Page 120 of Unlock My Heart

“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.”