I tempter my emotions and take a deep breath. “What is this place?”
Faye stands in front of me, her arms wrapped around herself. “It isn’t what you think,” she murmurs.
I laugh mirthlessly. “Famous last words.” I run a hand through my hair, only to find that I’m shaking. I hadn’t realized. “Explain, Faye. And so help me God, you’d better have a good explanation. Are you here alone?”
“I… yes. I’m here alone,” she tells me, her gaze downcast, as though she can’t quite face me.
“Are you waiting for someone? Faye, are you having an affair?”
Her head snaps up and she inhales sharply. “No,” she instantly denies. “Of course not. This… this place… it’s mine.”
I grip my hair tightly and take a steadying breath. “I’m going to need more details than that, darling. I’m trying, I swear, but fuck, I’m going to need you to give me a proper explanation.”
She nods, and I notice the way she trembles, the way she can’t meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. “I bought this house with the money I earned from my concerts. I just… I just wanted to have a place that was completely my own. Somewhere I could go sometimes, a home that no one could ever take away from me.”
I swallow my devastation and nod, trying my hardest to understand, to be patient. “Were you ever going to tell me? You pretended to be home when I called you, Faye. Do you have any idea what it was like to be standing in our home while you lied to me?”
Guilt and remorse flicker through her beautiful fucking eyes. “Yes,” she lies. “I would’ve told you eventually, I just couldn’t find the right time.”