Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Sienna
The present
“Before you see yourself in the mirror, you have to promise me that you won’t maul my face off,” I warn Lacey.
She whines, and I tell her, “Here you go, queen.”
I hold up the handheld mirror, and she huffs.
That gets a laugh out of me, because it is rather silly, this ferocious dog wearing a tiny peacock feather mask that I’ve capped with a handmade lace veiling. “It’s for Runway’s editor-in-chief’s lap dog.”
Cleary agitated, Lacey’s tail thuds the floor back and forth.
“Alright, alright. You’re not a lap dog, and this isn’t your sense of style.” I gently remove the strap and lift the mask. “But here’s hoping the editor likes my sense of humor.”
Jermaine sticks his head in my studio. “Need anything, Mrs. Calvani?”
“Yes, actually, I need this package overnighted to New York.” I place the mask gently inside the box on top of the lace chastity belt that I weaved with little penis designs, along with the handwritten note on the back of one of my new business cards.
I don’t design chastity belts, but I’ll make an exception for my favorite front row neighbor. The mask is, of course, designed especially for your dog.
~ Sienna
“Jermaine, I want you to deliver this package in person.” Fabien appears shirtless and sweaty from his morning workout, and I do a double-take.
He’s had his fade touched up, looking especially fine after his haircut.
If only I could blame the creep crawling up my neck due to ovulation, but old habits still have me tracking my cycle. I’m in the excuseless follicular phase.
Fabien gets on the phone, preparing the jet.
“That’s overkill,” I tell him when he ends the call.
“You worked damn hard on this, and I want to make sure it arrives safely.”
I have worked damn hard, nearly round the clock to get this finished so quickly, so I grumble my consent.
“Jermaine, you don’t have a problem being out of pocket for a bit?” Fabien asks my assistant.
“No, Mr. Calvani.”
“Then that’s settled. Let me shower, and then I’ll take you to class,” he tells me.
“Not necessary. My guards can take me,” I inform my husband.
“I’m taking you.” With that declaration, he saunters out of the room, and I’m ashamed to admit that I stared at his rock-hard ass the entire time.
Jermaine accepts the package and prepares for his impromptu NYC trip, and I lie on the floor, fanning myself.
Lacey plops her head down next to me. “What am I doing? Thirsting over a man who broke my heart. In other words, being a fool.”
A fool who let that man inside her not forty-eight hours ago.
Bare.
My cheeks flame.
Fabien was right: I remembered how good it felt. How good we felt. Still remembering, considering how sore I am from the brief encounter.
Ha, that’s what I’m calling it: an encounter. Cognitive dissonance at its finest. Because if the man can pry open my stubborn thighs, it’s only a matter of time before he pries his way into my heart, or what’s left of it.
My vision becomes spotty as I stare at the new crystal-and-gold, girlie-girl chandelier.
“What do you think about the new light fixture?” I ask Lacey, distracting myself from the real reason for my spotty vision.
“Agreed, it matches your bed perfectly. Come on.” I pull myself up and gather my things for class, but not before taking a “bathroom” break.
The phone’s right where I left it, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to force my finger to turn it on. My little secret—one of them, anyway—gets returned to its hiding spot, and I scowl at myself in the broken mirror.
God, I suck at this revenge thing.
I find Fabien outside, dressed in a crisp suit and leaning against his old sports car. “Surprised you were able to restore your precious baby to its former glory,” I taunt him, needing to regain my footing.
“Come see for yourself.”
I walk around to the driver’s side door, my feet faltering.
Nobody has been scratched out, and Everything is scratched above it.
Hot tears begin streaming down my face.
Nobody. Nobody. Nobody. Nobody.
Whore. Whore. Whore. Whore.
The stealth grief morphs into panic as a flashback splits into my psyche like a lightning bolt.
Terror grips my throat. I’m being buried alive beneath the putrid smell of trash.
“Sienna!” Faiben sounds far away, his voice muffled. “Uh-huh. Stay right here with me.” His face comes into focus as he grips my shoulders. “Breathe. I’ll count.”
My legs give out, and I’m in his arms as he slides us both to the ground, leaning against his car.
“Breathe with me for four and hold it.”
“I can’t,” I say between shallow panting.
“Yes, you can. Your stubborn ass can do anything. One. Two. Three. Four. Hold it.”
My lungs have inflated slightly as I do as he commands, and we go through this exercise two more times before I’m feeling somewhat back to the here and now, spent and turned inside out.
“Look at me,” Fabien says, gently tilting my head so he can see my eyes.
“There isn’t a way forward for us.” My words sound as small and deflated as I feel. “I’m stuck in the past; in that dumpster. I can’t get over what was done to me, or that you let it happen with one word.”
Fabien makes a strangled sound, but I need this off my chest. “You can change that word on your car, but it changes nothing.”
My fists pound against his chest as I scream incoherently. Pound and scream, pound and scream, until I feel like a popped balloon, all the fight having whooshed out of me.
I collapse against him, and he wraps me in his arms. Through my hot tears, I feel his own tears landing on my forehead. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Fabien’s voice breaks. “So damn sorry.”
It is out of sheer stubbornness, but I pull myself up and hurry inside, locking myself in the bathroom.
Retrieving the phone, I swipe at my eyes as I power it up, scrolling through Kirkey’s missed texts, the tenor of each message getting more and more hostile.
He thinks I’ve ghosted him.
I’m the ghost, neither dead nor alive, haunted by my own past.
Relax, I’m still here. I’ve been waiting to gather more intel. My ears are open, lips loose, just as soon as that other million drops.
You’d better not be jerking me around. I promise you, doll, you don’t want me as an enemy.
These asshole men. They’re the ones who should be worried about making an enemy out of me.