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“I don’t believe you. But even if I did, it’s clear there is now. Which means it was headed in that direction.” Rico’s lips thin. “I can’t pin a goddamn thing on Dante Campano, but what do you think would happen if I went to the cops and said I found out that one of my artists broke into my home while I wasn’t there? You think they’d believe that you didn’t do it?”
“I was here, so yeah.” I glare at him. “Brendan would back me up.”
“Would he? If I threatened his career?” Rico’s glare is black with anger. “Or maybe I don’t bother going to the law. Maybe I just ruinyourcareer. I tell you to get the fuck out of my shop, and you’ll never work at any tattoo shop again in any decent city. You’ll be etching tramp stamps on some redneck’s lower back for the rest of your days until your hands give out.”
I grit my teeth, trying not to react. If I give in to my anger and fly off the handle now, it will just add fuel to Rico’s fire.
“I had nothing to do with how Dante behaved,” I tell him calmly. “In fact, when I found out about it, I was angry with him. I told him exactly what I thought. I threatened to drop him as a client and told him to stay out of shop business.” It’s notexactlyhow the conversation went, and I leave out a few key points—including Dante pinning me up against the wall after and everything that followed that, but it’s close enough.
Rico doesn’t let up. “So why didn’t you? Drop him, I mean. Why the hell did you start fucking him?”
“He pays well. I don’t suppose you’d want to lose out on that money either?” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. “As for the rest, I’m not going to talk about that. You saw me at a party with him, not in his bed. It was good for networking.”
Rico lets out a sharp, barking laugh. “You’re fucking him. Don’t pretend you’re not. But you’re right, I do like his money. Which is why, from now on, you’re going to give meallof it. Every last goddamn cent. If I think you’re shorting me, we’re going to have problems. And if you say one more word, Emma Garcia, I’ll tell you to get the fuck out tonight, and you can kiss your career as any sort of reputable artist goodbye. I’ll make sure the word is out by the morning that no one better hires you, or they’ll go down in flames, too.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. I don’t doubt that he could do it. I’ve known all along that he could.
Part of me thinks that I should just walk away. That I should tell him to go fuck himself, finish the sessions with Dante, and use the money to start over somewhere else. But I know he’s telling the truth. I’ll end up working at some tiny shop in some city that I don’t really want to be in, still eking out a living, but this time, for a life that I don’t really want. I won’t have my home. The thought of leaving the condo makes my chest cramp and makes tears nearly flood my eyes. It’s all I have left of my father. All I have left of what was, for the longest time, a very happy life.
The smallest part of me wants to blame Dante for it. To believe that if he hadn’t insisted on making me his artist, if he hadn’t inserted himself so smoothly into my life, everything would still be fine.
But I know it’s not true. I was struggling before I met Dante. Eventually, I would have needed to do more. To start to advance past where Rico kept me. And we would have run into this barrier. Maybe not with the added complexity of my relationship with Dante, but one way or another, I would have ended up having a similar conversation with Rico.
And I would still have my back against the wall.
“Fine.” I swallow back my anger, and nod. I can’t force myself to say anything else.
Rico looks at me appraisingly, as if trying to determine whether or not I’m telling the truth. “You have an appointment with him tomorrow night?”
I nod, trying to tamp down the panic I feel at the idea of handing over everything Dante pays me to Rico. A Saturday night, lost. Here at the shop, I could make half my mortgage in one night, if things went well.
“I’ll expect the money on Tuesday when I’m here, then. And don’t even think about trying to skim some off of the top.”
I nod, unable to say anything else. If I do, I’ll lose control.
I’m glad there’s another night and day before I see Dante. If I saw him tonight, I’d probably spill everything. A part of me almost hopes he shows up unexpectedly at my condo, so that Icanlose control and blame whatever happens next on that. But he doesn’t, and I try to ignore the disappointment I feel. I told him we’d see each other on Saturday, and I made it clear that it wouldn’t be before then. I can’t be upset with him forrespectingmy boundaries.
But I miss him. I miss him more than I should—not just the sex, but having him there with me. My future feels more uncertain than ever, and I want the comfort of him in my bed, of his arms around me, of hearing his voice. I want everything that I know I shouldn’t.
And when I see him again, I know there’s no chance of staying out of his bed. It would be easier to break things off now, before I fall even further—but I want to enjoy what time we have left.
It will be over too soon.
—
That final session rolls around long before I’m ready. I’ve tried to keep a distance between us when I’m not tattooing him—refusing to let him come over to my condo again, making our conversations as short as I can, and staying busy. But he’s never far from my thoughts. And even though he doesn’t say it, I know when I see him that he feels the same way. It’s written all over his face every time he looks at me, and every time he touches me; it says more than any words ever could.
My chest is aching when I pull into the parking garage.This is the last time,I keep thinking, over and over, because I know it will be. Itneedsto be. This is a clean break, an easy moment for us to say goodbye. As easy as it could ever be, anyway. If we keep seeing each other after this, we’ll keep drawing it out. We’ll hurt each other, in the end.
Our business with each other and our fling could end at the same time, without awkwardness or a need for one person to take on the responsibility of saying it needs to be over. If not me, then Dante, once he finally realizes how entirely unable I would be to function in his world.
How unhappy I would make him in the long run.
He’s as quiet as I am, as I work on the finishing touches of his piece. It’s perfect—I feel like I can say that, even though it’s my work. It’s dark and lovely and frightening and beautiful all at once—just like he is—and I’m more proud of it than any other tattoo I’ve ever done.
It feels worth it. Even though I’m going to be hurt when I leave tonight, my heart broken in a way that I’ve never experienced before. It will beworthit, because I’ve accomplished this. I’ve created a piece of art that’s better than anything I’ve ever done before, and I’ll continue improving, because even though I have to sacrifice to stay at the Night Orchid, it’s better than losing moments like these.
And Dante will have a permanent memory of me etched on his skin. He’ll never forget me. Every time he sees the tattoo, he’ll think of me. Every time some other woman compliments him on it, I’ll pop into his mind.
