Page 5 of Unlock My Heart

“Miss, I know enough to do my job; nothing more, nothing less.”

“That’s smart, I suppose.” My eyes land on what looks to be a tattooed wedding ring on his right finger. So my gaydar wasn’t off.

Thoughts of Oliver flitter in my mind, a reminder of the gaping hole in my heart. I laugh mirthlessly.

“What’s funny?” Saint eyes me.

“Oh, nothing.” Just that every trauma I’ve ever endured is being triggered in a single day.

I’ve changed my mind about God having a sense of humor. He/she/it/they isn’t funny, but a sadist.

Breezing through prison security as Saint’s legal intern, I enter a sterile room, and my heart nearly stops at the sight of him.

Fabien looks different, and yet the same. He’s a bit thinner, but all the handsome features are still there. And those baby blues that cut like a knife.

Having allowed this man to gut me once, I appear unaffected as I glide across the room and take a seat. “Orange isn’t your color.”

The deep baritone of Fabien’s laughter tickles my skin. It’s infuriating.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Saint tells Fabien, quietly slipping out of the room.

“You’re so damn beautiful.” Fabien takes his seat across the table from me, his voice laced with something. Regret, maybe?

“I didn’t come all this way for you to tell me something I already know.” In an attempt to shield my heart from his pretty words, I cross my arms.

A lazy grin stretches his face. “That’s my girl.” He folds his hands, the shackles producing a harsh clanging sound. I was always obsessed with this man’s hands. Big and strong, with bulging veins that only made them that much sexier. But not just the aesthetic; what he did with those hands. Strong yet gentle, the man always had a way of making me feel safe.

Until he didn’t.

Until I wasn’t.

“I’m not your girl,” I correct him, mentally armoring up for this battle. “Let’s get down to business. What is it you want?”

He cocks his head, eyeing me. “Why didn’t you write me back?”

“Because I had nothing to say to you, Fabien.” I feign boredom, ignoring the spike of my pulse. “Still don’t.”

“Really? Because I don’t believe that,” he says gently.

“Believe what you want.” Disinterest drips from my words

“Why are you dressed so conservatively?” Fabien’s eyes linger on my chest, like he has the right to do so, and my blood boils.

“You have exactly sixty seconds to get the point before I bounce,” I tell him through my teeth.

“Marry me.”

“I beg your finest pardon?” I nearly fall out of my chair.

“Sienna, you heard me,” he says firmly.

An acrid laugh nearly chokes me. “You’re a day late and a dollar short.”

“No better time like the present, and let’s talk about that dollar,” Fabien says smoothly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Don’t bite.

“How much?” I’ve always been far too curious for my own good.