Page 45 of Thin Lives

“Exactly,” Calisto said. “Even the artist who put this on me didn’t know what they meant.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean, but your tattoo wasn’t something I was made aware of until after you had it done, Cal. And I admired it, nothing more. You didn’t tell me anything about it.”

“Bullshit.”

For the first time in a long while, Calisto’s tone stunned Emma. His curse had come out dark and tired—like he knew she was hiding something and he was sick of being lied to.

“It’s not bull—”

“It is,” Calisto interrupted fast, taking a step toward her. Emma refused to move when he held his arm up a little higher and then ticked his chin over her shoulder, back in the direction of the grave they had just left together. “It is fucking bullshit, Emmy, and I’ll tell you why it is. Because there are several dates on my arm right here. Some I know. Others I don’t. But the third date matches the day, month, and year on your child’s headstone. So don’t tell me it’s bullshit when I’ve been staring at this tattoo for a week, and you’re the first goddamn person who I’ve been able to correlate at least one of the two unknown dates to.”

Emma’s mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Her bottom lip trembled, and she clenched her fists tight to give her something else to focus on other than the pain in Calisto’s darkly handsome features.

Finally, her words caught up with her brain. “I didn’t know there were dates in your tattoo.”

Calisto’s anger started to bleed out of his gaze. “Oh.”

He glanced around before drawing his finger over the different rosary beads, as if to show Emma where the dates were hidden. She did notice them once he’d pointed them out, but they were very well hidden in the design.

“I didn’t know, either,” Calisto said. “Not until recently.”

Emma had a hard time hiding how it made her feel to know that his personal memorial had included something as difficult and significant as the day her son was born and then died. She barely gave the other date he said was unknown a second glance, because one was enough.

She knew what it was, too.

The month and year she had miscarried Calisto’s child right after her wedding to Affonso.

Jesus.

Emma didn’t realize how those events had affected Calisto. But clearly, they had left impacts on his very person. So much so that he wanted to carry them with him in a very permanent way.

“My statement still stands, though,” Calisto said, forcing Emma out of her thoughts.

“Which was what?” she asked.

“You’re the only person I’ve been able to correlate one of the two unknown dates with, and it matches the date on your baby’s headstone. Tell me, what are the chances that the other date on my arm will match up with you, too?”

Emma looked away. “I—”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said before she could even get a word in edgewise.

Fuck.

“You are,” Calisto continued, “because you can’t even look a person in the eye when you do it. Why won’t you just tell me the truth? And I feel like I have to ask you again about us, like I did in the library.”

Emma swallowed the lump beginning to form in her throat. “Cal, please.”

“Give me something, or I’m going to start looking for it.”

She was pretty fucking sure he already was.

“I don’t know the other date,” she lied, looking him straight in the eye, “but the one that matches my child’s birth and death date is well-known to close people in our circles. It’s not talked about, but everybody kind of knows in one way or another. You were the one who went with me in the ambulance when I went into labor because Affonso was too busy with Carl Calabrese and their breakfast meeting to bother with me or the blood running down between my legs.”

Calisto’s arm dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah. You went with me. You were there for that.”

“What you were saying earlier … you didn’t finish. It was about me, yeah?”