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

I’m in partial disbelief as Lauren, our housekeeper, leads Raven into the living room. She smiles at me as I jump to my feet, pulling my fingers away from the piano.

Dion and I have existed in our own little bubble since getting married. For the first few weeks, we’re exempt from having to attend the usually mandatory weekly family dinner with everyone else, and I’ve been beyond grateful for it. It’s kept me from being overwhelmed while adjusting to our marriage, but I knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. Raven dropping by is likely the first indication of it.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, her tone apologetic. “I called earlier, but I couldn’t reach you, so I thought I’d stop by to see if you were home.”

“Not at all,” I reassure her, despite my nerves. I’ve never been alone with her before, and I’m not sure how to act. “Please, come in.”

She nods and glances around the living room, her eyes sparkling. “Your home’s interior is truly stunning,” she says, a hint of awe in her voice. “Who designed it?”

I’m lost for words. Is she attempting to flatter me, or is her praise genuine? “Um, I did.”

Raven’s eyes widen. “You didn’t hire an interior designer?”

I shake my head. “Dion said I could do it myself if I wanted to, so I did.”

“Wow,” she murmurs. “Ares and I had our house renovated not too long ago, but it isn’t anywhere near as nice as this. Did you study interior design?”

I shake my head, uncomfortable. “I did look up some basics, but mostly, this was all me. I’d love to take a course someday, though.”

Raven looks around excitedly, and just as she parts her lips to ask more questions, Lauren walks in with cups of tea for both of us, along with a platter of cookies. She grins at Raven. “Your grandmother sent these over for Faye,” she murmurs. “I have successfully kept that tidbit of information from Sierra.”

I watch as the famous model swipes a cookie from the plate and shoves it into her mouth, crumbs falling all over her clothes. She catches me looking and slaps a hand over her mouth, soft laughter escaping her lips.

“I’m sorry,” she says once she’s done chewing. “The cookies… it’s a thing. Sierra and I have been fighting over these cookies for years, so now when I see them, I instinctively just grab them. I’ve gotten used to having to be quicker than she is. You’ll find out soon enough. Once Sierra learns you’ve got cookies, she’ll come knocking.”

I stare at her wide-eyed and push the plate toward her. “You can have all of them,” I tell her awkwardly. I love the cookies, but I’m not sure I love them as much as she does.

She bursts out laughing and grabs her bag. “I’m going to send Sierra a picture. I know she’s stuck in a meeting right now, so she’ll be fuming. It’ll be fun.”

My heart aches as I watch her, a new kind of longing rushing through me. I know that Sierra and Raven were best friends long before Raven married Ares, but witnessing their friendship fills me with a type of envy I’ve never felt before. I’ve never really had friends of my own, and what they have seems beyond anything I could even hope for.

“Here,” Raven says, handing me a couple of fashion magazines. “This is what I actually came for.”

I take them from her, my eyes widening when I realize that these are brand catalogues — mostly hers.

“I’m the official Windsor stylist,” she says, grinning as she takes a bite of another cookie. “As you’ll soon learn, we try to keep most things in the family rather than relying on anyone else, so I dress all of us. I’m here to find out what you like. I’ve got a pretty good idea based on the last few times I saw you, but I wanted to check in anyway and make sure you chose a few of your favorite pieces.”

I blink in confusion. “You mean you won’t just choose for me?”

She hesitates and nods. “Is that what your previous stylist did?” she asks, her voice soft, cautious. “Did they pick your clothes without any input from you?”

I freeze, suddenly unsure of how to answer her. She seems to notice my discomfort, because she starts to flick through one of the magazines and hands it to me.

“How do you feel about a casual style like that?” she asks, showing me a girl dressed in dark jeans and a cute emerald top.

“I can wear jeans if I want to?” I ask without thinking.

Something flashes in Raven’s eyes, and when she smiles at me again, it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’re a Windsor,” she says as she begins to take notes. “You can wear whatever you want, Faye. You could leave the house in a garbage bag with a hole cut out for your head, and The Herald will praise you for setting a new affordable fashion standard.” She grits her teeth then. “Or they’ll tear you apart for some kind of fabricated reason that’ll increase their advertising revenue and clicks. They’re good at that.”

I tense, remembering the articles they wrote about her, and the way they incited people to turn against her and her brand. She runs a hand through her hair and shakes her head.

“I never got to thank you properly,” I murmur, changing the subject. “For my wedding dress.”

She smiles at me sweetly. “It was my pleasure. You looked truly radiant, and Dion couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way he carried you out of the reception hall was the stuff of fairytales.”

Her cheeks becoming a little rosy, and I can’t help but blush alongside her as I think back to our wedding night. I guess that was when I’d begun to trust Dion — when he gave me pleasure instead of pain, despite his blazing anger.

“How did you know?” I ask carefully.

Raven’s eyes roam over my face, and she does that thing that’s always made me feel unsettled around her. She looks at me as though my secrets are written all over my face.

“One day I had to review the boutique’s security footage because I’d lost my bracelet, and I saw you staring at that dress.” Her tone is careful, and she hesitates for a moment. “Something about the way you looked didn’t sit well with me, so I reviewed the security footage of all your visits. Each time, you stared at that dress in awe, but you never even asked to try it on.”

I tense, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It never even occurred to me there were cameras in her boutique.

“Faye,” she says, her voice soft. “My security system is very comprehensive, and it includes sound. I wasn’t comfortable with how dismissive your stepmother and half-sisters were of you, or the way they spoke of you when you weren’t in the room. It reminded me a little of the way my mother and sister always treated me. It’s why I asked them to leave on your wedding day.”

I stare at her, hearing the careful warning she’s trying to give me. My first instinct is to stand up for my family, even though I know she’s right. I’ve always pretended not to notice, but I’m aware of their snide remarks when they think I’m not listening — the jealousy related to my piano career and my arranged marriage to Dion. They’re all I have, so I’ve always dismissed it, but I’m not sure how to defend them in the face of a woman who looks like she genuinely understands my pain.

Before I have a chance to find the right words to say, Raven begins to show me a variety of other outfits, endless questions pouring out of her mouth. Gracefully and compassionately, she gives me an out instead of forcing me to acknowledge something that clearly matters to her.

“Accosting my wife, are you, Rave?”

We both look up to find Dion walking into the living room, an indulgent smile on his face. He glances at me, his gaze lingering.

I rise to my feet, and he walks up to me, his arm wrapping around my waist naturally as he leans down to press a kiss on top of my head.

He’s been so careful and gentle with me since he found me seated behind his piano with bloodied fingers, and I’m beyond grateful for it. I felt so lost when I realized that getting married hadn’t changed anything at all, but he held me together in a way I’d never expected of him. At each turn, Dion continues to surprise me. I thought he’d demand answers, but all he gave me was silent and unwavering support. It’s more than I deserve.

“You’re home early,” I murmur. My face heats when I see Raven beaming up at us from the sofa, but Dion simply ignores her gleeful stares.

He nods and pulls me closer. “Something came up at work, so I have to go back to London for a few days. I thought maybe we could go together.”

I look at him in surprise, my heart warming. I thought he’d use his work trips to get some space from me. “I’ve never been,” I tell him. “I’d love to join you.”

My excitement dims as an unwanted thought springs to the forefront of my mind. This time, Father won’t be able to blame me for Dion’s absence, since I’ll be with him.

My stomach twists, and I avert my gaze as my father’s words resound through my head. You need to get pregnant, Faye. Once you two have a child, he’ll never be able to leave you. You useless, spineless, disgusting little thing.

“Faye?”

I look up to find both Raven and Dion staring at me with hints of concern in their eyes. He’s been looking at me that way more and more frequently since that night a few weeks ago, when he came home from Canada earlier than I’d expected.

It’s becoming harder to fake it in his presence when I so desperately crave moments of genuineness with him. I’m tired of playing the role my father wrote for me, and the only times I get to be myself is when I’m in his arms.

Even that is tainted now.