Page 93 of Unlock My Heart

I was untouchable, and because you were mine, I thought that you were too. Both counts I was wrong. You paid the price for my arrogance, and I won’t make that mistake again. Please let Lacey watch over you. And if you still want to humble me, my knees are ready.

Forever you loving husband,

Fabien

His knees may be ready, but I feel like mine might give out at any moment, not to mention my poor neck; last night’s turn of events has given me whiplash.

“Lacey.” I nervously eye the huge black dog. “Are we sure she isn’t from the underworld?”

“Cerberus doesn’t have quite the same ring for a designer,” Saint points out.

“Lacey.” I hold out my free hand, and the dog sniffs it. “May I pet her? Is it a her?”

The handler nods. “She’s been trained with your scent. She knows you’re her person.”

I don’t bother asking how she was trained with my scent. “What kind of dog is she?”

“Cane Corso. After she does her rounds, if you have time, I’d like to work with you and her, teaching you the commands.”

“Sure.” I’ll be damned if I let any bitch intimidate me, and that includes a canine.

The handler takes the beast of a dog away, and that leaves me alone with Saint. “When do you report to your boss about my comings and goings?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to visit Mr. Calvani this afternoon at two o’clock. Sure you won’t change your mind and come with me?”

“I’m sure, but can you deliver Fabien a message?” I move to my desk, fishing through the drawers until I find stationery.

Current husband,

Once upon a time, you told me that you never paid for a girl, period. A lie. I know you lost your virginity to Chantelle, and yet you expect me to believe your latest yarn?

Oh, and thanks for the guard dog. I’ll be working with Lacey this afternoon to make sure she greets you properly upon your release.

Sienna

Folding the letter, I hand it to Saint. “Thank you,” I say in a sing-song voice.

He eyes the stationery like it’s a snake ready to strike. “Why do I have the feeling Mr. Calvani isn’t going to be happy?”

“Not my problem.” I pat his cheek, walking out.

After tucking the photo away in its hiding spot, I move to my workspace as I sip on a new cup of espresso. My dreams were derailed, but now I have something I didn’t have before.

A choice.

Do I continue to wallow in the wreckage, or start again?

My fingers trail the lace edges of the wedding veil, and that pesky little puckered spot.

Searching on my phone, I pull up the design school admissions number. “Hello, my name is Sienna Calvani, I mean, Sienna Jenkins,” I correct myself. “I was a student nearly ten years ago, but had to drop out for personal reasons. I’d like to audit your advanced bobbin lacemaking course.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sienna

Eighteen-years-old

Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?