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

My gut tells me something is wrong when I find room after room empty, not a trace of my darling wife to be found. I’ve been texting her incessantly, so she would’ve told me if she had plans for the evening that involved her leaving home, right?

I can’t temper my restless heart as I call her, impatience making me pace our living room. She picks up after two rings.

“Dion! Isn’t it super late for you right now?”

She sounds excited to speak to me, her tone the same as usual. “Couldn’t sleep,” I lie. “What are you up to, darling?”

She sighs, and I vaguely hear something that sounds like the rustle of sheets, but she definitely isn’t in our bed. My heart begins to pound wildly as nausea hits me hard.

“Nothing much. Sierra told me about this movie she loved, so I thought I might watch it and snuggle up on the sofa. What about you? What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

I fall silent, unsure how to respond. She’s acting like she’s at home, when she isn’t. So where is she? My mind begins to play tricks on me, showing me images of her with Eric, and all of a sudden, I see all of my business trips through fresh eyes.

Me being away so often would’ve given her enough time to maintain a relationship with him if she wanted. Her bodyguards are instructed to protect her, not to report her every action to me. I didn’t want to control her the way her father did, but perhaps I should have.

“Yeah, a nightmare,” I murmur. “Hey, you know what? I think I’ll try to go back to bed. I’ll speak to you later, alright?”

“That’s probably a good idea. Dream of me,” she says, her tone light. “I love you. Night!”

“I love you, too,” I murmur, before ending the call, the words feeling empty. If I hadn’t been standing in our house, I’d have believed she was right where she’s pretending to be. How many times has she deceived me?

I stare at my phone, uncertain whether I want to know. If I pursue this and learn something I never wanted to know, things will never be the same again. I could just remain ignorant and hold onto this illusion of happiness, but would I ever stop wondering?

I bite my lip and call Silas, my mind made up. “Where is she?” I ask the moment he picks up.

“Dion,” he says, his tone hesitant. “I wasn’t informed that you’d be returning ahead of schedule. I’d have handled the border security clearance for you if you’d let me know.”

He’s deflecting. “Answer me,” I snap. “Where is my wife?”

Silas sighs. “It’s nothing like what you’re imagining, Dion. I’m just worried you wouldn’t understand. If she’d been doing anything immoral, I’d have told you.”

“I want an address within the next three minutes,” I warn him, before ending the call. I’m not interested in convincing him to do his goddamn job. Thankfully, he doesn’t fuck around and gets me exactly what I asked for.

It takes me nearly two hours, but eventually, I find myself standing in front of a small wooden cottage in a tiny suburb I’ve never even heard of. So this is where she is, huh? I stare at the front door, still apprehensive. What will I find when I walk in here? Am I really sure I want to know?

I lift my hand to the doorbell, hesitating for a moment before pressing it. My heart is in my throat as I wait for the door to open. It’s almost as though a small part of me is still hoping that I’m wrong, that I won’t find her here.

But then the door opens, and there she is, standing in front of me in the same deep blue silk robe Raven gifted her. I have a matching one at home — our home.

Her eyes widen, and I watch as panic sets in. My darling wife tries to close the door on me, and a soft huff escapes my lips as I stop her and force my way in. “It’s lovely to see you too, angel,” I murmur.

She stumbles back, her gaze roaming over the hallway. I don’t have to proceed any further to know she designed this place herself. Her signature touch is in every last detail, right down to the wall paneling and the same gold shade she chose for the fixtures in our house.

“D-Dion,” she whispers, her hand raised to her chest. “W-what are you doing here? How did you find this place?”

She takes another step back when I move closer to her, and I grit my teeth as I brush past her, walking further into the cottage. It’s adorable and finished to an incredibly high standard. It would’ve taken her months to decorate this.

“I think the more apt question is what are you doing here?”

I walk into the living room, relieved to find it empty. Just as she’s told me, she appeared to have been watching a movie. A soft fuzzy blanket is thrown over a comfortable looking cream fabric sofa, the interior far more rustic than our house. My eyes pause on the picture frames scattered throughout the living room — all of Faye and her mother. There isn’t a single one of us.

I move toward the armchair in the corner and sit down on it, anger and pain warring for dominance right below the surface. I tempter my emotions and take a deep breath. “What is this place?”

Faye stands in front of me, her arms wrapped around herself. “It isn’t what you think,” she murmurs.

I laugh mirthlessly. “Famous last words.” I run a hand through my hair, only to find that I’m shaking. I hadn’t realized. “Explain, Faye. And so help me God, you’d better have a good explanation. Are you here alone?”

“I… yes. I’m here alone,” she tells me, her gaze downcast, as though she can’t quite face me.

“Are you waiting for someone? Faye, are you having an affair?”

Her head snaps up and she inhales sharply. “No,” she instantly denies. “Of course not. This… this place… it’s mine.”

I grip my hair tightly and take a steadying breath. “I’m going to need more details than that, darling. I’m trying, I swear, but fuck, I’m going to need you to give me a proper explanation.”

She nods, and I notice the way she trembles, the way she can’t meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. “I bought this house with the money I earned from my concerts. I just… I just wanted to have a place that was completely my own. Somewhere I could go sometimes, a home that no one could ever take away from me.”

I swallow my devastation and nod, trying my hardest to understand, to be patient. “Were you ever going to tell me? You pretended to be home when I called you, Faye. Do you have any idea what it was like to be standing in our home while you lied to me?”

Guilt and remorse flicker through her beautiful fucking eyes. “Yes,” she lies. “I would’ve told you eventually, I just couldn’t find the right time.”

I look around, taking in the care she put into each and every aspect of this home, and it fucking hurts. To me, this is no less of a betrayal. “Do you understand how fucked up it is for my wife to have a secret house she can escape to? Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? It’s an escape plan. You were never going to tell me.”

“Dion, I’m so incredibly sorry.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she looks like she means it, but it isn’t enough. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’ll never be enough. “I don’t know how to explain in a way that’d make you understand, but I’ll try. It isn’t… it’s not because of you, personally. I just… I just always wanted a home of my own. Somewhere I’d always be safe, where I could go if I ever felt unwanted anywhere else.”

“What about the home we built together, Faye? The home you decorated all by yourself? That place where you play my mother’s piano, where you let me fuck you into the couch, where we wake up together? What about that place? Isn’t that your home? Our home?”

“It… it’s yours,” she whispers. “If… if you ever left me, or if… if you ever hurt me…”

I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, my head buzzing. I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like — thought I’d lived with it for years. I was wrong. “What more can I do?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Faye, what more can I do to prove to you that I’m in this for the long haul? How do I make you feel safe with me? I would never hurt you. Surely you know that?”

“I… I know,” she says, clearly just for my benefit.

I spent my days planning the rest of our lives, while she spent them planning her escape. I’ve done all I can for her — faced all my fears, pushed myself to do things I hadn’t done in years. I supported her, built her up, gave her all the pieces she needed to stand independently. I did it because I trusted that she’d stay, even if she finally had the ability to walk away.

I gambled, and I lost.

“Remember that afternoon in Rome? We were dancing in the rain, and you told me that you chose me. Every second of every day, even when I don’t want you to, even on days that feel impossibly hard. Isn’t that what you said?”

I watch as a tear runs down her cheek, and for a moment, I catch myself wanting to rush up to her so I can take her in my arms and take away her pain, but I don’t.

“You didn’t choose me, Faye. Not wholeheartedly. Not the way I need you to.”