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

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Thankfully, the applause is still thunderous once I bow to them, conveying my gratitude. Instinctively, my eyes land on Dion’s seat, relief rushing through me when I find it empty. If only that feeling could’ve lasted a little longer than the few minutes it takes me to walk to my dressing room. I take several more deep swigs of my father’s whiskey, and for a brief moment, I wonder what Mom would think if she saw me now. Would she be disappointed that I stopped playing the piano? Once again, my thoughts turn to Faye, and I take another step forward. I wonder if he provokes me on purpose, but that can’t be, can it? A man like Dion Windsor wouldn’t waste time playing petty games with someone like me. My teeth graze against his thumb, and I bite him lightly, wishing I had the courage to do some real damage. He entwines our fingers, and I look into his eyes, committing the affection in them to memory. I suppress the wave of helplessness I feel and force a smile.

I look into my sister’s eyes, taking in her sincerity. How could she possibly believe that with such fierceness, such conviction? How could she sit here without blaming me for everything I’ve taken from her, from us? It’s not what I think?” I repeat. “So you aren’t dating one of my family’s lawyers?” Eric and I aren’t as close as we were when we were younger, but once upon a time, I’d have called him a friend. I sit down on my mother’s piano bench, the sheet music untouched. La Campanella. Her favorite. She didn’t even need to read the notes to play it — the sheet music was for me. It’s the last piece she tried teaching me, and one of the few I never had the heart to master. Not truly.I thought he’d stopped hurting her now the wedding date has been set. He seemed calmer lately, but was that only because the anger he usually reserves for me transferred to Abigail? He gently runs a hand through her hair, as though he can’t keep himself from touching her. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought I was doing when I left the office.” For years, he made his unwillingness known, but his attempts to keep Faye at a distance fade to dust at the sight of her with another man — mere months before their wedding.

That depends entirely on whether you intend to send me photographic updates of every shower you take,” I murmur, suddenly all the more eager to mess with her. Angering her wasn’t quite part of Lexington’s plan, but I’m starting to realize the only way she’ll let that mask slip is if I provoke her. “I’m also open to you sending me videos of various outfit choices for next week’s charity gala, especially if you keep the camera rolling while you change.” Faye’s always reminded me of a porcelain doll — beautiful, but devoid of emotions. Every interaction I’ve ever had with her seemed eerily practiced, robotic even. I now realize she’s been putting on an act for me, hiding the best parts of herself. What I don’t understand is why. I’m nervous too,” he says, misinterpreting my silence. “Somehow, this feels a little like a first date, doesn’t it?” I nod, and he reaches for my hand over the table. “I suppose in some ways, it is. I always said I’d be patient with you and that you’re worth the wait, but I feel like you may have taken those words a little too seriously,” he adds, his tone playful. “Six months before you let me take you out on a real date? It’ll be years before we’re married.” Her breathing becomes less labored, her body relaxing against me as she finally manages to focus. “Dion,” she whispers, her voice breaking. Sierra pulls away to look at me, her expression guarded. “But you must, and if it’s absolution you seek, what better way to find it than by making Faye happy? Maybe you’ll find that in doing so, you’ll experience the happiness you deserve, too. Because you do, Dion. You deserve to be happy.”Grandma’s eyes roam over the room, and while she studies my four brothers and my little sister, I study her. I take in her perfectly styled shoulder-length hair, the blue suit she’s wearing, and the sheer uncompromising ruthlessness in her demeanor. There’s no kindness in her gaze today. When was the last time she tried to defend me? I’d never want her to get between my father and me, because that would only make matters worse, but shouldn’t she at least be a little concerned? Catharina Maura’s novel “Dr. Grant” is a compelling romance about Dr. Noah Grant. He is a man that has had a very difficult life following the murder of his parents while he was still a child.

Use it how?” she asks, her tone cautious. This is the exact tone she’s always taken with me, and now I know what she sounds like when she reveals her emotions, this falls flat in comparison. There’s so much distance between us, and I’m not sure how to eradicate it. Thankfully, she is offered a dream job by the best friend of her brother and she readily accepts it. His brother’s best friend is a man named Greyson who has had a tragic past and considers aria and her brother Noah his only family. Val seats herself on Luca’s knee, and he throws her a sweet smile that’s so unlike him that I nearly do a double-take. “Thought you said you were going to Zane’s house tonight?” she murmurs. She is now known for her penchant for penning some angsty stories that can be very intriguing. She currently lives in Hong Kong but given her wanderlust, she has at some point made her home in the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and Singapore.Okay,” she says, resigned. “I’ll text you, if that’s what you want. Would you like me to send you updates on my daily activities?” I nod nonetheless, breathing a sigh of relief when the stagehand gestures for me to go on. The crowd applauds, but the spotlight blinds me to them. From the sounds of it, hundreds of people have gathered to hear me play tonight, and it humbles me endlessly. I wonder if they realize that they’re the ones who maintain my sanity. Without this, I’d drown in my sorrows. A chill runs down my spine, and my heart begins to pound wildly as dread washes over me. I swallow hard and rise to my feet, my steps measured. I know better than to disobey. My mind is whirling with panic as I pause in front of him, my shoulders hunched in fear. Helplessness tugs at me, but I refuse to give in to it. Her gaze lands on mine, but she struggles to focus on me, to regain control over her body. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” I plead, my guilt eating at me. I’m already infecting her — I’m the reason she’s in this state. I should’ve handled this situation with more care, but I let my anger and indignation take over. “You’re fine, Faye,” I whisper, as though I can wish it into existence. Like many authors, Catharina Maura began writing when she was very little. In fact, aged just ten, she used to tell her friends and family that she wanted to grow up and become an author.