15. Kaitlyn
FIFTEEN
Kaitlyn
GETTING INTO THAT LIMO, I HAD EVERY INTENTION of staying as far away from Wentworth Fiorella as I possibly could. I’d do my best to smile and chat with the women who’ve claimed me as one of their own. I’d drink whatever Tess poured in my cup. I’d listen to their stories and laugh at their jokes and I’d ignore the fact that I was doing it all in a place where I wasn’t wanted.
As far as plans go, it was pretty simple.
And somehow, I managed to fuck it up, the second I walked through the door because here I am, standing three feet away from him, waiting for him to tell me what to do so he can give me the tattoo that no one knows he promised me six years ago except the two of us.
“What do you want?” Head bent, he doesn’t look at me when he asks, rather focusing on adjusting the snug, latex gloves around his massive hands.
“A dragonfly.”
When I say it, he stops tugging on his gloves and flicks a hard, black look at me through his lashes, mouth open on a reply designed to gut me where I stand but before it can find its way out of his mouth, he remembers we have an audience and snaps it shut.
“One dragonfly, coming up,” he says instead, giving his gloves a final adjustment before he raises his head, pinning his dark gaze to a spot on my forehead. “Shoulder?” His gaze slides down the side of my face to my bare shoulder. “It’d be easiest—that way no one has to get half naked.” I’m sure no one can hear the slight emphasis on his last two words but me. Leave it Went to figure out how to take a swing at me, audience or not.
“Okay.” I give him a jerky nod. “Yeah—that sounds good. The left one, please.”
Went makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Lay on your stomach,” he instructs me while pointing his chin at the adjustable, padded table between us.
Giving him another jerky nod, I climb onto the table and lay flat on my stomach, face turned toward the wall of mirrors, opposite the sink, so I can look at him without being too obvious. I watch him quietly for a few moments before aiming my gaze past him, at the lobby of his shop. Tess, Henley, and Maeve are standing in a tight knot, close to the front door, talking quietly.
Before I can start to worry over what they’re talking about, Went settles himself on his stool on the other side of the table, blocking my view completely and giving me nothing more than a view of his massive chest.
“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me quietly, his deep voice barely more than a whisper, a second before I feel something cold swipe against my shoulder and the astringent smell of alcohol hits my nose. “I can tell Tess my gun broke or?—”
“No.” Lifting my gaze as far as I can, I find one of the tattoos on his neck—a quote in Latin.
Acta non Verba.
Actions not words.
Closing my eyes again, I give my head a brief shake that crinkles the paper covering the padded table I’m lying on. “I want you to tattoo me.”
Went makes another one of those low, strangles sounds again. Hearing it makes it obvious he’s not happy with my answer.
Shit.
“Went—” I have no idea what I’m about to say but it doesn’t matter.
“I work free hand,” he tells me as if I didn’t already know. Still playing the part of complete stranger. “Tess says you’ve never been tattooed before.”
You know I haven’t.
Instead of saying it, I shake my head again. “No, I haven’t.”
“It feels like scratching,” he tells me while turning his tattoo gun on, filling the silence between us with a low hum. “How hard the scratching feels depends on how deep I have to push the color.”
“Okay.” I make a sound of my own and close my eyes. “I’m ready.”
The hum intensifies, a moment before Went places a steadying hand below my shoulder blade and the scratching starts.
Someday, I’ll make it permanent.
I’m going to hold you to that.
Neither of us say anything for a while, the silence growing heavier with each passing minute until I suddenly can’t stand it anymore.
“I’m sorry.” It comes out before I can stop it. The scratching on my shoulder lifts for a moment before it continues like Went had to stop and steady himself before continuing.
“For what?” he asks in a tone that makes it clear he really doesn’t want me to answer.
For making you marry me.
For leaving you six years ago.
For refusing to leave Boston when you asked me to.
“I tried to get out of it,” I tell him by way of explanation. “I usually sit for Ryan tonight so he can go to class but they had it all planned before I even knew what was happening.”
“Tess wanted you here,” he says cutting me off with a tight chuckle. “That means you could’ve died and she still would’ve dragged you here and propped you up in the corner like an Irish wake.”
Relaxed by the humor I hear in his voice, I let myself laugh at the thought. “I just want you to know that I heard what you said the last time we?—”
The scratching stops, a second before I feel Went’s warm breath against the side of my neck. “Last time we what?” He whispers in my ear while the steadying hand he has pressed against my back, strokes its thumb across my bare shoulder. “The last time we fucked?”
Opening my eyes, I angle my head to find him staring down at me, devil black gaze pinned to my mouth.
Yes.
Before I can say it out loud, a shadow falls across his face.
“What are you two over here, whispering about?” Tess asks, grinning from ear to ear because her plan to get us together is seemingly working.
You have no idea…
Went flicks me a quick, hard look before answering for the both of us. “She was looking a little pale,” he says, sitting up to set his tattoo gun on his tray. “I was asking her if she needed a break.”
“And I was telling him I’m fine,” I say, following his lead. “It actually feels kinda good.”
Tess’s grin shifts into a knowing smirk. “I knew you were a freak, Nurse Ratchet.” She gives me a wink before looking at Went. “Hen’s got some stupid brunch and shopping trip planned with her mother—apparently, when you’re rich you need a whole new wardrobe when you go on a honeymoon.” She rolls her eyes. “So, I’ve got to get her home.”
Oh.
“Okay.” Nodding my head, I start to sit up. “Well, I guess I can just?—”
“Went can take you home when he’s finished—right, Went?” Tess stops me before I can slide off the table.
For one, heart-stopping second, Went doesn’t say a word. Heart jammed in my throat, I watch his expression go blank and his hands tighten into fists before he visibly relaxes. “Sure,” he says, voice tight with frustration. “You guys can leave—I’ll take Kait home.”