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

I stare up at the building that houses the Windsor Staccato Foundation, feeling uneasy. I’ve steadfastly avoided stepping foot in here, but I didn’t have it in me to deny my wife when she asked me to meet her here. I could just wait outside, but I’m dying to see her. Every second waiting out here when I could be right next to her seems an unnecessary waste.

My stomach twists when I walk in, the interior still so eerily familiar. For a moment, I deceive myself into thinking that I’ll walk into one of the many classrooms to find my mother or Aunt Felicity teaching with those big smiles on their faces. This was their happy place, and it seems serendipitous that it’s now Faye’s.

I pause in the doorway when I hear the sounds of laughter and terribly played notes. Years have passed, but some things never change. I wonder what our mothers would think if they saw Faye here. Would they be proud of the way my wife has upheld their legacy?

For so long, I feared walking in here, convinced the guilt would wreck me, but instead, I find myself smiling at my beautiful wife. Faye is most beautiful when she’s seated behind a piano.

She looks up, her eyes widening when she notices me. “Dion!”

The kids all follow her gaze, their curiosity clear. A few of the little boys in her class throw me annoyed looks, and I can’t help but chuckle. I suppose Faye is a really hot teacher, so I can hardly blame them for their little crushes.

She rises from her seat, and I walk into her classroom, meeting her halfway. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you’d meet me outside. I didn’t think…” She snaps her lips shut, and I grin at her. My wife is fucking adorable. She’s so caring, so thoughtful. I’m not sure how I got this lucky.

“I hope I’m not interrupting?”

She shakes her head and grabs my hand as she drags me back to her piano. “Class,” she says, her smile so wide that her kids can’t help but smile in return. “This is my husband, Dion Windsor.”

A few giggles erupt amongst the girls, and I feel my cheeks heat. She’s got a variety of ages in her classroom today, and the way her teenagers are looking at me makes me decidedly uncomfortable.

“We’re learning how to play Für Elise,” she tells me. “It’s a classic, and the beginning of it is easy enough.” She turns to her class then. “Do you guys want to see my husband try? He hasn’t really played in years, but I bet he can do it. If he can play it in full, I don’t want to hear a single complaint out of you going forward!”

Cheers and taunts follow me as Faye pushes me toward her seat, the excitement in the classroom easing my discomfort. It looks like half her kids are hoping I’ll fail so she’ll assign them an easier piece, and the other half wants to see me succeed, likely purely on her behalf.

Faye looks at me when I stare at the keys absentmindedly. “Please?” she murmurs, her smile slipping just a fraction.

My heart skips a beat, and I nod. There isn’t much I won’t do to protect that smile of hers, but I doubt she realizes just what she’s asking of me. Or perhaps she does, and she simply knows I need a push.

I begin to play Beethoven’s iconic piece, my fingers feeling stiffer than they used to, yet the melody flows out of me with such magical ease that it takes my breath away. I’ve become so used to playing drunk, as an outlet for my despair, that I forgot how amazing it feels to truly lose yourself in music when you’re perfectly lucid. My mind empties, every single one of my worries melting away, until there’s nothing but Faye’s hand on my shoulder and the tune she asked me to play. She has no idea what she does to me, what she does for me.

The kids all clap excitedly when the final note rings, and Faye looks into my eyes with such deep affection that I find myself unable to look away. I’m so overcome with love for this woman that I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do for her.

“I haven’t played like that in over twenty years,” I admit, a hint of disbelief rushing through me. I forgot how exhilarating it can be.

Faye’s eyes shimmer with something I can’t quite define. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers. “When we composed together, it seemed like you missed playing, but I was sure you’d say no.”

“I couldn’t,” I murmur, shaking my head.

“Why?”

I reach for her and gently brush her hair out of her face. “Because you asked me to play.”

“Just like that?”

I nod. “For you? Always.”

She leans in, her lips brushing against mine softly, tenderly, and I sigh against her mouth as I kiss her back, taking my time with her. Not even her kids’ taunts and shouts tear me away from her. I don’t think anything could.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I grin at her. “I love you more.”

Faye pulls away with bright red cheeks, and I don’t think she’s ever been more beautiful. God, I’m fucking done for. She owns me.

“That’s all for today,” she tells her class, smiling brilliantly. “Remember, no more complaints! We’ll practice this piece again next week!”

She ignores the grumbles as her classroom slowly empties, and I throw her a roguish grin when the door falls closed behind her last student. “You know,” I murmur, my arms wrapping around her waist. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a teacher. What do you say, Mrs. Windsor?”

She gasps and slaps my chest, but I notice the way her eyes darken with interest. She’s fucking perfect for me, in each and every way. “Are you crazy?” she whisper-shouts, even as she pushes her body up against mine.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I lean in and brush my lips against her. “I’m absolutely crazy about you, my darling wife.”

“We’ll get caught,” she warns, but I smother her complaints with a kiss.

“Then you’d better be a good girl, angel. Can you be quiet for me?”

She bites down on my lip before brushing her tongue over it, drawing a moan from my throat. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”

Fucking perfect. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I just hope she feels the same.