The Unwanted Marriage: Chapter 43

I wake up in bed alone, a stray rose petal on Faye’s pillow bringing a hesitant smile to my face. She was fucking magnificent last night, but I struggle to suppress the hint of guilt I feel.

I’ve become so used to being alone and isolating myself, scared of what might be revealed if anyone got too close, so why does she make me show her my rough edges? Faye terrifies me, because she makes me wish for acceptance — the one thing I don’t deserve. I want her to see the depth of my malice and choose me anyway. Last night, it seemed like she could, like she does.

I slip out of bed and follow the sounds of my mother’s piano, the edges of my lips tugged up into a slight smile when I see Faye sitting behind it in nothing but my shirt. Her long hair falls down her body in waves, and I lean back to watch her, my heart overflowing with affection. She’s playing a contemporary piece today, pausing every so often to write down the notes.

I push off the wall and walk up to her, oddly nervous. Last night was perfect, but a small part of me is still worried that I might have scared her, or worse, that I hurt her. I’ve always treated her so tenderly, and I’d hate for her to feel any less appreciated. I’m worried I fucked up.

Faye looks up at me and smiles, her eyes roaming over my bare upper body and pausing at the gray sweats I’m wearing. I fucking love the way her eyes twinkle with appreciation, not a hint of shame or apprehension in her expression as she checks me out.

“Morning, darling,” I murmur as I reach for her, my mind made up. I can’t let this fear rule me forever. My wife gasps as I lift her off her seat and take her place before lowering her onto my lap, her back pressed to my chest. “Composing?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, relaxing against me. She drops her head back, and I lean in to kiss her neck, my hands wrapping around her. There’s no tension in her body at all, no lingering fear, like I thought there might be.

She exhales shakily as she places her hands back on the keys, her concentration clearly broken. I love the way she looks at me and truly sees me, the way she prioritizes me and drops everything else in my presence. I’ve never come first to anyone — not even my siblings. It’s something I didn’t realize I needed until her.

Faye groans when she can’t quite figure out the next notes, and I nuzzle her shoulder, simply enjoying being near her. There’s so much I need to review for work, even on a Sunday, but nothing could tear me away from my wife right now.

“Let me see,” I murmur, reaching for her sheet music. “Can you play it from the start?”

She does as I ask, and it strikes me then. This is the first time I’m sitting behind this piano completely sober, free of despair. Because of her.

I reach around her, my fingers ghosting over the ivories, trembling ever so slightly. I inhale deeply and turn my head toward her, my lips brushing over her ear. “How about this?”

Then I do what I haven’t done in years — I begin to compose alongside her, the rest of her piece playing in my head, my fingers eager to catch up but no longer skilled enough to.

Faye inhales sharply and places her hands between mine, a moment of hesitation in her demeanor before she swiftly turns her composition into a duet, playing alongside me. It’s… it’s fucking divine. With every chord we play together, a little more weight is lifted off my chest. That’s what she does to me. This feeling could never be described as mere love. It’s so much more than that. She is my salvation, my purpose. She is everything I didn’t think I wanted, and everything I denied I ever needed.

“Wow,” she whispers, once both our fingers still. I pull my hands away and wrap them around her waist as she tries her best to write down the pure magic we both felt. She’s shaking, as am I. “Dion, that was…”

I smile and press another kiss to her neck. “You seem to like contemporary pieces much more than classical. Why don’t you try adding an original composition to your concerts?”

She stiffens and glances over her shoulder, as though I’m ludicrous. “I… I could never.”

I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. “You can,” I murmur. “You can do anything you want, Mrs. Windsor.”

She pauses then, my words sinking in. How long will it take for her to act the way I want her to? It’s odd, because I’ve always hated spoiled women, but that’s exactly what I want to turn my wife into — a spoiled princess with the world at her feet.

She twists in my lap to look at me, a smile on her face. “You really mean that, don’t you? If I wanted to start playing my own pieces, you’d really support me.”

I nod, nonplussed. “Of course.”

She shakes her head, happiness dancing in her eyes. I was worried I’d scared her away yesterday, but I should’ve known better. She truly is perfect for me.

“Dion,” she says, her tone hesitant. “I meant what I said last night. I want all of you, even the parts you try to hide from me. It wasn’t something I said in the heat of the moment, nor will I take back those words. I want you to let me in. Do you think you could?” She hesitates and reaches for me, the tips of her fingers ghosting over my temple. “Could we have a real marriage, if we try?”

My entire body tenses, and the look in her eyes tells me she knows I’m about to turn away from her, but she won’t let me. Faye’s hand wraps around my cheek, and she keeps her eyes on mine. “I know what it’s like to always have to showcase the best parts of you, and to fear what might happen if you let your fears show. But Dion, I also know how exhausting that is, and how much it wears you down. I think… maybe, you and I, maybe we could lean on each other.”

I nod and wrap a hand into her hair, my forehead dropping to hers. “I want to, Faye. I’m trying. The idea of being happy with you no longer scares me as much as it used to, but it isn’t easy.”

There are things I’ve done that would make her hate me, fear me. How many people have I captured and tortured simply because they offended my family? How many scalpels have I dulled? The worst part is that I have no intention of changing, yet I still desire her love. If I truly showed her all of me, would she still look at me with such sincerity and faith?

If one day, those beautiful blue eyes of hers direct contempt at me, I’m not sure I’d survive it. How do I take any more steps toward her when doing so almost inevitably leads to my ruin?