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“And you’re . . . what, keeping her safe still? Workin’ some plan?”
I nod again. Time passes and he goes back to working on my piece before finally speaking.
“I think we’ll be able to be family just fine.” I smile before his words go dark again. “But Lola doesn’t get dragged in. Not at all. Yeah?”
I can work with this.
“Yeah, man. Trust me, we’re on the same page.”
And then he finishes my tattoo.
THIRTY-THREE
-Lilah-
“Are you going to show me?” I ask later in a hotel room, fingers moving around where I can feel plastic cellophane is taped to his chest beneath his tee.
“Are you going to show me?” he asks, and I smile.
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Aren’t we a little past that?” he asks with a smile.
“Shut up,” I say, smacking him. His hand wraps my wrist, tugging it to his lips and pressing a kiss on the pulse there.
“I’ll never be past you showing me yours, Delilah.”
“I’d hope not. God, we’ve been married less than three months and you’re already tired of me?” I squeal as his hands move under my armpits, dragging me up his body before burying his face in my neck.
“Never. I could never be tired of you.” His hands start to bunch up my long-sleeve shirt. “Now let me figure out what you got.”
It’s like hide and seek, his hands slowly removing my clothes until he finds the bit of metal Hattie pierced me with on my belly button. He moves me to my back then slides down my body, my shirt bunched under my armpits, until his fingers softly move over the skin there.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, his breath flitting against sensitive skin.
“Only a bit. Mostly when I touch it.”
“Why this?” he asks.
“It’s hidden. And when I was 16, I really wanted to get it done, but my dad said no.”
“You had a scar there,” he states matter-of-factly, and I smile.
Of course Dante has made note of every single scar, birthmark, and freckle on my body.
“Yeah, well. I wasn’t always the picture-perfect daughter. I rebelled. I wanted my belly button pierced so bad, told my dad I was sleeping at a friend’s house, and got it done. Except my father was the mayor so word always got back to him. Not sure why I thought going to the boardwalk in his town was smart, but I was young and stupid so . . . Anyway, he found out and made me take it out. He checked every morning until it healed up.”
Dante smiles.
“So you’ve never been able to do as you're told?” His lips press to the warm metal gently, barely a brush.
“I’ve always wanted to do whatever made me happy.” I run my hand through his hair that needs a cut. “Thankfully, what makes me happy these days is right in this bed.” He moves, crawling up my body, finishing tugging off my shirt before grabbing my right arm. He stares at where the plastic wrap covers my very first tattoo.
“And this?” He’s reading the words but I know he wants me to explain.
“Spit in their faces,” I say, reading the loopy black text. His face tips to mine, the smile wide on his lips. “It’s my shooting arm, just in case they’re not in spitting distance.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re gonna be quite the Donna, aren’t you?”
