Page 69 of Unlock My Heart

“Aren’t they one and the same?” It’s infuriating, the erratic thudding of my heart. I duck inside the vehicle, and Fabien joins me.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly.

“Don’t call me that,” I say with an annoyed sigh.

Saint slides behind the wheel. “Mr. Calvani, I cannot stress to you how important it is to be on your best behavior,” he warns as we pull away from the curb. “You’re so close to your release date⁠—”

“I’m well aware of my release date,” Fabien tells his lawyer dismissively.

“How did you score a furlong? I thought those were a myth,” I comment to Fabien, who’s taking up way too much room in the backseat. His knee bumps into mine, to the point where I’m practically having to hug the door to avoid him.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Fabien tells me, shrugging out of his sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?” My eyes involuntarily land on the tattoo over his heart: a geometric fox that he inked for eighteen-year-old me after that disastrous family dinner.

“Changing,” he answers. “Wedding. Funeral. Either way, I want to look nice for my girl.”

Casting my gaze away from the ink, I inform him, “You can say I’m your girl all you want, it doesn’t make it true.”

“My wife, how about that?” He flashes a sexy grin.

“Legally, that would be accurate,” I tell him primly, refusing to fall for his charm. “And as your wife, you should know that I’ll have a target on my back.” I relay Angelo’s threat at Michele’s funeral.

Fabien’s eyes turn from playful to lethal in a split second. “Don’t tell anyone we’re married, and leave my brother to me.”

“Very well, but if you were planning on using my in with the family, let me stop you right there. I don’t have one, now that Michele is…”

“He got off far too easy.” Tension radiates from the man sitting next to me; a palatable shift in the vehicle. “Did he force you to become the madam?” Fabien’s jaw begins ticking like crazy.

My head falls back on the headrest. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got the time.”

Shifting to get a view of the dashboard display, I inform him, “You’ve got twenty-two hours, so actually, you don’t.”

Fabien grabs me by the chin, jerking my face to his. “What can I do to earn your forgiveness? You want me to be the one to crawl naked over broken glass? I’ll fucking punch out the window, strip, and get on my knees in the middle of the street.”

Squirming out of his hold, I remind myself I’m no longer a naive woman who falls for pretty declarations. “Your lawyer might not appreciate his window being destroyed.”

Your lawyer…

Madam…

“How do you know that I used to be the madam?” My eyes lock with Saint’s in the rearview. “You ratted me out!” I lean forward, smacking him on his shoulder. “What was all that bullshit about confidentiality?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Calvani,” he says, not sounding repentant enough in my opinion.

“I’m not Mrs. Calvani,” I correct him.

“Yet,” Fabien interjects as he buttons his dress shirt and wraps the Italian silk tie around his neck. Looping the knot, he ties it.

Crooked.

Having learned how to tie a Windsor knot just for him, out of habit, I reach over to fix it. Quickly realizing my mistake, my hands return to my lap.

“Damn, I missed that,” he tells me, emotion flickering in his baby blues.

Focusing my gaze out the window, I try to ignore the man, but it’s difficult with the rustling sound of clothes being shed.