CHAPTER 41
NOW
DAPHNE
I shoot up in bed with a nasty case of the spins, momentarily worried the copious amounts of alcohol consumed the night before may be about to make a reappearance. It takes me a minute to steady myself, finally able to climb from the bed once I’m sure I’m not going to puke.
I look around the space, surprised to see I’m in Nicky’s room. I don’t even remember the drive back from the city last night. Somebody had to have come and picked us up, considering the boys were just as wasted as me.
I pad over to the dresser, picking up one of Nicky’s watches to find it’s just after 10 a.m. Jesus, what day is it even? Wednesday, maybe? That week in the Cape really threw off my entire concept of time. I should probably go home today and announce my return from my “spa retreat.” Mother will be most disappointed to see those last pesky five pounds are still very much attached to my ass.
God, it’s been so nice without dealing with her. Please grant me the fucking tolerance and strength to survive the days leading up to this wedding, along with the nuclear meltdown that will inevitably follow when she discovers the whole thing’s a sham.
Can’t get married if you already are. Speaking of husbands, where the hell is mine this morning? Or everyone for that matter? Am I really the last one up? Lightweight status.
Glancing around the room, it seems as though none of my bags have made their way up here. I’ll have to settle for one of Nicky’s shirts instead. Returning to the dresser, I reach to yank it open, when my hand freezes midair.
I stare down at the ring finger of my left hand, my brain glitching as I try to make sense of the sight. Slowly righting myself to a standing position, I rush to the bathroom, thrusting my hand under a steady stream of water, only to hiss in pain when my attempt to erase the small marking fails.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
It’s real. The small black script N on my left ring finger is real.
As in, it is tattooed on my fucking body.
I grip the vanity for support, the room tilting somewhat around me as I fight to breathe through the sensation of bile trying to crawl its way up my throat.
“Morning, demon.” Nicky appears in the doorway of the bathroom, showered and dressed, looking as though he’s prepared to tackle any hurdles the day may throw at him. “How’d you sleep?”
“Nicky…” It takes me a minute to collect my thoughts, my stomach still rolling. “Please tell me this isn’t your initial on my finger.”
“Of course it’s my initial. It’s your wedding band.”
“What do you mean?” I shriek, the resulting echo bouncing off the tile around us. “You said rings weren’t needed!”
“Rings are not needed at the moment considering you will be forced to wear the one that dipshit gave you until after the wedding. However, you’re out of your mind if you thought I wasn’t gonna mark you as mine.”
“Mark me?! Nick, what the hell are you talking about? When did you even have the opportunity to pull this off?”
“Me?” He arches a brow, his arms coming to cross over his chest as he leans against the doorframe. “You must really not remember. We were walking down the sidewalk after leaving that little tequila bar and passed a tattoo shop. I asked if you wanted matching bands, you opted for initials instead. I think it’s a nice touch.”
The tequila bar in question vaguely dances in the recesses of my mind, albeit hazily. However, everything after that is pretty much a wash. How the fuck did anyone consent to tattoo me given the state of inebriation I was undoubtedly in last night?! Another quick glance at Nicky answers my own question. Rich and gorgeous—makes for a lethal combination where the word Nodoesn’t exist. Got it.
“Hold up.” My mind snags on a particular word. “What do you mean matching?”
Nicky smirks, holding up his left hand to reveal a small black D inked at the base of his ring finger.
“Oh my God.” I rush forward, pulling his hand to my face to confirm his is just as real as mine. “You jackass, why would you do this?”
“I think the answer’s pretty obvious.”
“Well, would you mind explaining it for us mere simpletons?” I scoff, tossing his hand aside as I begin pacing the small area in front of where he stands.
“Come on, Daph. Were you sick the day they taught this rule in kindergarten?”
“What rule?!” My hands fly out from my sides in an obvious show of frustration.
Nicky shoves off the frame, his arm swiftly encircling my waist as he spins us, pinning me between the wall and the hard planes of his chest. He reaches down, seizing hold of my hand and bringing my knuckles to his face, where he plants a soft kiss against my freshly inked skin.
“Label your property.”