Page 45 of Unlock My Heart

“Gotta go.” I end the call.

“My tuition’s already been paid.” She beams. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“But I did tell you—I always make good on my promises.” I steal a quick kiss before snatching the papers from her hand. “Lemmie see your schedule. Design 1. Drawing 1. Art History. English. And last but not least, Math.”

“You any good with math? Because I’ll probably need a tutor,” she says with a sigh.

“I’m pretty good,” I admit sheepishly. “I’m no brain trust like my brother, but we all can’t be Mr. Ivy League.” The words sound bitter to my own ears.

“Your brother’s at a fancy Ivy League college?” Sienna raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but enough about his boring ass.” I flip to the next paper. “Supply list. Looks like I’m taking my girl shopping.”

Her brow creases. “I’m not sure how I feel about this power imbalance between us.”

Hearing her say there’s an “us” makes me grin like a fool. “Me neither.”

“And what power do I have?” Sienna demands.

Too much damn power, that I already know.

Helping her in the car, I hustle around and slide behind the wheel. “For starters, I’ve got a rep to uphold, and yet here I am, risking it all in search of bobbins. I don’t even know what the hell bobbins are.”

Sienna shakes her head with a grin, snatching the list. “Lacemaking tools.”

“Lace, huh? I’m getting ideas.” My voice drops to a seductive octave.

“Uh-huh. Please leave the ideas to the professional.” Sienna’s expression turns from playful to pensive.

“What’s wrong?”

“Will people think I’m a whore for auctioning myself?” she asks softly.

“Don’t ever talk about yourself like that,” I warn her. “And as far as I’m concerned, it never happened. You’re a design student, end of story.”

“Isn’t that revisionist history?” Her cat-like eyes search mine.

“In case you don’t learn this in Art History, piccola volpe, history is written by the victors.” I rev up the engine before peeling out, and her squeal of delight is music to my ears.

Chapter Fourteen

Fabien

Twenty-one-years-old

“You’ve got every woman’s attention.” Sienna elbows me as I push the buggy full of needles and thread, fabric, zippers, and other shit that I don’t even know what it’s called.

“And only one woman’s got mine.” The truth slips out, and damn, I really am down bad.

“Good thing, because I’m the only woman in this shop under sixty-five,” she teases. “Excuse me,” Sienna asks a blue-haired worker, glancing at her name tag. “Ms. Gail, where are the bobbins?”

“Aren’t you two the picture! Oh, to be young and in love.”

Color creeps up Sienna’s neck as she looks to me, panicked, and back to the woman. “Oh, we’re not… I mean, this is only our second date.”

“Pfft. And I married my husband after our first date.”

“Smart man,” I pipe up, enjoying this far too much.