22. Madeline
Madeline
It was a permanent piece of art on my body. Forever. Staring in the mirror at the stencil. I would have to restyle every backless dress to compliment it.
“It is a big piece for your first.” the tattoo artist gave me an uneasy smile. Apparently, she wasn’t allowed to talk to me. Which I insisted she didn’t listen to.
“I can break up the tattoo sessions for the crest in to as many as you need.”
I nodded, but my eyes were not leaving the mirror.
“The lettering is done on the day, but I thought you might want to see the full design. With his name.”
It wasn’t what she said, it was how she said it. His name .
“Do you know Vince?” I met her eyes in the mirror.
“Not really. He is um. Intense.”
Suppressing my smile. How sweet she is concerned for me. I glanced at the clock. Of course, he is late. I suppose I had asked him again last night; he was sure.
“Okay, let's start.” Walking to the chair, “How do I sit?”
I could do this. I totally could do this. Though I hated my ears getting pierced. How bad could it be? Sitting forward, straddling the chair, she moved the arm rest up for me.
The door opened. Vince. Thank Christ.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He dragged a stool in front of me. “Tell me you haven’t started?”
“I thought you’d forgotten.” I sighed, watching as he shrugged his jacket off. For some reason, he started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Did you, um, need to check it, Mr. Crow?”
I grinned. Mr. Crow . I was so using that later.
“Are you happy with it?” he asked me before looking, his expression changing instantly.
“The lettering was just for her. To see the full design.” The tattoo artist spoke really fast, as if she was suddenly scared. “I um, yeah.”
He nodded but seemed lost for words. I’d never seen that look before.
Taking his shirt off, he gestured for me to sit back.
He helped me put his shirt on, before taking the top I had been holding to my chest away.
“Happy?” he asked me again.
I’d be a lot happier when this part was over. “Yep.”
Frowning at seeing him in his singlet, what if he gets cold?
The buzzing of the gun caused my stomach to twist. Reaching for my hands, he sat in front of me. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was nervous.
Kissing my cheek, “I’m right here my love,” His thumbs stroking the back of my hand.
Okay, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be. Sharp, burning, uncomfortable. Loosening my death grip on his fingers.
Every few minutes, he kept asking if I was okay. At first, I was, but after a while, it got more intense. Closing my eyes, trying to focus on his touch, and not the thousands of tiny little needles. Why would anyone get this done willingly?
He brushed my hair to the side, kissing the top of my head. Apart from smiling at him volunteering his hand for me to bite, I didn’t say a word. I sat deadly still, eyes closed, declined breaks, and pretended this wasn’t the most painful experience of my life.
Three and a half hours. Three and a half long, painful hours. Even though the artist kept telling me, I could stop. Our circumstances weren’t normal. I had done the math. The crest had to be done and healed before the wedding.
“I’m so proud of you.” He kissed my cheek again, buttoning his shirt up on me. He insisted on me wearing it. Apparently, my top would be too tight. In fairness, he probably was right.
“Can you drop me home? Otherwise, I’ll have to call my driver.” I asked, rolling the sleeve up.
“Are you okay?” holding my chin, he tilted my head back to look at him.
No. I wasn’t okay. It hurt. My back was sore. My neck is stiff and I’m tired. Even though that made no sense, because all I did was sit.
“Why would I drop you at your parents? You’re coming home with me.”
I could feel the emotions bubbling. Why can’t I be normal? “You don’t have to do that.” Moving my head out of his grip, I focused on rolling the sleeves up. He had just wasted half his day holding my hand.
It was sad that it wasn’t even a metaphor.
He legitimately held my hand for four hours.
He started rolling the other sleeve up, not saying anything.
“So, will you take me home?” I grabbed my phone off the table, avoiding his eyes.
“I’ll take you home.”
Great. So, then I can burst into tears and process this already. It wasn’t just the tattoo. Every time I read the Crows Oath, I find a new ritual to keep me up at night. Like the claiming ritual.
I should have known he agreed too quickly. He used the word home too freely. Vince wasn’t the type of guy that hovered, but since we got back to his house. He hadn’t left my side for more than a few minutes.
As if scared as soon as he was out of my sight, I’d change my mind and not marry him. Which made no sense, because his family’s crest is now outlined on my back.
Though, him being this nervous was a great distraction from my own problems.
Laying on my stomach, I looked across the couch. Immediately, he looked down at his phone. Again. Pretending not to be watching me.
“Vince, I need to ask you a question.”
He nodded, looking suddenly pale.
“I read the oath again last night. It says we have to have children.” It actually had a suggested number of what is expected. No wonder they all have big families. “What if I can’t have them? Is there consequences if we don’t?”
“Mom did us all by surrogates. Normally two at once. It’s why we're all close in age.”
I’m sure having one newborn was hard enough, let alone two newborns in one year. Gosh, imagine the twins and Rome in the same year. Three.
“I’m not having children.” Running his hand over his head, “It’s not up for discussion. I’ve given my life to the oath. I’m not giving kids as well.”
That was fair. He and Nikolai had already raised children.
Vince skipped being a teenager and went straight to being a parent.
Most fifteen-year-olds don’t have to care for five children under five.
Then there was the thing with his grandfather. Which he refused to talk about.
“About the blood thing. Do they really all do that to me?” Only his family had a book as thick as the bible full of their own twisted rituals.
That distant look in his eyes, as he nodded.
“What about the um,” I paused, my stomach twisted into a tight knot, “After the ceremony, do they really watch us?” Every time I read that ritual, I hoped I had read it wrong. “They watch us fuck. All of them?”
Again, he nodded. God. I felt suddenly sick.
“When the time comes, you’re to keep your eyes on me. Just focus on me.”
“I highly doubt every one of your male relatives and their wives, will turn suddenly invisible.”
Getting up, he walked towards me, kneeling in front of me. “Is that what’s upsetting you?” he brushed my hair back. “Talk to me, my love, please.” Stroking my cheek. “Have you changed your mind?”
Had I changed my mind? Was he serious? I had sat through nearly four hours of pain for him. And I still had more to look forward to!
Not to mention our families had decided on this merger.
If he didn’t look physically sick from asking that question, I would yell at him.
“No, I haven’t.” Reaching for his hand, “I’m just tired. You don’t have to stay home; I’m not going to run away or something.”
Looking instantly calmer, he kissed the side of my head again.
What I would do to get in his head and to understand his beautifully damaged mind.
His need to touch me, how he treats me, but still tells himself he doesn’t love me.
Someone had seriously fucked up how his mind worked.
Sometimes it is hard to love a man so complicated.