The Unwanted Marriage: Chapter 38

With each heartbeat, my fear rises until it becomes a tangible entity that permeates the air. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue and try my hardest to swallow it down, to no avail.

“Faye?”

I lift my head to find Dion staring at me, his gaze as unreadable as it used to be years ago. He stares at me, his gaze searching, and I’m terrified of what he might find. Shame unfurls in my stomach until it invades every inch of my body. If he were to find out how weak I truly am, he’d never look at me the same.

“Won’t you show me to your room?”

I nod absentmindedly and I lead him up the stairs, my heart beating in my throat. Father asked him to stay for a drink after dinner, and I can’t help but fear what might happen. The way Dion spoke to him earlier would have infuriated him, and I suspect Father will attempt to do some damage control. He won’t manage it, though, and once he realizes that, it’ll be Abigail and Chloe that’ll pay for it. Likely the very second we leave this house.

My bedroom door closes behind me, the familiar room filling me with nothing but cold distaste. These four walls provided relative safety for years, but they always felt like a prison. They still do.

“I wondered about this the last time I was here, when I picked you up for our trip to Hawaii. How come there are no photos or mementos of any kind in your room? I’m surprised you don’t have a photo of your mother, at the very least.”

My eyes widen as a wave of fresh pain rolls over me. “I… I just like a minimalistic style.”

He walks up to me, forcing me to take a step back, but that doesn’t deter him. He simply grins as he corners me, my back against the wall and his hand cupping my cheek. His touch is always so gentle, so reverent. I’ve never been touched with such care in this house, and it undoes me. It makes me want to spill every secret in hopes he’ll save me, but this is no fairytale, and I’m no Cinderella.

“Is that why we have ornate doorknobs and detailed cushions in our house?” he asks, his eyes twinkling. “It certainly explains the perfectly matching shades of gold throughout our home, and the beautiful recurring patterns you chose.”

I part my lips to refute his words, only to find that I can’t. My lies don’t hold up in the face of a man that knows me better than I ever thought he could.

“You said you’d try, Faye… so try for me, baby. Nothing you could say would ever make me turn away from you, nor will I repay your honesty with lies. I’ll readily admit it was hard to hear that I unknowingly but profoundly impacted your upbringing, but don’t you see it doesn’t change a thing? The past is what it is, unchangeable, irreversible. Despite it, here we stand, you and I. I just want to get to know you better, angel.”

I look into his eyes, taking in his sincerity and his pleas. The very same man my father caters to stands before me looking utterly powerless, and somehow, it grants me the courage I need.

“I used to have one,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “A photo of my mom and me.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, his thumb brushing over the edge of my lip as he leans in closer.

“It was taken at an amusement park, and I was wearing a cute, silly strawberry hat. She had me in her arms, and we were both smiling so brightly that just looking at that photo brought me a bittersweet kind of joy. I was grinning up at the camera, but Mom? She was staring down at me. She had the biggest smile on her face, like I was a miracle to her.”

“What happened to the photo?” he asks, his fingers pushing through my hair possessively.

“Abigail didn’t like it. She hated having a photo of my mother in the house, so one day, after she and my father had an argument, he stormed into my room and destroyed the photo. I used to have a necklace that belonged to her too. It was a golden locket that she’d been wearing in that photo, and he took that as well. It’s the last thing I had of hers, and I never saw it again. He didn’t want to leave any reminders that would upset Abigail.”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, and I tense. “What kind of woman would begrudge a child memories of her mother?” he asks, his voice weighed down by anger.

I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m sure there was more to it. Abigail isn’t… she’s always been good to me. She’s the only mother I’ve ever really known, and I never felt like she treated me differently from the girls. If she did, it was more because I was the eldest.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “What about your father?” he asks, his tone cautious. “Was he good to you?”

I nod instantly, a shiver running down my spine. “Of course. He’s strict, as I’m sure you know, but he’s always been a good father to me.” The words tumble out of my mouth without thinking, fueled by fear. I’m terrified of what Dion might do if he found out the truth. He’d try to protect me, but in doing so, he’d condemn Chloe, Linda, and Abigail.

“You’re nervous,” he whispers. “Why?”

My breathing accelerates a notch, and I force a smile. “I just… it’s the first time I brought you home, and the atmosphere was a bit tense.”

He stares at me, his expression grim, a hint of disappointment swimming in his eyes, as though he knows I’m lying to him. “Were you truly unaware of how much you’re likely earning?”

I nod hesitantly, unsure how to explain. I know I should tell him not to push my father, and that I don’t mind him managing my money, but the words won’t leave my lips.

If what Dion is saying is true, then I’d have been earning well over a million dollars a year — for years now. I always believed that money would save us, but what if we’ve had it all along?

It pains me to even consider that scenario. Everything was supposed to get better once I got married, but my father hasn’t changed. If we didn’t need the money at all, why was I still married off to Dion? Why didn’t it make a difference?

With each passing day, the remnants of hope I held onto dissipate, leaving me increasingly disconsolate. I don’t know how to save the girls, and I’m not sure I can have the future Dion is offering me when the past keeps dragging me back into the pits of despair.