The Unwanted Marriage: Chapter 11

“What’s bothering you, honey?” Mom asks, her thumb pressing between my brows to keep me from frowning.

My heart instantly overflows with longing at the sight of her, and I inhale sharply. I reach for her, scared she’ll disappear the moment my fingers touch her face, but she doesn’t. She really is here with me.

I exhale slowly when she leans into my touch, her cheek pressed against the palm of my hand. “Mom,” I murmur, my voice breaking. “I miss you so much, every single day. We all do.” My words tumble out in a rush, for fear I won’t get another chance to say them.

“You’re all grown up,” she says, her voice filled with sorrow. “Ares and Luca are married now, and soon you will be too. I wish I could’ve been there to watch your brothers say I do.”

“Me too,” I whisper. “You’d love Raven and Val. They’ve become family, and I just know you’d love them like they’re your own daughters.”

She places her hand over mine, keeping my palm pressed against her cheek. “You know it’s your fault, right? It’s your fault I didn’t get to see any of you grow up. It’s your fault that the only time you get to see me is in your dreams.”

My heart wrenches painfully, and my words lodge in my throat. “Forgive me,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I regret it more than you’ll ever know.”

She shakes her head, her expression filled with hatred. “You’re a monster,” she murmurs. “You know that, don’t you? It’s why you held back with Hannah. You’re scared Raven will find out, and she’ll stop looking at you like you’re the brother she never had. You didn’t show Hannah mercy because you felt sorry for her — you have no remorse. You did it in a misguided attempt to prove to yourself that you’re not vicious. It’s laughable, really.”

“Mom,” I whisper, my voice breaking. I so badly want to refute her words, but I can’t, because she’s right. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“What will Faye think when she discovers who you truly are?” she ponders, cutting me off, a cruel smile on her face. “You tried to stay away from her for years because you were scared that if you let her in, she’d hate what she’d find as much as I do. Your time is up, Dion.”

Mom gently pats my cheek, her sweet touch jarring. “If you’d been a better person, perhaps she might one day have forgiven you for what you did to her mother, Dad, and me. But you’re not repentant, are you? You’re worse now than you were then. Soon, she’ll realize that, and then she won’t even give you those fake smiles of hers. I hope you drown in an ocean of her tears.”

I gasp as I’m startled awake by the force of my pain. I groan and bury my face in my hands, my breathing ragged. My chest feels hollow, and the wounds suddenly feel fresh.

Years of therapy, and one single dream still makes me second-guess everything. I stare up at the ceiling, my thoughts racing.

I’ve gone over the records countless times, and I’ve spoken to every person involved in the investigation. There was nothing wrong with my parents’ plane, and there’s no explanation for their crash. Logically, I know I wasn’t entirely to blame. Or at least, that’s what my therapist would like me to believe.

According to her, I was simply a child eager for my parents to come home, and that’s all it was. She’s been trying to convince me that asking them to return early didn’t crash their plane, but some days, it’s harder to believe that than most. Especially with Faye re-entering my life, the guilt increasingly evolves into a vicious monster, hitting me when I least expect it. Her mother was on that plane, after all, right alongside mine. The truth is, if I hadn’t made that request, they wouldn’t have been on the flight at all.

I sit up with a sigh, giving up on sleep entirely. I don’t have these kinds of dreams as often anymore, but every time I do, I’m brought back to the past. For years, I obsessively studied the case files, and I’ve only just about learned to let it go. Tonight feels like a step back when I can least afford it. Between the relocation of the company and Faye, there’s no time to obsess over things I can’t fix. I can’t afford to lose myself in the past and the guilt that accompanies it, not again.

I can pretty much guess what brought this on. Each time I see Faye, I’m hit with another dream. This one was long overdue. It’s almost as though I’m not allowed to forget that I don’t deserve her, that I played a role in her loss — however small it may have been.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way she felt against me when I kneeled in front of her in my hotel room, her thighs wrapped around my waist. I keep imagining what she’ll look like as I push deep inside her in that exact same position, how she’ll sound with my name on her lips.

For years, she unknowingly kept chipping away at my defenses each time I saw her, until she finally obliterated them entirely that day in my suite a few weeks ago. There’s no point in denying it any longer — I want Faye, and not just physically. Seeing two of my brothers happily married made me want things I know I don’t deserve. Not with Faye, at least.

I run a hand through my hair and pull on it for a moment, trying to shake myself out of my destructive thoughts. Wanting her feels so fucking shameful. Who the fuck do I think I am, desiring her? I know I’m not worthy of her, and I still forced her to end things with Eric. Between the two of us, she’s the one who deserves happiness. I know that, and I still stole her smile away. How much more will I take from her in the next few years?

I take a deep breath, wishing I could stop my thoughts from spiraling. I don’t have these episodes as often anymore, but fuck, this is hard. I knew being around Faye would be triggering for me, but I never thought it would wreck me the way it has.

I grab my laptop, unable to resist. Just one more time. If I read through the files one more time, I might find something I missed. There has to be a rational reason behind a thoroughly tested and highly advanced private jet crashing on a route it had flown countless times. I can’t shake the feeling there’s an obvious detail that’s staring me in the face — a tiny thread that’ll unravel the whole case. I know that’s just my paranoia talking, but I can’t dismiss the sentiment.

I sigh and fall back onto my pillow when the details remain unchanged, the clues hidden and elusive. I’m not even sure why I keep looking for an answer. Is it because I don’t think I can forgive myself without it? Perhaps a small part of me truly is looking for proof that I wasn’t to blame.

My hands tremble as I grab my phone. I’d meant to pull up a photo of my parents, but instead, I find myself staring at the article I left open in my browser. It was an interview Faye did with a music magazine, and they added a photo of her seated behind her grand piano. I only hesitate for a split-second before saving it to my phone, a hint of guilt rushing down my spine.

What would she say if she found out that I’ve followed the rise of her career, and by some extent, her, for years? I’ve read every article she’s featured in and watched every interview.

I scroll through my gallery until I find a video I took of Faye at her concert. My fingers hover over my screen for a moment before pressing play, and the haunting melody of Gaspard de la nuit fills my bedroom. Did she know this used to be one of my personal favorites?

Sitting through that performance was torture, yet here I am, once again unable to take my eyes off Faye. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll be my downfall. I just hope I don’t take her down with me.