Epilogue
EPILOGUE
MAEVE
A strong hand wraps around my throat, covering the long-healed tattoo.
“Stay still, Mrs. Rodrigues. You keep wiggling like that, you’re going to have a bad tattoo.”
“You wouldn’t put a bad tattoo on your own wife, and you know it.” But I do stop wiggling.
I look up at him, smiling at the word Maeve written in a bold Gothic font across his own throat. Possessive pride swells inside me. Tight black gloves cover his hands, and he wears his serious expression as he works. He is so fucking hot.
The swan he’s tattooing on me has a few meanings depending on who you ask, but for me, it’s a symbol of the role that put me on the map as a daring and alternative ballerina. Who knew there was a place in classical dance for tattooed girls with full asses and companies that would center her.
It doesn’t hurt that I’m a phenomenal dancer.
Lyla is still leading Mikhail’s company, and she’s still my best friend. She knew there was nowhere higher for me to go there, so I moved on and founded my own company. It was easy to see what I had to do once I accepted all the parts of myself.
For years, I rebelled against being a Sinclair, but deep down, I blamed myself for not being what I was supposed to be. The second I made my choice and got into Diego’s car, things changed. Nothing was expected of Mrs. Rodrigues. My husband was my ex-stepbrother who ruined my family. A criminal who controlled the city in ways that I don’t understand to this day.
I didn’t need to be a good girl anymore.
“Are you almost done?” I ask. My leg is starting to jump from being worked on so long. The pain doesn’t bother me, but after enough hours in the chair, the nerve sensation is a lot to take.
“Twenty more minutes, baby. Sit tight.”
I groan but listen, letting him work and looking around at all the items in the shop. He’s really put a lot of work into the place, and every time he sees some cool new artist, he grabs a piece to put in here. It also serves as a nice cover for him to run his business.
It still feels strange to be married to Cygnus and that Cygnus is Diego. I stole all those cars to shake things up and did it for him. But look at how things turned out. Look at how much he was able to gain from working so hard against me.
Weirdly, it took someone who hated me to allow me to be who I truly am. In all my lies, I hid a little bit of truth. I was all those versions of myself. I just had to step into it.
“Done.”
I don’t waste time and jump up from my position for the last few hours. I stretch for just a second, but I can’t wait any longer to have a look at what he has for me. We talked about the idea, but as usual, I let him come up with the design on his own and surprise me. He knows what I like.
My right thigh is completely covered in the perfect shiny feathers of the Black Swan. I stop in front of the mirror, hands on my mouth full of emotion.
“Holy crap, Di. This is beautiful.”
He never disappoints me, and I carry a lot of his art in my skin since that first one. But this... this is something else. My eyes fill with tears, and I wipe the corners, feeling silly.
I see him approaching through the mirror, a satisfied smirk when he looks at the swan. “Not bad.”
I roll my eyes because he knows well how good this is. I told him plenty of times that I think he needs to work more hours here because he’s just that good. He’s fine at crime too, I guess, but this is another level. It doesn’t matter how many times we have this conversation. He always says he’s happy tattooing only me.
My possessive side purrs every time he says it.
The other leg feels naked now, and I wonder if we should add a White Swan. That would look good, right? Just as big, the white feathers…
“I know that face,” Diego says, coming closer and wrapping me in his arms. “Let this one heal before you get another.”
“You got me addicted to them.” I shrug shamelessly.
He turns me in his arms, a soft expression on his face that no one sees but me. “It’s only fair, baby. I will give any excuse to keep touching you.”
Only one person in the world gets the big Cygnus in bed every night, calling her baby. That’s Maeve Rodrigues, and I finally know who I am.