Page 3 of Unlock My Heart

With a heavy sigh, I explain, “You have to be twenty-four to apply without your parents’ information. I don’t have my parents’ information. Trust me, I’ve been down that road before.”

“And there’s no other option? Besides marriage?”

A tiny chip in the nail polish of my right index finger snags my attention. So annoying when that happens right after a manicure. “Being a fashion designer was a pipe dream. I’m better off settling for financial security.”

“I see,” she says, writing something down.

“What did you write down?” I lean forward, trying to read her upside-down handwriting.

“Sienna, these are my notes,” she chides, shifting her papers.

Arms crossed, I fall back in my chair. “You wrote down, ‘Client is jaded.’”

“Do you think you’re jaded?” she counters.

“Of course I’m jaded! My life is one big daisy chain of traumas!”

“Would marrying this man help end the trauma cycle, or add another flower to the chain?”

“I don’t know.” Blowing out a heavy breath, I admit quietly, “A part of me wants to marry Michele for revenge. To punish my ex.”

“That’s an understandable reaction,” she says gently, writing something down. Probably underlining the Client is jaded notation. “There’s a proverb about revenge, and I’m paraphrasing, but if that’s the path you choose, go ahead and dig two graves.”

“Sorry, I don’t get it,” I admit.

“That’s our time. Maybe you can journal about the meaning between now and next week.”

I make my way to the trolley stop, lost in thought.

Go ahead and dig two graves…

Two graves? Don’t sell me short. More like an entire cemetery, and for that many bodies, I’d need a backhoe. Or is it a front loader? Maybe an excavator? I don’t know; you’d think the mob would be into construction, and not selling ice and breaking hearts…

“Ms. Jenkins?” A man in his mid-twenties dressed in a designer suit appears from the alley, and I startle.

My body’s on high alert as I reach into my bag, my fingers brushing the taser I now carry with me at all times. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

He holds up his hands in a non-threatening manner. “I’m Fabien Calvani’s attorney⁠—”

“Congratulations,” I interject. “Whatever your hourly rate is, double it.” My feet take me swiftly in the opposite direction.

“Ms. Jenkins, wait.” He chases me down. “I’m to escort you to prison so you can speak to Mr. Calvani in person.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I drawl, attempting to hide the warring emotions.

Anger. Pain. Curiosity. Hope.

Hope.

What a lying bitch of an emotion she is.

“Mr. Calvani has a business proposition for you.”

Keeping my face neutral, I mask my confusion. “What kind of business proposition?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. Mr. Calvani gave me strict instructions.”

Ignoring the fluttering of my heart, I lift a shoulder. “Alright, I’ll bite. But I expect to be compensated for your boss wasting my time.”