7. Katerina
Chapter seven
Katerina
I’m certain someone else in this bridal party should be feeling more nervous than I do right now.
After all, I’m the one who has publicly declared no tattoos for me, thanks.
Yet I stand here on a side street off St. Claude Avenue, in front of a small tattoo studio with a hand-lettered sign and a painted-over window, and every nerve in my body feels electrified.
Nico’s place is a long, narrow shotgun building with weathered shingles and a front door that squeaks.
A single porch light casts orange over the sidewalk.
One by one, we file inside. Lexi first, jabbering about how “this is going to look so cool,” then Sofia with that shining grin, then Casey and Skye in a cluster.
Bex heads in before me, pausing at the threshold to give me a half-wave.
I can’t help noticing that her shoulders look both confident and relaxed, like she’s coming home.
The interior is warm, in every sense. The walls are covered, actually covered, in framed artwork, some sketched on vellum, others fully inked.
There’s a distinct smell of antiseptic and aged wooden floors, a combination that makes me think of well-scoured surfaces and strong history all at once.
Along the left wall, large windows are blacked out from the inside with a swirl of painted designs.
The overhead lighting feels comforting rather than harsh.
A low-volume playlist drifts from speakers behind the counter, something with a rhythm I can’t categorize.
And then there’s Nico, all easy charisma, arms open wide to greet Bex.
Nico’s hair is shaved on the sides with longer curls on top, and they wear a black bandana that only half restrains the spring.
Their arms display a riot of color: roses, lettering, an abstract saint on one forearm.
The second Nico sees Bex, they close the distance and enfold her in a hug that practically cracks both of their backs.
Bex laughs, a real, unguarded sound. My chest tightens in a way I can’t reclassify as anything but personal.
Nico’s banter hits immediate high volume. “Bex Russo, you maniac,” they say, stepping back and fixing her with a fond grin. “You actually brought a crowd. Didn’t think you’d go fully bachelorette on me.”
Bex shrugs, still smiling. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
Nico snorts. “As if you haven’t done that for years.
” Then they pivot, welcoming the rest of us.
“Hey, everyone. I’m Nico. Welcome to my lair.
Grab a seltzer if you like, there’s a tray by the fridge.
We also have water, soda, or, if you want something stronger, you can BYO from next door’s bar.
” They point vaguely through a side door.
“We do our best to keep folks hydrated, though. It’s important. ”
Lexi practically squeaks with excitement.
Sofia, at her side, is giving a wide-eyed onceover to the frames on the wall.
Casey has already pulled out a camera and is snapping pictures.
Skye is being polite but also scanning the space, like she’s bracing for the whir of a needle.
I can see her mouth tipping in nerves. Me, I’m…
observing, yes, but oddly at ease in this environment that I never considered comfortable.
Because the vibe here is relaxed. And Bex is more than just relaxed. She looks purposeful.
Nico beckons us to the center of the studio, where a couple of stations are set up: vinyl chairs, shining metal trays of sealed needles, neat rows of ink bottles.
“So, Bex said y’all want fleur-de-lis flash?
Perfect for a group piece. Small, simple.
That’s easy to replicate, easy to place.
We can do wrists, ankles, wherever. Just keep it consistent so it really feels like a group symbol. ”
“Smaller the better,” Sofia says, stepping closer. “We’re not exactly connoisseurs like Bex here.”
Nico grins. “You’re in the best hands. I’ll do a few. Bex might do a few. We’ll tag-team and get you all out of here with minimal tears.” They wink at Skye, who laughs nervously.
Bex flips open a binder. “I have a few sizes marked out, depending on how small you want to go,” she says, pointing out faint outlines on the page. “Pick your favorite.”
I stand on the periphery, near a display of framed line drawings.
Next to me is a battered couch with a crocheted blanket tossed over the back.
In the corner, a rolling stool and an adjustable lamp sit waiting.
My eyes travel from the rigs to the group.
Everyone’s enthralled by Bex and Nico explaining the process: sterile environment, single-use needles, how they’ll apply a stencil, that sort of thing.
Bex takes the lead for Lexi’s first piece, while Nico helps set up Sofia.
Their division of labor is immediate, seamless.
A moment later, Lexi is perched on a chair, offering her left ankle for the small fleur-de-lis design.
Bex snaps on black gloves with a practiced confidence.
She tears open a small packet, readies the machine, checks something about her foot placement.
“You okay so far?” Bex asks, glancing up at Lexi.
Lexi, wide-eyed but grinning, nods vigorously.
I notice how Bex’s posture shifts. Her earlier easy grin remains, but her attention narrows to the station.
Her arm, her foot, the needles. She isn’t ignoring Lexi’s jitters, but she’s so sure of each move there’s no space for small talk.
She’s gentle, though. She adjusts Lexi’s ankle with calm efficiency.
It’s a side of Bex I’ve never witnessed.
Usually, she’s all breezy quips and restless motion.
Now, it’s the same energy, but channeled into precision.
She powers on the machine, a low hum that vibrates the air, and starts with a few light strokes of black ink.
Her expression goes still, lips parted slightly in concentration.
In a second, she leans in, eyes fixed on that small shape, guiding the machine with her wrist as if it’s a paintbrush.
I catch the faint tension in her forearms. She’s performing a delicate craft. No hesitation.
Something in my chest pulls taut. I try to name why. Possibly it’s the realization that everything else about Bex, from the easy banter to the casual posture, is only half the story. This focus is the other half.
I’m so busy watching that I barely register Nico’s voice behind me. “You want in next, unstoppable wedding planner?” they tease, apparently addressing me.
I turn. Nico is half-smiling, head cocked. “Uh…” I stammer. “No, I’m just spectating. Not a fan of… permanent decisions I don’t plan for.” That last part tumbles out, betraying more honesty than intended.
Nico shrugs, unbothered. “Sure. Well, if you change your mind, the offer’s there.” They look me over in a way that’s not invasive but perceptive, like they’re logging the possibility that I might shift. Then they walk away, no big fuss.
I exhale, turning back to the stations. Sofia’s perched in the other chair, letting Nico prep her forearm. Casey hovers with a camera, snapping pictures of Sofia’s expression as the needle buzzes. Skye, practically chewing her lip, is next in line.
I drift behind Bex’s station, not so close that I’m hovering but close enough to see the lines forming on Lexi’s ankle. The fleur-de-lis shape is neat, symmetrical. Bex wipes away ink with a single smooth motion, then refines the edges. She glances up, meets Lexi’s eyes. “Still breathing?”
Lexi exhales shakily but grins. “It’s not as bad as I thought. Are you sure it’s going to look that neat?”
Bex smiles. “Trust me. I do this for a living.”
Lexi laughs, which jolts her foot a bit. Bex calmly shifts to accommodate. My stomach flips, and I’m not entirely sure why something so mundane should feel mesmerizing. Maybe it’s the combination of skill and calm I never associated with Bex Russo before.
I slip sideways, letting my gaze wander across the shop.
The walls near Bex’s station have tacked-up sketches: flowers, mythical creatures, geometric shapes, stylized versions of the city.
Some are older, some more refined. The smell of antiseptic and ink lingers, mixing with the faint tang of latex gloves.
The hum of Bex’s machine blends with the subtle background music.
I realize I’m not actually paying attention to the typical reasons people watch tattoos: the needle, the potential pain, the final reveal.
I’m ignoring all of that. I’m just watching Bex shift from line to line.
This unsettles me. I step back, noticing my own pulse is faster than it should be. My shoulders tense, and I force them down. I’m not flustered. Or if I am, it’s purely from the unusual environment. That’s all.
Eventually, Bex is done. She turns off the machine, gently wipes the fresh tattoo, then helps Lexi up. “Take it easy,” Bex instructs. “I’ll wrap it in a minute. Keep it clean for a few days, and you’ll be golden.”
Lexi admires her ankle, wide-eyed. “This is so cool. Thank you.”
Bex nods, letting a small smile slip. Then she glances around for the next person. Sofia’s already in mid-tattoo with Nico, so Casey slides over, telling Bex she wants hers on her shoulder. Skye stands by the front desk, building up her courage.
I realize I’ve been standing uselessly, so I meander toward the front where there’s a tray of seltzers.
I grab one, pop the tab, and lean on the counter.
Nico is in the zone with Sofia, quietly instructing her to breathe.
Sofia, to her credit, is all smiles, not even wincing.
Lexi prances around, filming a short phone video for her social media, presumably.
Casey’s wriggling out of the top half of her sweater so Bex can access her shoulder. The shop’s full of quiet excitement.