CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
– QUINN –
Married. I stare at Fiero who is talking to the priest. The man has a freaking priest on speed dial. It shows how little I know about Fiero Teun Reaux. Who the hell has a middle name like Teun? I definitely snorted a laugh when the priest pronounced his full name.
Floris muttered something about Dutch ancestors.
Like I said, I know very little about the man.
The man who is now my husband. I take a deep breath to let this little fact sink in.
At least Cillian can’t force me to marry him anymore and kidnapping me means Fiero will be damn pissed.
I’ve picked the lesser of two evils, or so it seems.
The priest leaves but another man strides in, carrying a bag.
“Who’s that?” I ask Floris, my brand-new brother-in-law.
Floris chuckles. “You’ll know soon enough.”
“Who’s going first?” the man asks.
I frown while the man places his bag on the table to drag a chair in place. My eyes bulge out of my head when I recognize the stuff he pulls from his bag.
“My wife will go first,” Fiero states.
“Go first to do what?” I whisper while deep down I know what’s about to happen.
Floris throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to state with a huge grin, “Why, to get your rings tattooed of course.”
There are no words forming in my brain or tumbling from my lips. This cannot be happening. Tattooed rings? Is he afraid I might lose a ring or throw it at his head if he says something rude...which happens every other sentence so it might make sense.
Fiero hands me a piece of paper. The symbol is easy to recognize, showing Fiero’s initials. I let my finger trail over the piece of paper. I never thought about getting a tattoo. However, I’m absolutely enthralled by the glimpses of the ones Fiero has.
Which makes me wonder. “And you?”
He holds up a piece of paper with a Q and when I look closer there’s also a C merged into it. My initials. He’s getting a tattoo with my initials.
“We’re getting rings tattooed,” I state out loud to process this little indefinite fact, and blurt, “Is it safe?”
“Hygiene measures...” the tattoo artist starts.
Fiero holds up his hand to interrupt him.
“She means is it safe due to her early pregnancy. Yes. Healthcare providers would tell you to wait until after the baby is born. Though, I won’t risk anything when it comes to you and our unborn child.
It’s a small tattoo and everything will be done safely and hygienically. ”
I glance at the tattoo artist, and he gives me a tight nod along with a brilliant smile. Nodding in return, the man starts to get ready. The tattoo will be small on my finger since I only recently found out I’m pregnant. I could have gotten a small tattoo without even knowing I was pregnant.
My heart skips a beat. I just got freaking married and I’m getting a tattoo. Holy shit. If anyone would have told me a few weeks ago what my life would entail right now? Crazy, insane, totally psychotic for sure.
The tattoo artist pats a chair. “Have a seat, lady.”
I shoot a glare at Fiero. “I’ll agree to the tattoo, but don’t expect me to get my nipples pierced anytime soon...if ever.”
Only his eyes spark with interest when he rumbles, “There’s a time and place for everything.”
It was a damn joke. I can feel my eyes widen and instead of giving him a snappy return, I keep my lips shut and plunk my ass on the chair.
The corner of his lips twitch and my breathing picks up when he leans in and places his lips right next to my ear. “You will enjoy getting your nipples pierced. We both will. Something to look forward to after giving birth to our child, and the breastfeeding of course.”
I shiver and swallow at the dryness in my throat. His proximity is making my skin feel too tight, my heart speeds up, along with my breathing, and my pussy clenches. Damn. My husband sure knows how to jolt my body into awareness.
Husband. Shit. I have to focus.
The next hour passes in a blur. I can’t stop staring at my finger.
The design Fiero came up with, his initials, aren’t inked in black.
The artist suggested to only do the linework for now and I have to say.
..it’s absolutely gorgeous. Fiero, however, has my initials in black along with thick lines going around his finger.
A tattoo, a mark...we exchanged a branding to show to the outside that we’re husband and wife. Even if the whole branding me with his initials shocked me at first, this is a statement, not something easily stripped away.
“Are you sure about this?” Fiero asks.
I have to blink to get out of my mental fog and tear my gaze away from my finger. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” Fiero places a hand on my lower back and guides me in the direction of the door.
The man who doesn’t like to be touched without consent sure is becoming touchy-feely when it comes to me. Hell, even the tattoo artist asked permission to touch me every damn time he lifted his hands. He must have been the same artist who did all his other ink due to the familiarity between them.
Floris opens the door to the limousine and I slide inside. Fiero joins me while Floris gets behind the wheel. We’re sitting side-by-side and why is my heart speeding up? His leg is pressing against mine and I can’t seem to focus.
“Everything okay?” Fiero rumbles.
No. Nothing will ever be o-the-fuck-o-motherfucking-kay ever again from here on out.
Instead of saying that, my mind jumps to the fact, “You made the priest skip over the whole ‘you can kiss the bride’ thing.”
“Exchanging saliva doesn’t seal a deal, or give meaning to feelings, or is a necessity to orgasm harder.” His clinical reply goes hand-in-hand with his stoic face and monotone voice.
Someone probably didn’t get any cuddles as a child.
Which makes me wonder something and I raise my voice to ask, “Floris, do you kiss women?”
“Fuck, yes. Because kissing men doesn’t do it for me.” Floris chuckles, and it fades when Fiero hits a button, causing the screen between us to close.
Fiero pins me with a look, one I’ve come to recognize. His asshole self is about to rear its ugly head and I’m not going to sit here and take it.
“Shut up,” I calmly state, surprising myself with the mere but firm whisper.
“I’m not interested in your opinion. I just stated a simple fact.
Which could have been met with a simple yes.
You’re the one who threw out the clinical not giving a fuck, cold fish shit.
You, me, Floris, every damn person in this fucked-up world gets born, gets to live, and then dies.
The way one lives? The limitations everyone sets for themselves is no one’s business.
Why? Very simple. You can’t count on anything when it comes to living.
It’s unstable, just like you and your intense opinions forged from Silly Putty. ”
“Silly Putty,” he mutters, as if he can’t believe what I just said.
“Yeah, it’s oil-based and won’t dry out. Mold it into any shape, stretch, twist, squish...that’s what you do when you throw out your opinion.”
A bark of laughter rips from him and I can only stare, especially when it flows into a husky chuckle.
The screen lowers and I hear Floris ask, “Did you just laugh?”
Fiero hits the button and the screen slides back in place. “You have a nice way with words. We’re almost at the warehouse, and I need you to stay outside of the room once we get there. You will be able to watch and hear while I’m in the room with your father.”
“Okay,” I tell him, accepting the abrupt change of topic. “Though, you did promise I could ask questions myself.”
Fiero gives me a tight nod. “Your questions might change after hearing the information he gives me.”
“Fine.” I turn my head to the window and stare out as the limousine slowly comes to a stop.
My heart picks up and it has nothing to do with Fiero holding out his hand for me after he gets out of the limousine. I accept the gesture and slide out of the vehicle to brace myself for the confrontation.
The questions running through my head are based on anger, on the situation, on the things that happened, and I definitely hope to get some straight answers.
On the other hand, I’m intrigued with what Fiero just said.
The past few days I’ve spent with him, along with everything I know about him is enough to know the man doesn’t make suggestions, or acts, without thinking things through.
It's why I accepted the deal...deals. Plural since the man keeps offering new ones.