Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Sienna
The present
A large hand weaves its way through my hair, and I sigh contentedly.
Until my mind catches up, and I realize something isn’t right.
My eyes snap open to find Fabien seated next to me in my bed, petting my hair. I blink rapidly. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re so damn beautiful in the morning.” He moves his hand down to my cheek, and I jerk my head away from his touch.
I sit up, trying to make sense of what the hell is happening while giving myself some space.
Fabien’s eyes dip to my camisole, and my nipples pucker under his gaze. “Fuck, I’m a man starved,” he murmurs as I yank the covers over myself.
“Go eat somewhere else. How are you here?” He should still be in prison, and yet here he is dressed sharply in a suit, looking far too handsome for my own good.
“I’ve got business I need to handle, and then I plan on taking my beautiful wife out on a date.” He rises and reaches into his jacket pocket, producing a letter. Placing it on the nightstand, he walks out.
Don’t bite.
With a frustrated breath, I reach over and snatch the letter, opening it.
Sienna,
How do I love thee? Let me continue to count the ways.
My eyes roll, but dammit, my lips also quirk.
26. Your laugh. You have a great laugh.
27. Your withering look. You have a killer withering look.
28. The way you tie the perfect Windsor knot.
29. You in those damn black boots.
30. The privilege of calling you my wife.
31. The way your forehead crinkles when you’re deep in though.
My forehead is crinkled, and I use my fingers to smooth out the muscles.
32. The way your forehead crinkles when I’m deep in you.
“Relax,” I say, rubbing circles over my forehead muscles.
33. Your confidence.
34. Your drive.
35. Your passion.
36. Your forgiving heart.
What? That one has me scratching my head.
Alright, so we both know you don’t have a forgiving heart, but maybe you could make an exception for me, just one time?
And speaking of time, that’s all the time I have at the moment to pen your sonnets. To be continued…
Forever your loving husband,
Fabien
I glance up from the letter to find Lacey skittering into the room. “I’m on the outs with you,” I warn her, tossing the paper on the nightstand. “What the hell happened to all that training? Fabien didn’t have a single mark on him.”
She shovers her nose under my hand, and I give her a begrudging pet.
“I suppose you don’t have to hate him just because I do.”
Fabien’s right about one thing: I don’t have a forgiving heart. Could I make an exception for him?
Lacey watches me struggle to find the answer.
Hidden in a box of pads is the answer, I remind myself as I get up and get ready for class.
Jermaine greets me in the kitchen with an espresso. “Your husband left around an hour ago,” he reports. If Fabien can monitor my comings and goings, I can monitor his. “Seems much nicer than Mr. D’Amico.”
“Yes and no. They’re both cut from the same cloth.” That warning is more for myself than anyone, and I take a sip of espresso before asking, “Is Saint here?”
“Haven’t seen him this morning,” Jermaine reports.
“Guess he’s been working overtime to pull whatever strings that got Fabien out of prison early.” I finish my coffee before calling for Lacey. She comes to heel, and I give her a scratch. “Keep an eye on things while I’m gone,” I tell Jermaine.
“Yes, Miss Sienna,” he says nervously, his gaze ping ponging between the two of us.
“Maybe he’ll get used to you,” I tell Lacey as we walk out. “Then again, maybe not. Keep all the men on their toes. And that includes Mr. Calvani,” I chastise her as we step outside, where the SUV is waiting for us.
Lacey and I slide into the backseat, and we make the short drive to school, where the dog remains with the driver as I’m escorted by my guard inside the building. He takes his post in the hallway as I slip inside the computer lab and pull up a search engine.
FBI Agent Kirksey produces no hits, but that’s not surprising; the man didn’t give off fed vibes. Unless Kirksey isn’t his real name, and he’s undercover?
He knew that I’m married to Fabien, which leads me to believe he has a tight connection to my husband; current husband.
See, this is why I don’t wear those rings.
Pulling up the prison’s website, an inmate search yields Kirksey Willis’ mugshot.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, except I’m no fool. Nobody in this business is my friend. I trust this Kirksey character about as far as I could throw him.
But before I go yeeting convicts, I close out the search and head to class, my guard tagging along. “Pit stop,” I tell him, slipping inside the restroom.
Needing a moment to regroup, I pull a tube of lipstick out of my backpack and touch up my lips.
Something pricks my ears, and I spin around, but it’s too late.
Angelo’s right-hand man, Maks, has his arm around my neck; his free hand stabs my pounding vein with a needle before the scream can leave my lips.
My last thought before darkness pulls me under is that I should’ve certified Lacey as my emotional support dog.