Epilogue
. . .
Xavier
Five Years Later
I lean back in my chair and stretch. “It’s done.”
“Really?” Pip gives his customary wide grin that’s touched with a great deal of wickedness. “Can I see?”
“Of course.”
I grab the mirror and hold it up as he stretches to look at his back, where there’s now a huge watercolour rose inked onto his shoulder. “Fucking hell, Xavier, that’s gorgeous.”
I feel myself flush. “You like it?”
My smile stretches wide as he enthusiastically nods. “It’s beautiful.”
It’s funny because I’ve been told that I’m beautiful by famous designers and the owners of fashion houses.
I’ve modelled for the biggest brands and had people fall over themselves to compliment me.
Yet nothing has ever hit as well as the praise for my tattoos.
Especially coming from the man who began as my booker and has become one of my best friends.
“You never said why this flower,” I say.
“Oh, it’s one of the ingredients in the perfume Olivier named after me.” He winks at me. “He does his best work while I’m on my front, so I thought I’d give him something pretty to look at.”
“You’re all heart.”
“No, I think about eighty per cent is my arse.”
“It’s definitely your jawbone.”
He laughs and I stand up and start to wrap the tattoo. Then I tidy up my station while he gets dressed. When he’s done, I grin at him. “Okay, aftercare instructions. And please, can we not make a sex joke?”
He laughs again, and I steer him towards the reception, listing what he has to do. When he goes to pay, I glare at him. “No way. Mate’s rates.”
His eyes narrow. “And what are they?”
“Zero.”
“Xavier Quaver, we’re staying in your villa and eating your food. The least I can do is pay for my tattoo.”
“Nope.”
He hugs me. “Thank you. I love it.” He grins at me. “I’ll go to the bakery and get dessert instead.”
“Oh, do please get something very fattening and full of sugar. Reuben will love you forever.”
“I should think he would after that yoghurt abomination you made last night.”
I pinch his arse, and he dances off, calling that he’ll catch a cab back to the villa.
“How’s it going?” a deep voice enquires.
I turn and grin at my boss. “He was happy with it.”
Rhys cocks his head. “You like the watercolours.”
“I actually do. They look like Monet coming alive on skin if done properly.”
“Well, you’ve got the knack, and at least you can’t destroy your canvases the way Monet did.”
I laugh and head back to my station to finishing cleaning.
As I spray down the chair, I can feel the tiredness tugging at my muscles.
Sitting in one position bent over hurts after a while, but I never feel it when I’m actually working.
Reuben can earn his keep this holiday and give me a massage tonight.
I smile at the thought of him. We’ve been in Ibiza for a few months while I finish my apprenticeship. He hasn’t worked while we’ve been here and had joked last night that he liked being a kept man. Not working suits him. He’s tanned and so handsome he takes my breath away.
Rhys wanders in, sitting on my chair and swivelling it around.
He’s wearing shorts that hang from his narrow hips and a torn muscle shirt that shows off the tattoos on his chest and arms. There’s a reason he has so many young men and women hanging over him, and it’s definitely not his sunny disposition, because he hasn’t got one.
I look at him affectionately. I never guessed when I met the grumpy man who’d hit his thumb with a hammer that he’d become my mentor and that I’d follow him around the world doing my apprenticeship.
It’s been a rollercoaster, but I’ve never been so satisfied.
I left the modelling world without a look back, and I’ve never regretted it.
He’s become one of my best friends, and I love the fact that he and Reuben are such good mates too.
“You haven’t got anything to do today?” I say, getting out the glass cleaner so I can clean the mirrors.
“Nope, I’m done. I’m just waiting.”
“For a random twink to wander in and fall on your dick?”
“That was last week.”
I laugh. “Are you coming over for dinner? It’s the last night of Pip and Olivier’s holiday.”
He looks nervously around. “Where did Pip run off to?”
“Terrorising the old town, I suppose.”
“He uses innuendo like it’s an Olympic sport. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Is it about the broken cupboard in reception?”
His eyes narrow. “Is there one?”
“I have no idea,” I say airily.
His face creases into a smile. “I wanted to ask what you’re going to do once the apprenticeship is done?”
I shove the cleaning stuff into the cupboard. “We’re going back to Mull in September. The summer’s over, and Reuben wants to get back to work.”
“That idle bum.”
I laugh. “Make sure you call him that tonight at dinner.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“I wish that were true when it comes to my wage packet.”
He blows a raspberry. “You’ve got more money than me, pretty boy.”
“I really don’t think so, Monsieur Moneybags. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
He scratches his neck almost awkwardly. “I wanted to know if you fancied a partnership?”
I stop dead. “What? Me?”
“No, Colin Firth.”
“Can he tattoo?”
“At least he’d spell the words properly.”
I snort, thinking of a fellow tattooist who, on his first job, spelt a Latin phrase wrong. I settle on the chair beside Rhys and put my feet up. “Why me?”
“I trust you. I don’t trust many people, so the ones I do, I tend to keep close.”
I wink. “Not too close, I hope. Reuben takes up all of my bed.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’d sooner remove my testicles with a melon baller. It would be less painful than Reuben when he gets jealous.”
I wave a careless hand. “He doesn’t do that.” He widens his eyes, and I amend it to, “Well, not very often.”
“I believe you, but thousands wouldn’t. What do you think?”
“Why me? I’m still so new at this.”
“You might be new, but you’ve got the gift,” he says simply.
“Is that like the force?” I’m probably hiding my pleasure very badly. His opinion really matters to me.
“If I had a lightsaber, I’d use it on you.”
I laugh. “Do you want me to buy in?”
“Can do,” he says carelessly. “We can talk about that later. I’m more interested in bringing in someone who can help me build the business.
We need a new management structure for a start.
” Rhys has two salons—this one on Ibiza, which is his main one, and the one on Mull that he bought off his uncle last year.
Both of them are booked months in advance, especially this one.
Celebrities, actors, musicians and the very wealthy make the trek to Ibiza because Rhys is a world-class artist.
He winks at me. “You deserve the partnership just from the sheer amount of glamour you bring in.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You can’t shake a stick in here now without hitting a supermodel. The cafe over the road has become like a paparazzi HQ.”
“I can’t help having more connections than Great Western Rail. You could be the same if you smiled more.”
“I don’t like smiling. It makes people talk to you.”
Excitement stirs. “Oh, my god. A partnership could actually be a good idea, Rhys.”
“I know. I am filled with them.”
“Yeah, tell that to Klaus. He’s still doing community service for the stripping incident.” He laughs. “Can I discuss this with Reuben? I don’t do anything big unless I talk to him first.”
“I wouldn’t expect it any other way. We can talk about it over dinner.”
He leaves after promising to bring a bottle, and after calling goodbye to Zara the receptionist, I leave too.
Loud voices attract my attention, and I see a group of people sitting outside the bar on the corner.
They’re all dressed up, so they’re obviously going to one of the clubs.
Even as I watch, I spy a small bag exchanging hands.
It’s a common sight. Once upon a time, that might have been me.
It’s hard to picture that boy now. I haven’t touched any shit since the incident with Robbie, and I hope I never do.
Modelling and the incessant spotlight weren’t good for me.
The laidback lifestyle I have now with Reuben is so much better for me.
My jeep is parked down a side street, and I lower the top. Within a few minutes, I’m out on the open road leading to the villa we rented. I remove my bandanna, feeling the wind play in my hair and the sweat cool on my neck.
I love this island. The clubs and yachts make it glitzy, but it also has a low-key, lazy, bohemian atmosphere that really appeals to me.
It’s dusty lanes and the bright glint of swimming pools tucked away behind gates and trees.
It’s a breeze that smells of flowers, and it’s the constant sound of the sea.
The days are hot and sunny, the nights warm, and I feel like a plant that uncurls and stretches to the sun whenever we’re here.
It’s such a contrast to Mull, where we spend the autumn and winter.
That’s cosy log fires, storm clouds, and the ceaseless whine of the wind.
It’s walks along empty beaches where the wind feels like it could pick you up.
It’s our cottage, the feel of familiar possessions around us, and the company of old friends.
I turn into the drive leading to our villa and get out to open the pale blue, wooden gate. Jumping back in, I motor along and then park in front of the villa. It’s a stone, ranch-style building that nestles in the trees as if it’s always been there.
I take the side gate and come out into the garden. It’s a wealth of colour and scents with a Bougainvillea rioting over the patio.
A low bark sounds, and I crouch to welcome Bernard, who promptly knocks me on my arse and smothers me with doggy kisses.
“Get off, you silly dog,” Reuben calls. “I want him operating with all his vital parts intact tonight.”