Page 118 of Unlock My Heart

“Who says I know Remi?” I challenge.

“You made a face when her name was mentioned.”

I sigh heavily, hating that Fabien can read me so easily. “A few months back, Remi’s boyfriend was the band leader at the hotel, and she began working for me.”

“As a call girl?” Fabien lifts an eyebrow.

“As a cat sitter.”

He flashes a questioning look.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got the time.”

“Since I don’t know our destination, there’s no way for me to know if that’s true.” I dodge his incessant need to excavate the skeletons in my closet.

“New York. I’ve got us front row seats to your favorite designer’s show.” He gently caresses my cheek, but this time, I refuse to lean into his touch.

“It’s fashion week, and you let me leave the house looking like this?” I cry, glancing down at my work tee and leggings.

“For the record, I think you’re perfect, but come on.” He unbuckles himself and then me, before grabbing my hand and leading me to the bedroom.

“You really think I’m going to spread my legs so easily?” I snatch my hand away, the warning more for myself than for him. Don’t be that starry-eyed, eighteen-year-old fool.

Fabien chuckles, flipping on the light and closing the door. “You’re so damn stubborn, I don’t think I could pry those sexy legs open with a crowbar.”

That’s when my eyes land on the designer bags and boxes littering the bed.

For some unknown reason, I let slip, “It’s easier for me to hate you.”

“You’ve never been one to take the easy route.” With the swat of my ass, he saunters out.

He’s right, but whether that’s a good thing remains to be seen.

Unbagging and unboxing yield me quite the wardrobe selection to choose from, including my old boots.

They were always my little form of resistance, and God knows I need every ounce of resistance against my husband.

Current husband.

Fabien

The present

Sienna practically bounces in her seat with excitement as we wait for the show to begin. She uncrosses and crosses her sexy legs, wearing her old boots I brought along just in case.

“Don’t get any ideas.” She catches me staring.

Too late. I’ve got ideas. Lots of them.

A man in cartoonishly oversized sunglasses is seated on my other side, holding a tiny dog draped in a ridiculous turtleneck blanket that looks like peacock feathers. The dog yaps, catching both mine and Sienna’s attention.

“Good thing Lacey isn’t here; she’d have a new squeak toy,” I whisper to Sienna.

“Peacock feathers flying everywhere,” she whispers her agreement with a giggle.

I smile at her. She smiles at me. Until my wife remembers she hates me, and scowls.