Chapter 10
CLARISSA
My father opens the door and his eyes go straight past me to Carmine.
“You.” His gaze drops to Carmine’s throat—the ink climbing past his collar, dark lines disappearing under his jaw. Down to his hands—the letters across his knuckles, the scars between them. Back up to his face.
“I’m going to be blunt, son.” The pulpit voice. Low and measured. “You look like a criminal.”
My stomach drops. My hand finds Carmine’s hand before I think about it, and I weave my fingers through his and squeeze tightly.
He doesn’t step back or apologize. Every man I’ve ever watched in my father’s presence does the same thing—shrinks, apologizes, rearranges himself to fit the space my father allows.
Carmine stands his ground like a man with conviction.
“What you think I look like isn’t who I am.” His voice is even and careful. “I’d have thought a pastor wouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
My father’s neck flushes above his collar. He looks at me and sees me holding Carmine’s hand, and something moves behind his eyes that I’ve never seen directed at me before. Disgust.
My grip tightens.
“We came to talk, Father.”
My father hesitates, but eventually, he steps back and holds the door.
We all walk into the living room, but nobody sits. My father stands by the fireplace. Carmine never lets go of my hand, and my pulse is hammering against the cross at my throat.
“What kind of future can you offer my daughter?” My father directs the question at Carmine like I’m not in the room. “A tattoo shop. Hourly wages.” A pause. “Do you have a degree?”
“No.” Carmine doesn’t flinch. “I have a team of men who depend on me and a client list that pays the bills. I may not own King Ink, but I built it from nothing.”
“You’re proud of a tattoo parlor on Birch Street.” My father says it as a statement, like the only conceivable answer is no.
Carmine squares his shoulders, and I can see the tension in his jaw. “Every man in that shop earns a living because I show up every day and make it work.”
My father’s chin lifts. “Is that what you told my daughter when you hired her?”
“I told her the clientele could be rough, and she said she grew up in Jefferson and knew how to handle herself.” Carmine holds his gaze. “She proved she is a strong woman the moment she walked into the shop. Respectfully, sir, I don’t think you know your daughter very well.”
My father exhales sharply, and the silence is so thick that you could cut it with a knife. My heart is slamming, and I’m standing between two men who are not going to give an inch.
My father pivots to me.
“You had a 3.8 GPA. A future.” Each sentence a closed door. “You threw it away to answer phones in a tattoo parlor.”
“I want to explore possibilities, Father. You can’t make every choice in my life!
” My voice comes out hard and clear, and I don’t recognize it.
I’m no longer the daughter who agrees with everything he says and strives to keep the peace.
“King Ink is the first place I’ve ever been where the work is mine, and nobody told me to want it. ”
“I didn’t raise you to settle.”
“I’m not settling for anything!” I say hotly. Why doesn’t he listen to me? “I’m choosing.”
“You don’t know what you’re choosing.”
“And you don’t know what you’re dismissing.”
He takes a step toward me. “You are throwing away everything we gave you. Every opportunity. Every sacrifice your mother and I—”
“I’m not throwing anything away!” My free hand is shaking, and I press it against my thigh. “I’m using what you gave me. You raised me to work hard and be honest and show up. That’s exactly what I do at King Ink. Every day.”
He pauses, then cuts his eyes to Carmine. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Clarissa is twenty-two.”
“I know.”
“And you think that’s appropriate?”
Carmine gives me the same look he did when I put my hand on his chest at King Ink and told him we were the same where it mattered.
“I think your daughter is the most capable woman I’ve ever met. And I’m not going to insult her by pretending she can’t decide for herself. You’ve raised a fine woman,” Carmine says, leaning forward slightly. “You might trust that you raised her well and trust her decisions.”
My father stares at him. The redness has climbed past his collar to his jaw. His hands are fists at his sides, and I see the man who gripped my arm at King Ink—the knuckles going white, the grip he thinks is a sign of love.
“I’ve heard enough.” Final. “I need time to think.”
He turns his back and walks toward the kitchen.
I look up at Carmine. “Let’s go.”
My mother is in the kitchen doorway. She steps forward toward Carmine and me.
“Stay for dinner.” Her voice is steady, but her eyes are wet. “Please. Try to talk to him. Give him a chance.”
I look at Carmine. He looks at me. His thumb moves once across the back of my hand, and he nods.
My mother exhales. “Sit down. Both of you. I’ll set two more places.”
Staying for dinner might have been a mistake.
“I will not stand by while my daughter ruins her life.” My father hasn’t touched his dinner. “For a man with tattoos on his throat who runs a parlor on Birch Street.”
“Enough!” The word comes out louder than I planned.
“Father. I choose to work at King Ink. I choose to be with Carmine.” I take a deep breath, because if I don’t stand up for myself now, I won’t respect myself.
“You don’t get to control my life. I need you to respect my decisions because they’re mine. They have nothing to do with you.”
“You are my daughter.” His voice cracks on daughter. ”Everything you do has to do with me.”
“No.” The word comes out gentle, and it still cuts the room in half. “I will always be your daughter. But I am not your property. You can be part of my life, or you can lose me. Those are your choices, Father. I’ve already made mine.”
“You don’t know what you’ve chosen.” He leans forward. “You’ve known this man—what, six weeks? Seven? And you’re willing to throw away twenty-two years of family for him?”
“I’m not throwing away anything – you’re the one who wants to throw me away because I’m not doing what you want me to do. I’m adding something and someone. This is my life and my choice.”
His palm hits the table.
My mother puts her hand on his forearm. “David. Please.”
He pulls his arm away from her. “Don’t.” He looks at Carmine. “You haven’t said a word.”
Carmine sets down his fork. “Because this is between you and your daughter, sir. She doesn’t need me to speak for her.”
“How convenient.”
“It’s not convenient because there are a hell of a lot of things I could say.
” Carmine’s voice is level, but there’s an edge under it now that I’ve only heard once before—at the counter, when my father had his hand on my arm.
“I’m here to support Clarissa, not speak for her.
It’s respect. Something you could try showing her. ”
My father’s chair scrapes back six inches. “You’re going to sit at my table and tell me how to treat my daughter?”
“Somebody has to.” Carmine doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. “Because the last time you were in the same room with her, you assaulted her and left bruises on her arm.”
The sudden silence in the dining room is like thunder. I stare at my father, who is suddenly pale. He looks at me, and his expression almost softens.
“That was—” He stops, and some of his anger deflates. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I hope you didn’t.” Carmine’s voice drops.
“But you did. I’m not going to pretend that didn’t happen so you can feel comfortable at your own dinner table.
And let me be very clear, sir. You try that again and you will have to go through me and my crew.
Clarissa is part of my life and part of my crew, and we protect our own. ”
My father stares at him and something shifts behind his eyes, but he doesn’t back down.
“Is this man worth losing your family over?” My father’s voice is rough.
“He’s not the one making me choose.” My throat aches and I swallow through it. “You are. I don’t want to cut you from my life, but you can’t stand in the way of me making my own choices.”
My father looks down at the table. “I don’t like this.” My father’s voice is low, and I can see the pained look in his eyes. “But I will try to accept it.”
I exhale and look at Carmine. This is more than I expected would happen. I truly thought it was a waste of time to come here tonight.
“That’s all I’m asking.” My voice breaks. “If you get to know him—really know him—you’ll see he’s a good man, Father.”
He nods once, short, eyes still on the table. I know it’s not what he wants, but that single nod is the hardest thing I’ve ever watched him do.
After dinner, Carmine’s hand finds the small of my back as we go down the steps and into the fresh night air. He opens my door and closes it shut behind me. When he gets in, he puts both hands on the steering wheel.
“What do you think?”
“I think it went better than I expected.” I exhale deeply.
“What do you want to do?”
I lean across the console and lift my hand to his jaw. I kiss him slow and pour everything into it. I pull back and look into his dark eyes.
“I want you to take me home with you.”