Page 79 of Unlock My Heart

Having scrubbed in the shower so hard my skin’s raw, I still can’t seem to shake it. My robe gets cinched with an annoyed sigh as I step out of the bathroom and go in search of a drink, despite there being a perfectly good wet bar in the corner.

Moving to the kitchen, I rummage through the fridge, settling on an Italian sparkling water. The courtyard lights are on, and like an idiotic moth to the flame, I follow them outside.

Fabien is lying on the couch with his hands behind his head, looking up at the night sky.

“Oh, you’re still here,” I announce with a throat clearing before taking a dainty sip.

“Are you finished?”

“You were there; saw me finish firsthand,” I say breezily, ignoring my warring heart. At best, I thought Fabien would’ve thrown the client out before we made it past first base. At worst, I thought he would’ve beaten the shit out of the client before doing so.

But staying and watching? Giving pointers? Me coming so hard I nearly saw stars, all because Fabien’s voice was coaxing me, his eyes devouring me, his hand guiding another man’s?

“Finished punishing me,” he clarifies.

“Perhaps this is the first time you’re hearing it, Fabien, but not everything is about you,” I say dismissively.

And no, I’m not finished punishing him. Not even close.

He shifts to a seated position, tenting his fingers. “I watched it happen.”

“I’m well aware you were in the room,” I tell him in a patronizing tone.

“No, baby. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Don’t call me baby, and what are you talking about?” I snap.

His eyes search mine. “Why do you think I killed Ringer?”

Hearing that name sends ice through my veins and a stabbing sensation in my heart. “Ringer dared to touch your precious fiancée, and it cost him.”

Fabien looks at me in disbelief, jolting out of his seat. “Where did you hear that?”

“That you had a fiancée? Not from the man I should’ve heard it from,” I fume.

Sienna

Eighteen-years-old

There’s a crowd forming around the bulletin board, and I shove my way to the front of the pack. My heart pounds in my ears as I scan the list for the spring fashion show.

Sienna Jenkins

I squeal, jumping up and down.

“Sienna, congrats,” a fellow classmate tells me.

“Thanks,” I beam, hurrying out to share the amazing news with Fabien.

I’m a few minutes late, but he’s not here.

I frown, an uneasy feeling dancing up and down my spine. We haven’t spoken about his family since the one-and-done “dinner” over three months ago; I worry his father’s health may have taken a turn for the worse.

Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I call Fabien, but it goes straight to voicemail. Ending the call, I send a text.

Where are you?

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