Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Fabien
The present
For the first time in nearly a decade, I wake with a smile. I’m getting married today. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Thoughts of Sienna flood my senses.
Her smell. Cherries and vanilla, and a hint of something spicy.
Her scowl. God knows I deserve it.
Her confidence. She stormed into the attorney/client room, and even though I had the upper hand, the woman still owned me.
Her face. So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
I’m a man starved. My cock certainly agrees, but I stop myself from a quick tug. I’m getting to be with Sienna, and the fantasy will never come close to the reality.
I scramble from my top bunk, hammering out pushups on the concrete floor.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Sienna’s going to be my wife.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
God knows I don’t deserve her, but that’s not going to stop me.
Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
“I would bitch at you, but hell, I’d be excited too, marrying that sweet piece—”
I’m on my cellie in a flash, my forearm digging into his throat. “Never disrespect my wife again.”
“Alright, alright. Sorry.” Kirksey wheezes, and I release him.
“Inmate count,” the CO calls as the glaring lights are flipped on, and we go through the morning drill.
“Calvani, let’s go.” Another CO opens our cell.
“Enjoy the taste of freedom,” Kirksey calls after me.
My body buzzes with excitement as I follow the CO, ignoring the cheers and jeers from my fellow inmates. Through the various locked doors and pat-downs, my shackles are removed, and I enter the warden’s office.
Saint rises, while the warden keeps his seat. I ignore the disrespect, only because I want out of here.
“Need I remind your client that I’m doing him a huge favor granting this furlong,” the warden addresses my attorney.
Need I remind the warden that I paid for this favor, but I bite my tongue. A hundred grand for 1440 minutes. Worth every penny.
“Understood,” Saint says, filling out some sort of bullshit form before we’re escorted to another bullshit room. I change out of my inmate scrubs into a gray sweatsuit, feeling almost human.
After another search and the return of my personal effects, I walk out with Saint.
The warmth of the sun hits my face, and I look up, savoring the moment. “Let’s go get my girl.”
Sienna
The present
My hands tremble as I pull out the last of the hot rollers, finger-combing my soft curls.
It’s not like this is my first wedding; I know the drill. But if I’m being honest, it’s not the wedding ritual that has my stomach twisted into a pretzel.
I carefully lift the funeral veil and place it over my head. My little form of resistance. I’m marrying Fabien, but I’ll do it kicking and screaming.
The soon-to-be Mrs. Sienna Calvani.
Once upon a time, a naive girl dreamed of this day. What a fool she was.
Sienna
Eighteen-years-old
“The deadline to submit your entry to our spring fashion show is fast-approaching,” my professor announces.
“Only the most original, innovative, and well-constructed collections will make the cut. A limited number of spots is reserved for first-year students, so I encourage you to put your best foot forward.”
Class ends, and I hurry out of the building, itching to get to work. A flashy sports car pulls to the curb, the window rolling down. “Where’s my girl going?” Fabien calls.
I smile, leaning inside the car with my arms folded. “Home. I have to work on my collection. And I won’t have you distracting me.” Wishful thinking. I can’t be in the same room as this man without being distracted.
“Who, me?” Fabien hops out and hustles around the vehicle, opening the door for me.
“Yes, you.” Giving him a peck, I climb in, and he closes the door for me.
Sliding behind the wheel, he leans over the console. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
I stick my tongue out at him, but jerk back with a squeal when he snaps his teeth at my direction. “Hey! Don’t bite the tongue that licks you; isn’t that how the saying goes?”
Fabien laughs, grabbing my chin and bringing my lips inches from his. “It is now.” He slides his tongue inside my mouth, and I sigh dreamily.
Kissing Fabien Calvani has permanently altered my brain chemistry, and I can say one hundred percent it’s for the worse, because I am completely and utterly obsessed with this man.
Someone behind us honks, but Fabien ignores them, continuing to tongue-fuck me unhurriedly.
After a stop at my favorite snowball stand, I crunch on the icy treat as we make the drive home.
Home.
For the first time in my life, I know what that feels like.
My chest feels so full it might burst.
With Fabien’s attention on the road, I stealthily admire his side profile. Naturally pretty olive skin, a dark contrast to my pale coloring. A prominent nose that’s obviously been broken in the past, but he won’t tell me how. Those damn sexy hands wrapped around the wheel.
Impulsively, I lean across the console and run my tongue along the length of the bulging vein of his right forearm.
The wheel jerks as he curses. “Dammit, Sienna. Who’s distracting who here?”
I giggle as the light turns red, and we barrel through the intersection. “Your driving is like our relationship: all gas and no brake.”
“Fortune favors the bold. But hey, I’ll catch the next light if you wanna take that tongue exploration further south.” His eyes are naughty blue flames, his voice pure silk.
“I’m sure you would,” I say, squirming in my seat. “But I refuse to be distracted by your charm.”
“You find me charming. Good to know.” He wags his eyebrows.
With pursed lips, I retort, “Against my better judgment.”
He laughs. It’s a rich and deep sound that tingles parts of my body that I now know can tingle, at least for this man.
With a resolved shake of my head, I say, “Fabien, I mean it; this weekend, I’m locked in.”
“Promise I’m not gonna bother you; I’ve got some business I need to handle.”
I’m not sure what exactly Fabien does for his family. All I know is that sometimes he has to leave in the middle of the night, but I always get a very delicious wakeup call when he returns.
“But don’t forget dinner at my parents’ house Sunday afternoon.” The dinner’s been postponed three times now due to his dad’s battle with cancer; something I’m not supposed to know.
“How could I forget?” I mutter.
“Don’t sweat it,” Fabien assures me.
Don’t sweat it? His dad is the boss of this city, and his mom is a classically trained pianist. I’m sweating just thinking about it.