Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sienna
The Present
With supplies lined up on my worktable, I’m excited to tackle my first class project: a custom lace creation of my choosing.
Pencil glides over paper as I sketch my croquis, and before I know what my hand is doing, that morbid funeral garb I created when I was eighteen is staring back at me.
Excitement leaks from me like a flat tire as I toss the pencil. The last time I created this sketch, I nearly died.
But if I’m being honest, it is sort of a cool vibe. Gothic meets Victorian mourning gown. Ooh, and if I add black combat boots and a white bridal veil, it’s Gothic wedding/meets Victorian funeral.
I retrieve the pencil, drawing those touches before I fill everything in with color pencils. Examining the finished sketch, I try to talk myself out of this idea, but it’s taken root. A wedding and a funeral. Aren’t they one and the same?
They are now.
“Knock knock.” Saint appears. “Sorry to interrupt. This is for you.” He crosses the room, handing me a letter. “You also forgot your rings.” He places them in my hand, and I swiftly drop them in the trash.
“I didn’t forget anything, Clark.” Wearing those rings is more than a symbol; it’s a foothold for Fabien to weasel his way back into my heart.
Not on my finger. Not on my watch.
“You’re more stubborn than he is,” Saint muses.
“Thanks, I guess?”
“I’m not going to waste your time asking if you’d like to go with me to visit Mr. Calvani.” He digs the rings out of the trash before walking out.
“And I appreciate that,” I call after him.
Alone with Fabien’s letter, I plop down on the floor and stare at it. If I had any sense at all, I’d likewise toss it in the trash without a second thought.
Why am I not giving that option a second thought?
Sienna,
I’m the reason you were in that dumpster, and Michele was the one to come to your rescue.
As much as I hated it, I understood why you chose him over me.
But I’m finished being so damn understanding.
You’re mine, and I’m not letting you get away this time.
Why did I want to marry you? Let me list the reasons.
1. You’re the bravest person I know.
2. You’re the sharpest crayon I know.
Despite my best effort, my lips lift.
3. You can hold a grudge like no other, and even though it’s against me, damn, I respect it.
That gets a chortle out of me.
4. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.
5. You and me together in bed is fucking otherworldly.
Was fucking otherworldly. Past tense.
6. And while we’re on that topic, your pussy is perfection.
Past tense!
7. Did I mention your perfect pussy? Now that’s some Shakespearean shit.
So past tense!
8. You drink your espresso like an Italian.
9. Did I also mention your perfect tits?
10. You have a dark streak that rivals mine.
Fabien might be right about that one…
11. And a perfect ass, damn.
12. You’ve never met a challenge that you didn’t meet head-on.
13. Your nails always look so nice.
Glancing at my nails, ugh, there’s a pesky chip in my black polish.
14. And I love what you used to do to me with those pretty nails.
15. I love the feel of your hair.
16. The color of your hair.
17. The smell of your hair.
My eyebrows lift. Fabien has a hair fetish now?
18. Didn’t realize I was this into hair, but I also love it wrapped around my fist.
Flustered, I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear.
19. Your quick wit.
20. Your smart mouth.
21. Your smart mouth wrapped around my cock.
22. I love how perfectly we fit together in every way.
Seriously, past tense.
23. I even love your cold feet on me. (Are your feet still cold? Never mind, I’ll find out for myself).
24. I love how creative you are.
25. I love your fierce spirit.
This one has me blinking back the tears. How can Fabien not see that my spirit’s broken?
Attorney/client time is over, so I’ll have to pause my ode to you. By the way, Shakespeare got it wrong. Parting isn’t sweet sorrow. It’s torture.
Speaking of, how long do you plan on torturing me?
Forever your loving husband,
Fabien
There’s an annoying burning sensation behind my eyes, and to fight it, I lie down and focus on the ceiling. Blinking doesn’t help, so I set my bleary gaze on the light fixture. Not caring for the industrial vibe, I decide I’m going to replace it.
A huge dog head appears, blocking my view. Lacey whines softly, and I tell her, “I’m okay. Just taking a little rest. In the middle of the floor.” Like I always do, I pick myself up and dust myself off.
Lacey plops down on her princess bed, which I had ordered for her, and I get to work pricking holes for my bobbin pattern. Happy with the design, I pin the piece of cardboard to the lace pillow. Now, the real work begins.
“Miss Sienna—”
I look up to find a frozen Jermaine, watching an on guard Lacey growling in warning.
“Lacey, sit. This is Jermaine. He’s going to help me out around here.”
She sits but is clearly unhappy about it, watching him closely.
“Jermaine, welcome. You’ve met my guard dog, Lacey.”
“Hope this is as up close and personal as we’re gonna meet,” he says nervously, reaching inside his jacket.
“What’s that?” I nod to the small package.
“This was addressed to you at the hotel. Found it when I was cleaning out my things.”
He tentatively walks over and hands me the package, and I rummage through my desk until I find scissors and cut it open.
My eyes go wide when I see what’s inside. “Jermaine, would you mind grabbing me an espresso from upstairs?”
“Yes, Miss Sienna.” He disappears, and I move briskly to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.
Retrieving the relic of a flip phone from the package, I also find a note, but in unfamiliar handwriting.
Are you ready to stick it to the Calvani family? Press one and hit call.
Maybe I’ve always been too curious for my own good, but I do as instructed and bring the phone to my ear. It rings and rings, and just as I’m going to end the call, a gruff Southern voice comes on the line. “Sienna.”
“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” My tone’s light, but I already dislike this man for having an advantage.
“Let’s just say someone who could be an ally.”
“An ally in what, exactly?”
“You have been used and abused by the Calvani family for years. Sick of it yet?”
Well, now that he mentions it, yes. But not taking the bait, I inform him, “I don’t fuck around with feds.”
Before I can end the call, he retorts, “Nah, they just fuck around with you and leave you for dead.”
An icy feeling flows through my veins, but I keep my tone light. “What is it you want? And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“You didn’t catch it because I didn’t give it to you,” he says with laughter in his voice, and I decide that I dislike whoever the hell this man is. “Name’s Kirksey. Ain’t no fed,” he says the last part with enough venom that I believe him.
“Well then, Kirksey, you’ve obviously gone to the trouble to contact me, so what is it you want?”
“Scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
“Meaning?” I press him.
“Information.”
“And what information do you think I possess?” I fish.
“Doll, don’t sell yourself short,” he chides.
“Don’t call me doll, and I can assure you, Kirksey, I’d never do such a thing.”
He chuckles. “No, I’d guess not. But what I would guess is that you’re sitting on a goldmine of information. From goomah to capo’s wife to madam of the family’s call girl ring, and now wife of the eldest Calvani heir. Impressive rise for a sheltered girl from Utah.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I feign ignorance. “But to hear you tell it, I’m practically famous.”
“I’d say more infamous. Especially your beauty.”
“Sorry, but flattery will get you nowhere,” I inform him.
“Would a quarter of a million get me somewhere?” Kirksey counters.
I scoff. “Please. I don’t get out of bed for less than two million.” My price has increased since Fabien bought me off. “But just so you know, my back isn’t in need of scratching.” My heart pounds as I end the call.
The note gets crumpled and flushed down the toilet. As for the burner phone, it should go in the dumpster, but then I recall my time spent in one, and so I hide it in the bottom of a decorative tissue box.
My back isn’t in need of scratching, but it might one day.