Page 6 of Unlock My Heart

“A hundred grand.”

With a huff, I fall back in my chair. “Please. I don’t get out of bed for less than half a mil.” That’s a lie, but I’m curious how bad he wants this. And more importantly, why he wants this.

“$250,000.”

“Bye.” I go to rise, but he halts me with his hand.

“Alright, Sienna, you win. Half a million.”

With bored indifference, I examine my nails. Damn, I really need to fix that chip. “How would this proposed deal benefit you?”

“Be my eyes and ears on the outside. I don’t trust Angelo,” he admits quietly about his brother. “Hell, I don’t trust anyone, and I need to know what’s going on in my city.”

“Wouldn’t your fiancée be better suited to play the role of doting wife?” The words burn my throat.

“I told you in my letters, the engagement was called off,” he answers tentatively.

“Lemmie guess the real reason.” I lean forward, smacking the table with my palms. “She wasn’t interested in being your pen pal, and so you called in the second string, which is me. How flattering.” I’m proud of the smooth tone of my voice despite my heart feeling like it might splinter all over again.

“Piccola volpe.” The way Fabien says my old pet name with such tenderness makes me want to launch myself over the table and claw his eyes out. “I was going to tell you. My old man sprung a marriage contract on me. I had no choice⁠—”

“We always have a choice. You made yours; fucking live with it.” Jolting out of the chair, the room fills with the angry click-clack of my heels as I march to the door.

“I’ll have my lawyer transfer funds as soon as we say our vows,” Fabien calls, and my hand lingers on the doorknob. “Dollars. Euros. Crypto. A suitcase stuffed with cash. Whatever you want.”

“Tempting offer.” It is a tempting offer. I could finally afford design school. If only the cost of swallowing my pride weren’t so damn steep. “But there’s just one tiny problem.” My ringless left hand slips inside my pocket as I glance over my shoulder. “I’m already married.”

“What?” Fabien’s nostrils flare as he jumps to his feet, but I’ve already hurried out of the room.

“All finished,” I announce to Saint, grabbing his arm and ushering him along.

“That was a fast meeting. Did things not go well?” His feet grind to a halt.

“Oh, things went swimmingly.” I beam. “Let’s go.”

Flashing me a dubious look, Saint refuses to budge. “Give me a moment to speak to Mr. Calvani alone.”

“Whatever.” I huff, releasing his arm as I plop down in a chair. Rifling through my bag, I grab a bottle of red nail polish and unscrew the top, touching up that pesky chip. It’s that, or have a full-fledged meltdown, and I refuse to let Fabien believe that he owns any real estate in my mind.

Marry him? The man’s got some nerve, I’ll give him that.

Actually, no, I won’t give him that. I won’t give him anything.

Zero real estate.

Not sixty seconds later, the attorney joins me, his face ashen.

“That was a fast meeting. Did things not go well?” I parrot innocently, blowing my wet nail polish.

“Oh, things went swimmingly,” Saint retorts dryly.

With the same song and dance, we’re released from the facility and make our way back to NOLA.

After a long stretch of silence, Saint glances my way. “Mr. Calvani wasn’t happy⁠—”

“Not my problem,” I interject with far too much glee.

“Please tell me the name of your husband,” he begs.