“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice soft. Dion looks tired, haunted. This is what he used to look like before our marriage. Did I do this to him? To us?
I nod and follow him to the dining table, my heart racing. I’ve never been uneasy around him, but I am now. It isn’t fear, per se, but perhaps apprehension?
He stares down at a brown envelope on the table and inhales deeply before pushing it my way. When his gaze meets mine, pure heartbreak is what I’m met with. “For you,” he whispers.
I take the envelope with trembling hands and open it carefully, a chill running down my spine when I realize what I’m looking at. I drop the papers to the table, almost like they scalded me.
“You’ve already signed these,” I murmur, a hint of betrayal making its way into my voice.
Dion nods. “It was unfair for me to say you deserve a choice without actually giving you one, Faye. Throughout our entire marriage, you’ve been trying to make the best of this situation. We can tell ourselves whatever we’d like, but ultimately, neither of us ever had a choice. The cottage? I see it for what it is. It was the manifestation of your need for independence, and a fail-safe that you never should’ve needed. I don’t fault you for it, baby, nor do I blame you. I wish… I wish I’d been able to eliminate that need altogether, but I understand why that might not have been possible given our circumstances.”
“I will never sign this, Dion.” For a split-second, hope surges in his eyes, but he puts the flames out instantly. “I agree I messed up, and I should’ve told you. I also agree it’s messed up that even a small part of me thought I might ever need that cottage at all, but Dion…” I run a hand through my hair, unable to justify the desperation that lives inside me, the fear that’s always just below the surface. How do I explain that I always feel like what we have can’t last? That it’s too good to be true? “I won’t sign. I won’t divorce you.”
He inhales deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Neither of us wanted this,” he murmurs. “There’s a good reason I’ve been running from you for so long, Faye. It isn’t just your age. It’s because you’re a stark reminder of every single one of my fears, every hint of guilt that keeps me up at night. Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch you play my mother’s piano? To hear you talk about her foundation? You and I… we were never meant to be together.”
I rise from my chair and walk around the table. “You don’t mean that.” He stares at me with such desperation, like he wants nothing more than to undo the pain I’ve caused, but if there’s one thing we’ve both learned the hard way, it’s that deep wounds always leave scars.
I place my hands on his shoulders, hesitating for only a moment before I straddle him and seat myself in his lap. “Look at me,” I murmur. “I love you, Dion. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now, but I do. I’ll sell the cottage, alright? We can just get rid of it. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I bought it, and I… I don’t need it. I just need you, Dion. Only you.”
He sighs and reaches for me, his touch gentle as he brushes my hair out of my face. I inhale sharply when he cups my cheek and leans in, his lips brushing against mine. My eyes fall closed when he kisses me, his touch the same as always — reverent, patient, cautious.
I moan when he deepens our kiss, and my hands push into his hair, desperate for more. I never wanted to hurt him, and I don’t know how to make this better. How do I make him understand something I can’t quite grasp myself?
I push a hand underneath his shirt, and he groans as he rises from his seat to place me on top of our dining table. His knee moves between my legs to push them apart, and then he’s pulling me closer, his hands roaming over my body. “Please,” I whisper, unsure of what I’m pleading for exactly.
Dion’s hand disappears between my legs just as I undo his belt buckle, and he moans when he realizes I’m wet. Just one single kiss, and I’m a needy mess for him. “Please.”
“Use your words, baby,” he orders as he pushes my underwear aside and eases a finger into me. “What do you want?”
“You,” I whisper. “I want you to love me. Tell me the papers are a joke, and that you’ll always want me the same.”
His expression hardens, and his free hand wraps into my hair. He pulls my lips to his roughly, his grip on my hair tight. I moan when his tongue brushes against mine, and he pushes another finger into me. He knows exactly how to tease me, how to get me to the edge without giving me what I want.
My hand wraps around his cock, and Dion drops his forehead to mine. “I love you,” he murmurs as I guide him into me, replacing his fingers with what I truly want. “So fucking much, Faye.” He looks into my eyes as he slowly thrusts forward, inch by inch. “I will always love you, and I’ll always want you the way I do right now.”
“I love you too,” I moan when he grabs my hips, his touch becoming rougher as he begins to move, taking me the way I wanted him to. “I’ll never let you go, Dion.”
“Fuck,” he groans. He pulls out almost all the way and looks between us as he slides back in. “Your pussy is so hungry for me, baby. You look so fucking good taking my cock like that. I’ll never tire of this.”
My legs wrap around his waist as he begins to take me harder, deeper, his movements uncontrolled. I love it when he unravels like that. “More,” I beg.
His hand moves between us, and he presses his thumb against my clit, swiping against it with every move. We’re both frantic, emotional, as though we’re both scared this is the last time we get to experience this together. “Like that?” he asks.
I nod, and he kisses me when my moans become louder, more desperate. Nothing has ever felt more right, yet so wrong at the same time. “I’m so close,” I whimper.
He pulls back a little, his gaze intent as his movements become rougher, like he wants to memorize the way I look. “Come for me, baby,” he orders. “Come, like the good girl you are.”
And I do. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for him in that moment. My muscles constrict around him tightly, and my eyes fall closed as all my thoughts fade away, pure bliss taking over.
“Fuck,” he groans as he comes moments after I do. “Fuck. You’re incredible.”
I hold on to him tightly as he drops his forehead to my shoulder, unwilling to let go. Something about the way he touched me felt too final, and I want this moment to last forever, these few seconds right before the fall.
He turns his face in and gently kisses my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “I’ll move out,” he murmurs, like he isn’t still buried deep inside me. “I’ll leave the papers here. You don’t have to sign them if you truly don’t want to, Faye. I hope you won’t… but you deserve a choice. You’ve never truly stood on your own two feet, and I think it would be best if you take some time to decide what you want your life to be, who you would be, if not for me. Throughout our entire marriage, the power balance has been in my favor, but this is me tipping the scales.”
He pulls out of me, his gaze roaming over me for a moment before he tidies his clothes and buttons his suit pants closed. “I love you,” he whispers. “I love you enough to let you go when my deepest, darkest desires are begging me to tie you to me with any and every reason I can find.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Faye
I walk through a busy train station in Berlin, my steps leisurely while everyone around me seems in such a rush to get somewhere. This is what I desperately wanted, yet every experience in the last few weeks has felt entirely empty.
I haven’t stopped thinking about Dion for even a second, but I also can’t deny that it’s thrilling to make choices of my own. I’ve never had to buy a train ticket before, nor had I ever flown by myself. Being able to choose the places I visited and the hotels I stayed in fulfilled a deep need I never knew existed. Every choice I made and every dream I chased worked to heal a deep-rooted wound, giving me a type of confidence I’ve never felt before.
For the first time ever, I’m just Faye. Here, where no one knows me, I’m not a famous pianist, nor am I my father’s daughter, or Dion’s wife. I’m just a girl no one cares about, someone who can make mistakes and get lost without being photographed or ridiculed. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune. There are no rules to abide by, no forced piano practice, no rearranging my schedule for someone else.
It’s everything I thought I wanted, and it all falls flat without Dion. I sigh and pat my bag, the divorce papers he gave me always at the forefront of my mind. He disappeared after he told me he’d move out, and no one would tell me where he went — all they’d tell me was that I should do as he asked, and try living for myself for once.