The Unwanted Marriage: Dion and Faye’s Story (The Windsors)

I stand behind Grandma Anne as Maria presses her thumb against the scanner at Dion’s front door. It swings open moments later, and something akin to envy washes over me. Dion must trust her implicitly if she has such easy access to his home when I’ve never even been here before.

“Dion and I designed this part of the house so that there’s plenty of open space,” she tells me, gesturing at what I assume will become the living room. “All of this glass brings so much natural light into the house, especially in the morning.”

Something about her tone makes me uncomfortable, and I can’t figure out why. She’s being perfectly polite, but with each word she speaks, my despondency increases. Dion told me that he truly had been working in Spain, but he never denied the rumors about them fully. Were they dating until recently?

I bite my lip and take in the expansive glass wall overlooking an outdoor pool, trying my best to shake off the thought. Maria catches me looking and smiles knowingly. “The pool is probably my favorite part of the house,” she says. “It’s the only thing we didn’t change.”

There’s something about that wistful smile of hers that grates on me. It’s almost as though she’s reminded of memories she made with Dion in there, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly she might be thinking of. No doubt, it involves a half-naked Dion. He’s extraordinarily handsome in a suit, so I can only imagine how irresistible he must look without it.

An unfamiliar emotion rushes through me, and my eyes widen a fraction when I identify it as possessiveness. I’ve never felt that before, not even with Eric.

Maria sighs, and my possessiveness quickly transforms into guilt. Maybe Eric and I aren’t the only ones left heartbroken by this marriage. If not for me, would Dion be marrying Maria? They complement each other perfectly. She’s closer to him in age and they’ve always worked well together. Even physically, she’s a better fit for him with her height. My heart aches when I imagine the two of them together, and the feeling catches me by surprise.

“I was thinking of adding a large round sofa,” Maria tells me. “Probably gray. I think I’ll go with a dark marble dining table as well.”

I tense as she continues to tell me how she plans to decorate the house. The way she’s speaking makes it sound like she plans to be here often, and I stand back in shock, unease running down my spine. It’s something I hadn’t seriously considered before, but her presence here might be something I’ll have to get used to. Dion doesn’t seem to be a violent person, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me in other ways.

“Maria,” Grandma Anne says, her tone sharp. “You’re here to take orders from Faye. Your decorating recommendations are not welcome.” Her harshness surprises me, especially because she’s always been quite gentle with me.

She turns to me then and smiles in that way I’ve become accustomed to — as though she’s trying to hide her viciousness behind a friendly exterior but can’t quite manage it. “Tell me, Faye,” she says, her voice soft and encouraging. “How would you like to decorate your home? Just speak your mind, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

I stare at her wide-eyed, caught off-guard. No one has ever asked me for my opinion so directly, and it startles me. I don’t dare glance back at Maria. I feel caught between the two women, and I hate feeling that way. At home, at least I always know who I can’t afford to offend, but here, now, I’m lost.

“I think Maria’s ideas sound great,” I lie, my voice trembling just a little despite the confidence I tried to instill in it. The way she wants to decorate is all wrong for this space. It’ll take away a lot of that beautiful light that I love, but I don’t dare speak my mind. If I upset her, Dion might take her grievances out on me later. I’d better not risk it.

“I disagree.”

I freeze when I hear Dion’s voice and turn around to find him leaning against the wall behind me. How long has he been standing there? I never heard him come in at all.

His gaze roams over my face, as though he’s searching for something, and it unsettles me. I’m not sure whether having his attention in that way is a good thing or not, and the way my heart races at the sight of him confuses me.

Dion pushes off the wall and walks toward me, pausing right in front of me, his body so close to mine that my clothes nearly brush against his.

“You look tired,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand to my face. His index finger traces over my dark circles, and I inhale sharply, confused by the tenderness he’s showing me. He keeps catching me by surprise, and I’m not sure what to make of him. His concern is the last thing I expected.

“Dion, darling,” Grandma Anne says. “I thought you couldn’t make it?”

He looks up at his grandmother and nods. “I decided to re-prioritize.”

What does that mean? Is this an act for his grandmother?

Grandma Anne smiles, her eyes sparkling in the way they did in the car, when she caught me staring at Maria. “We’ll leave you to it, then,” she says. “I doubt you need input from outsiders such as Maria and myself.”

She nods at Maria and holds her arm out, gesturing toward the door in an obvious silent order to leave with her. Maria doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s staring at Dion, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off me for even a single moment.

My heart beats in my throat as I brace myself, though I’m not quite sure for what. Meanwhile, Dion continues to study me, his brows knitting together as his gaze roams over me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and I struggle to quiet my thoughts and worries. After several moments, I finally hear the door close behind me, and I flinch. “She won’t like that,” I murmur without thinking.

“Who won’t like what?” he asks, his voice soft.

Dion takes another step closer to me, and I take a step back, the two of us continuing this dance until he’s got me trapped against the wall behind me.

His body presses against mine, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulder. He smirks down at me as though he finds me endearing, and his hand threads through my hair.

I gasp when he tilts my face up toward his. “Explain,” he murmurs, his soft voice in contrast with the way he holds me.

My eyes widen, and my heart begins to race wildly. I don’t know how to navigate life with him. Despite his rough edges, he always makes me feel so safe — something about him tempts me into acting out, into speaking my mind.

“Maria,” I whisper. “The way she was speaking made it seem like she intends to spend a lot of time here. She won’t like being left out of the decorating decisions.”

I can’t explain why, but there’s a hint of hope entwined with my anxiety, as though part of me wishes he’ll put my worries to rest. Expects it, even. When I questioned him about the article in The Herald, he made it seem like there’s nothing between them, but her behavior made me question his sincerity.

Dion clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on my hair, his entire body tensing against mine. “I thought I told you I’m yours,” he tells me, his voice more of a low growl. “I don’t share, Faye. That works both ways. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“You don’t?” I ask, cautiously hopeful. I’ve always been worried that he’d have an endless string of mistresses, that I’d be nothing but a puppet to him, a doll to show off. Just as my fears had begun to abate, Maria reignited them.

“I don’t,” he clarifies. His eyes flash, and he hesitates for a moment. “I have no intention of being with anyone but you ever again. I’m not sure what she said, but I’ll speak to her and remind her that you’re the one I’m marrying. I’ll tell her I belong to you, and only you. Will that make you feel better?”

I nod at him hesitantly, my cheeks blazing and my heart pounding wildly. The relief I feel would’ve made my knees give in if I hadn’t been leaning back against the wall, Dion’s body pressed against mine. His continuous absence and the distance he always enforced between us painted a picture that is so vastly different from the one he’s presenting me with now, and though it should scare me, it does quite the opposite. Somehow, he’s made me stop fearing him and our future together.

Dion smiles and places his free hand on my jaw, his thumb brushing over the edge of my mouth. “Jealousy looks so beautiful on you, Faye.” I part my lips to deny his insinuation, but I find that I can’t, not when he’s looking at me with that knowing look in his eyes. “Keep being good for me, baby, and I’ll be good to you too. So good.”

His thumb brushes over my lip again, and I tense when I feel him harden against me. My heart is beating so loudly, I’m convinced he must hear it. Dion’s gaze drops to my mouth, and he inhales shakily, as though he’s doing his best to resist temptation.

I stare up at him, waiting, wanting, hoping for something I swore I’d never expect from him. He smiles and bites down on his lip, the image so sexy that I find myself clenching my thighs.

Dion sighs, and then he pushes away from the wall, putting some distance between us as he drags a hand through his thick dark hair.

He turns his back to me and stares up at the ceiling for a moment. When he faces me, his expression is as calm as it always used to be. “Faye,” he says, his voice soft. “If there’s one thing my parents taught my siblings and me about marriage, it’s that communication is key. I’m inclined to agree with that lesson, despite it not coming easy to me. Our marriage is an unconventional one. We’re starting off on the wrong foot entirely, and I have no intention of making a bad situation worse by letting misunderstandings fester.” He clenches his jaw and inhales deeply. “I didn’t treat you as my fiancée for years, in part because of your age. Because of it, I pushed you straight into another man’s arms. That won’t happen ever again, you hear me? You’re mine now, and I’m yours — exclusively. I don’t want there to be any confusion about that.”

The sincerity in his eyes renders me speechless, and all I can do is nod. Every time I’m alone with him, he ends up surprising and intriguing me, and it doesn’t appear to be a facade.

I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve known him for years, but I’m starting to realize that I don’t know him at all.