FAE #3
Roman chuckles and steps back, but not before pulling the brush out of my hand. I smirk at him as his eyes sear into mine.
“Sit.”
“Yes, sir,” I sass and squeal as a large hand lands on my arse.
“Carry on and I’ll ban you from going out. We have more important things to do,” he says, running the brush through my hair.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Like what?”
“Like you,” he winks and I giggle.
The tension eases as Roman’s hand slows in my hair, the brush gliding through the ends before he sets it aside and reaches for the hairdryer.
Warm air fills the space between us as he dries it carefully, then, once it’s just right, he picks up the straighteners and runs them through with the same quiet focus he gives everything else.
I smile, a real one this time. It’s one of his favourite things to do.
It’s actually unfair when I think about it…
why is he better at my hair than I am? At least if we have a daughter, he can take full responsibility for hers.
“You’ll be back soon?”
“Of course,” I say, turning toward him fully before lifting onto my toes to press a quick kiss. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“Impossible,” he mutters against my mouth.
“So romantic,” I whisper and he chuckles before stepping back.
After I finish getting my makeup on, I grab my bag from the bed and double-check I have everything I need. The shining metal glistens and I shift nervous eyes across to Roman to see he’s currently occupied by his own phone. Forcing my feet to move toward the door, I take a deep breath and open it.
If I stop, if I let myself think about it for even a second longer, I won’t go.
And I have to go.
Fiona is already waiting at the bottom of the stairs when I come down, her posture composed, her expression unreadable and I hope one day she can teach me how to keep my composure as well as she does.
Our eyes meet briefly, and a silent message passes between us before she turns toward the front door.
“Ready?” she asks lightly.
“Yeah,” I nod, even though nothing about me feels ready. “Bye, babe,” I call up the stairs.
“Mum,” Roman’s demanding voice makes my feet stop and I suck in a deep breath before turning back to him. “Look after my wife.”
Fiona rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
She steps up to Roman, giving him a kiss on the cheek before turning back and opening the door. The cool March air brushes against my skin as we step outside. It’s still bright, the sky is clear, and it’s the kind of early spring evening that feels soft and harmless.
“Look after my mum, Tink,” Roman says to me before kissing me and it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“Obviously.”
Fiona chuckles aloud as she grabs my arm and pulls me out.
We both get in the car, and it slams shut, sealing us into the quiet as Fiona pulls away from the house.
The engine hums steadily beneath us as the world outside passes by, but the guilt sits heavy in my chest and twist tighter every time I picture his face.
The way he looked at me upstairs. The way he asked if I was okay, as if he already knew the answer.
I could turn around.
My fingers curl, gripping the fabric of my dress as I shake it off. No. If I walk back into that house now, if I look at him and tell him the truth, he won’t let me do this. He’ll take it from me, carry it himself, bury it somewhere inside him until it eats him alive. And I won’t let that happen.
Not to him and especially not because of me.
I drag in a slow breath, forcing my shoulders back as I stare straight ahead at the church.
It rises slowly into view, like it’s been waiting for us.
My throat tightens even more as I take in the headstones scattered around it, row after row of names carved into stone, watching on silently and unmoving.
The car rolls to a slow stop and the engine cuts.
“Remember, don’t leave me alone in that place, it gives me creeps,” she winks before climbing out the car.
My door opens a second later and the air feels different out here, pressing against my skin instead of brushing past it. Gravel crunches under my feet as I step out. I glance around, half expecting to see someone, anyone, but there’s nothing. Fiona doesn’t speak as she walks ahead.
The doors creak as Fiona pushes them open.
My footsteps echo against the stone floor, bouncing off the high ceilings before coming back to me distorted.
We move further in and the space stretches out around us.
Rows of empty pews sit untouched, and the altar waits at the far end like a silent witness.
I glance toward Fiona, but she keeps moving until we’re at the front and away from any exit.
“Wait—”
I realise Fiona’s mistake a fraction of a second too late and whirl around to the sound of footsteps. My body locks before my mind catches up and it takes all my energy to stay calm and focus on the training I have.
“Ah… two for the price of one. It is my lucky night,” the voice cuts clean through the silence.
“Hello, darling,” Fiona responds evenly.
A shadow shifts at the far end of the church, stepping forward slowly until he’s fully in view.
“Hello, wife.”