Chapter 35 #2
“Doubtful,” she retorts.
Peacock dog owner clears his throat. “Fashion show, not therapy session. Save your marital problems for when you get home.”
“If you want to pick your teeth up from the runway, butt into our conversation again,” I warn him, giving my knuckles a crack.
He holds up his gloved hand, returning to minding his own damn business.
“Is this the patience you were lauding earlier?” Sienna taunts.
“Yes, because I didn’t knock his teeth out,” I argue.
“You’re hopeless,” she decides with a heavy sigh.
“A hopeless romantic.” I grab her hand, bringing it to my lips and pressing a kiss.
“Sonnets and threats of violence.” She snatches her hand away.
“Positively Shakespearian,” I agree.
Her eyes sparkle with challenge. “So you admit we’re a tragedy?”
“The only thing tragic is that we haven’t consummated this marriage,” I counter.
“No wonder you two are having problems. Honey, if you don’t want under this man, I volunteer as tribute.” Peacock dog owner pipes up.
“Are you going to knock his teeth out, or should I?” Sienna tells me hotly.
Laughter vibrates my chest.
“Minding my business,” Peacock dog owner says.
The lights dim, and the show begins with the first model strutting down the runway. But my eyes stay on Sienna, who’s completely enthralled. “Watch the show, not me.” She leans over, her sweet breath tickling my ear.
With my arm draped over the back of her chair, I cop of feel of the ends of her locks cascading down her back. Wasn’t lying in my letter; I’m obsessed with her hair.
“And stop touching my hair.”
My fingers drop to the back of her chair as my knee bumps into her bare one. She shoots me a look. “What?” I whisper. “You told me to stop touching your hair.”
“Shhh.” Peacock dog owner whisper-hisses at us, risking the loss of his teeth.
“Stick a feather in it,” Sienna whisper-hisses right back at him, and I chuckle softly.
The show comes to a conclusion, and I take Sienna’s hand over her protest, leading her through the VIP backstage area and to the designer.
Introductions are made, and the designer tells Sienna, “A little birdie tells me you’re a NOCAD student.”
Sienna nods. “I’m focusing on lacemaking, with veils my speciality.”
This is news to me, but it’s not surprising. Sienna and lace go together.
“I’ve got the perfect connection for you.” She writes down a name and number on the back of a card, handing it to Sienna. “Wedding dress designer. Perhaps you two could collab.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
I usher a beaming Sienna through the crowd, past Peacock dog owner. “Alright, I’m dying to know who you two are,” he calls to us.
That can be arranged.
Sienna and I glance at each other, having shared the same thought.
“You both have the temperament of models, but I’m not getting model vibes,” he continues, his words coated with amusement.
“Thanks, I guess?” Sienna says.
“My wife’s a designer,” I say proudly.
“Soon-to-be designer,” Sienna corrects me.
“What do you design? Chastity belts?” Peacock dog owner quips.
That gets a chuckle out of me, until Sienna shoots me a death glare, and I cover my laugh with a cough.
“Veils. I especially love making funeral veils for people who don’t know when to shut up,” Sienna says pointedly.
He clicks his tongue, reaching inside his cape, producing a card. “Put me down on your waitlist. Being that I’m the editor-in-chief of Runway, you’re right, I don’t know when to shut up.”
While that means nothing to me, Sienna’s eyes go wide. “Sorry for threatening to knock out your teeth.”
“They’re veneers.” He waves his gloved hand. “I look forward to seeing your work.”
She nods, and I usher her out to our waiting security entourage.
“Oh my God, that man practically runs the New York fashion scene. And I told him to stick a feather in it,” Sienna bemoans.
“Hey, you walked away with his contact, so I’d call that a win.”
“I’m going to send him a sample of my work.” I can see the creative wheels spinning.
“Piccola volpe, I have no doubt you’ll win him over.”
Sienna sighs heavily. “Don’t call me that.”
“Whatever you say, baby.”
That elicits a disgruntled sound from the back of her throat.
We return to the jet, where dinner’s waiting for us. Sienna opens a pizza box while I crack open her bottle of cherry soda and pour it over a glass of ice.
She accepts the glass, taking a sip and scrunching her nose. “It’s good, except for the ice.”
“Lucky for you, I know a guy with the ice hookup.”
Her full lips turn down. “Except I don’t know that guy. Fabien, I don’t know you. Sure, I know the you from our past, but we’ve both changed,” she argues.
I fish my phone from my pocket, setting a timer.
“What are you doing?”
“My two hours begin now,” I announce.
Sienna crosses her arms. “You paid for the first date, and now you’re forcing me on this one.”
My shoulder lifts unrepentant. “I’m no saint, but I’ll still be a gentleman until you tell me otherwise.”
She smirks. “Don’t hold your breath.”
One hundred and twenty minutes to win over my girl. God knows I’ll need every last one of them, down to the second.