Chapter 33
Cornelia
TJ soon fell into a deep sleep. It’s late, but I still can’t fall asleep. It’s not due to a lack of exhaustion, but because my mind is restless.
I look at him sleeping and notice the duvet and the sheets he was using to cover himself have fallen slightly, leaving half of his back exposed.
I check again to make sure he’s really asleep, and when I’m sure, I decide to do one of my favourite things to help me fall asleep.
There are many ways I love falling asleep, all involving him, but my favourite one—well, my second favourite—is what I’m doing now: slowly tracing the tattoo on his back with my index finger, the one with my name in my handwriting.
I love that tattoo, even though if it weren’t there, I might have never found out he slept with my mother.
I remember perfectly when he got it. It was during the group trip we took to Cancun. A lot of memorable things happened on that trip, some I wish I could forget, but most of them were great.
It was late February, my junior year, and TJ’s senior year.
It was freezing in Edelweiss—colder than it typically was at that time of the year, and in a spur-of-the-moment decision, we all decided to ditch school and charter a plane somewhere warm.
After a few discussions, we settled on Cancun, Mexico.
Technically, we went to Tulum, but they’re pretty close to each other.
We stayed at one of my family’s hotels. One night, TJ and I went out for dinner at a restaurant called Casa Banana, which I’m pretty sure TJ picked just because of the name.
Before calling the driver to take us back to the hotel, we walked around a bit. The street where the restaurant was located was lined with charming little coffee shops, boutiques, and more restaurants.
We were still wavering between heading back to the hotel or joining the rest of The Heptad Society, who were at a pub a few blocks away.
The night was absolutely perfect. The sky was filled with dazzling stars—the kind you’d never see in London. The dessert at the restaurant was amazing, but the best part of the evening was him. It was always him.
We walked around, hugging each other, until we came across a small cluster of stores where some locals were playing music.
Without a second thought, we started dancing, completely lost in the moment.
It was like a scene from a movie. But then TJ stopped, his attention fixed on something ahead.
I turned around to see what had caught his eye—it was a tattoo parlour.
He took my hand and began walking towards it. “Come on, I’m going to get one.”
“Are you serious?” I wasn’t even sure if they would let him, with him being seventeen. (Spoiler alert: they didn’t care he was seventeen.) And even if they did, a tattoo was a big commitment—not something to be taken lightly.
“I’m going to get one with your name on it,” he told me as he continued walking towards the tattoo parlour.
I stopped walking, and that stopped him, too.
“What?” I asked, shocked. “Are you crazy? It’s going to be on your body forever.”
If I hadn’t spent the entire day with him, I would have wondered if he was drunk.
“Yes, and?” he replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world and of no consequence.
“What if we—” I didn’t even want to think about that possibility, but as much as I hated it, it was one. And I could count on one hand—scratch that, on half a hand—the couples I knew who were happy and together.
TJ interrupted me. “No—you and I,” he said, pointing between us, “are forever and always.” Then he closed the distance between us and kissed me softly. “And you’re not ever getting rid of me,” he murmured against my mouth.
It almost felt like my heart would burst with joy.
A silly smile spread across my face. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a fact,” he replied without hesitation. And I believed him. He’s the only reason I once believed in forever—and the reason I don’t anymore.
“You’re crazy,” I teased.
He grinned. “Crazy in love with you.”
We entered the tattoo parlour, and two hours later, TJ walked out with a tattoo on his upper right back that read Cornelia Rose Monroe-Nodrick in cursive.
It would have taken less time, but I spent ages carefully writing my name for the tattoo artist to trace.
I wanted it to look perfect and was nervous about making a mistake, one that would be etched on his body forever.
We were so crazy in love that we didn’t even question how hygienic it was to get a tattoo at a place right on the side of the road, where they didn’t even ask for ID.
After that, of course, we didn’t end up joining The Heptad Society at the pub. We went straight to the hotel to continue making the night even more memorable.