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DAMON
“Seriously?”Poppyglared at the handcuff before a worse sight catapulted her attention.
Grippingthe comforter to her chest with one hand, she shot up to a seated position, outraged.Sheheld out her left hand, the one handcuffed to my right, to inspect her ring finger.
Ifshe was already this upset,Ididn’t look forward to her reaction upon discovering the tattoo hidden underneath the two rings.Thefirst was her engagement ring, with a solitaire black diamond cut in the shape of a crown.Itwas paired with a slender wedding ring, a white gold band dipped into black rhodium to give it the obsidian color.
Myhand covered hers, the black ceramic band complementing hers. “Doyou like them?”
Poppyresponded by prying the rings off her finger and throwing them across the room.Iraised an eyebrow, listening to the bands clash against the door and bounce off.Blackdiamond glinted on the ground, making the ring laughably easy to locate.
“I’lltake that as a maybe.”
Poppy’scomposure melted entirely once her attention landed on what the rings concealed: her real wedding band, the one she could never take off.
“Whatthe hell is this?”Hereyes were unmoved, pupils dilated at seeing the tattoo in the same design as her thin wedding band.
“Yourwedding ring.”Ionly replicated the wedding band into a tattoo, not the engagement ring.Iknew she’d be pissed enough about the one.
“Youbranded me,” she seethed.
Myhand grazed the back of her neck. “Isthat what you think of these, the tattoos you get every year on the day your father died?”
Poppystilled. “Howdo you know about that?”Sheshook her head as if asking irrelevant questions, having realizedIknew everything about her. “Thosewere done by my choice.Someonedidn’t stamp me to prove their ownership of me.”
Irepositioned my wedding band to show her the fresh ink on my finger. “Igot one, too.”
Thereciprocal gesture merely made her fume. “Whatthe hell is wrong with you?”
“Thisis hardly the first matching tattoo we got together.”
Thecomment madePoppyfreeze.I’dpurposefully hidden my tattoos during our encounters.Thecat was out of the bag now.Iwas on my side, my neck exposed.Horrorwas etched on her face as she leaned over to check the back of my neck.
“Youhave the same tattoos as me,” she stoically declared.
Inodded. “Allfour of them.”Fourlines memorializing each year of her father’s death.Thosemarks also commemorated the anniversary of the first day we met.
Iexpected her full-blown wrath.Poppyquietly watched me instead, assessing. “Howlong have you been stalking me?Isthat the reason you know so much about me?”
ThetidbitsItold her last night were returning to her in fragments.Basedon my admissions, she knew my obsession wasn’t just knee-deep.
I’veloved you for years,Poppy, andI’mdone waiting.Thewords didn’t have the intended effect, and questions were raised about my sanity.
“That’show you learned to count cards,” she surmised.
Nothingwent unnoticed by my girl. “Yes.Iwas with you all those times you snuck off toAtlanticCity.”
Composingherself,Poppyslipped back the impassive mask, though another question burned in her eyes.Howcould you do this to me?Shefelt betrayed, neverthelessIcould fix her pain with time.
“Ilove you more than anything,Poppy, butImeant whatIsaid.I’mdone waiting,”Ianswered her unasked question.Ididn’t break eye contact, my determination growing by the minute. “Iknow you better than you know yourself.BecauseI’vewatched you for years,Iunderstand everything about you.I’mthe only person capable of loving you the way you need.Younever have to censor yourself around me to avoid being judged, nor do you have to make dull conversations with me to fill the silence.It’swhat you’ve always wanted.”
Poppyprocessed my words.
“Iknow you’re angry right now, butIpromise you’ll see things my way.”
Poppydidn’t care to know more, focusing on her surroundings instead.Shewas thinking of ways out of this predicament.Questionstumbled out of her mouth like in the rapid-fire round in a game show.
“Noneof my cousins responded to my texts about crashing with them.Wasthat your doing?”
