Page 65 of Unlock My Heart

“I’ve never cared what people think about me, but I want your family to like me,” I admit.

“They’re gonna like you. Just a heads up: Al says whatever pops into her head,” he warns. “Precocious, my mama calls her.”

“Precocious isn’t a bad thing.”

“You say that now,” Fabien tells me in a bemused tone.

I glance out the window and cry, “Stop!”

Fabien slams on the brakes. “What?”

“Oww.” Lurching forward, my head ricochets against the headrest, and I dramatically rub the back of my neck.

“What’s wrong?”

“Besides the whiplash? I wanted to admire this house.” I point out the window at a dilapidated Greek revival framed by majestic Oak trees.

He pulls over to the curb and hops out, opening my door for me. “This one? Looks condemned.” Fabien eyes it skeptically.

“It could use a little TLC, but it has interesting bones,” I decide.

“You see interesting bones; I see a money pit.”

“Are you telling me you don’t have the money?” I challenge, poking him in the chest.

“Oof. Hitting a man where it hurts most.”

“Wallet?”

“Ego,” he corrects me with a chuckle. “Come on.” He ushers me back inside the car, and we continue on our way through the Garden District, pulling up to the largest mansion on the street.

“I’m still nervous,” I admit as Fabien helps me out of the car.

“I’ve still got you,” he promises, squeezing my hand as we approach the gate. After Fabien punches in the code and the gate swings open, we reach the front door.

But before he can ring the bell, the door opens, with a little girl ready to pounce. “Here’s my little black belt.” Fabien dotes over his baby sister as she hops in his arms, and my heart practically melts.

“Al, this is my girlfriend, Sienna.”

The girl eyes me so long I fight not to squirm. “Sienna, you’re a crayon.”

It takes me a second, but I get it. “Yep, I’m a crayon. I’m also lipstick and a paint color,” I tell her with a smile.

“Lipstick? Does that mean you’re going to smooch with my brother?” Al wrinkles her nose. “Because smooching is gross.”

“No gross smooching,” I promise her.

“Hey, now. I’m not agreeing to that.” Fabien leads us inside, closing the door. “But how about we let you know if gross smooching is about to happen,” he bargains with his sister.

“I guess so,” Al says, but she doesn’t look too sure about it as she hops down from his arms.

“Fabien.” An elegant middle-aged woman appears, and I steel my spine.

“Mama.” They greet with a double cheek kiss. “This is my girlfriend, Sienna.”

“She’s a crayon,” Al helpfully adds.

“Sienna.” Mrs. Calvani turns her attention to me, her mask slipping for the briefest of moments before she flashes a practiced smile. “Welcome.”