Inked Ever After (12 page)

She chuckled. Paige was going to love it.

“James?”

“Mm?” he mumbled against her lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You don’t want to elope, right?” He’d said several times he
didn’t care either way, but somehow she got the feeling that wasn’t entirely
true.

His answer came right away. “No, I don’t. I already did the
eloping thing with Elaine. I don’t want to do it again. This is the last time I
get married, and I want to do it in front of God and everyone.”

“About that. I’m not Catholic, James.”

His grin was devastating. “Don’t worry. We Catholics aren’t
picky. We take anyone in. And you are part Italian; it doesn’t get closer to
the Vatican than that.”

She burst into laughter. Before she could reply, he continued,
“Now seriously, princess, I want to celebrate with our families, with our
friends. I want a wedding.”

Yeah, she’d figured that much.

“And you want that too. You’ve wanted that all your life.
After all, not everyone kidnaps the neighbor kid at age four to stage a
midnight wedding in the yard.”

Tate groaned, embarrassed. “You’ve been talking to Elle.”

“Yes, ma’am. And so you know, I’m expecting hot dogs too.”

She dissolved in laughter again. How James did this to her,
she didn’t understand. He always said the right thing. Even when she had no
clue what she needed, he always did.

She looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. She loved
Cape John. It was so peaceful here. “Maybe we should move the wedding down
here—have a more informal one. Me in a summer dress. You in shorts. I’m not
talking about eloping,” she hurried to explain. “Just simplifying things.”

“I’m up for anything, but your mom will skin us alive. And I
already got the tux.”

“You look so yummy in a suit,” she said with a sigh. She’d
seen him a couple of times all dolled up, and man, was he sexy—his bad-boy vibe
just adding to the outfit.

He smirked, tightening his arms around her. “I know you like
it, probably because my tattoos are nowhere to be seen when I wear a suit.”

What? “Not true. I love your tattoos.”

James’s laughter reverberated through her. “You are so full
of shit, princess. But don’t worry. I promise you the wedding tux will cover
all my ink. I’ll be totally presentable. I won’t even roll my sleeves up later
on.”

He gave her a kiss on her shoulder and lifted her.

Tate was flabbergasted. Was he serious? His tone was ironic,
but still. Did he think she didn’t want all of him? That she had any issues
with his ink? That she would want him to cover any part of himself?

Oh hell, she’d been so busy freaking out about the wedding,
she hadn’t even thought how her hang-ups would affect James. Or how he’d
perceive them. He was solid and massive and as steady as a rock—her rock. But
what about him and his needs? Could he have second thoughts, fears she was
making worse by not talking openly to him? Did he think he wasn’t enough for
her? That she was somehow embarrassed of him? Because that wasn’t it. Not it at
all.

She had to repair this, now. “James—”

Before she could continue, James was kissing the living
daylights out of her while walking to the living room.

“Anything against breaking the couch in?”

“No, but—”

“Good,” he interrupted her. “Stairs are next, gorgeous.”

He cupped the back of her head and brought her to him,
pushing his tongue inside her mouth.

She wanted to talk about what he’d said, but it seemed he’d
turned her own weapon against her, because he set about breaking the couch in,
and she couldn’t hold a single thought to save her life.

“This is so going on YouTube,” Elle announced, shoving the
video camera in Tate’s face.

“Just turn that off,” Tate said with a grunt, irritated. As
if she didn’t have enough to deal with at the moment without having to pose for
her sister’s homemade video.

Elle, surprise, surprise, ignored her. “No way. Do you know
how much shit I’ve taken from you all these years as you ranted about tattoos
and bad boys? No way I’m
not
recording it for posterity. I never thought I’d see this day come.”

Well, there they were in agreement.

Why was she doing this? Ah, yes. James.

“You okay? Do you need another break?” Kai, the tattoo
artist asked.

Tate shook her head. No, better get this done and over with
as fast as possible before she chickened out and ended up with half a tattoo. Besides,
the last pause had just prolonged the agony and worsened the whole experience,
which, as far as she was concerned, was already lasting for-frigging-ever.
Taking a breather would only lull her into a false sense of relief that would
make the pain seem sharper once Kai started inking her again.

Elle gave her a pitying look. “You should have done this the
day of the bachelorette party. Alcohol is a great pain inhibitor. And you could
always claim transitory mental insanity afterward due to extreme intoxication.”

“Sorry, doll. We don’t ink people under the influence,” Kai
told Elle.

Not to mention that Tate was making a statement. Having her
judgment impaired by alcohol while making it would defeat the point. And she
recalled making a crack or two to James about how he got his tattoos while
drunk—him and the tattoo artist.

“A pity though,” she mumbled. “I could have forced all the
pink bunnies to join me. Sisters in misery.”

“Why? Would it have hurt less if we all got inked?” Elle
asked, cocking her eyebrow.

“No, but shared pain is less pain.”

Elle let out a laugh. “Bullshit, Sis.”

“Damn right, doll,” Tate heard Kai say, amused, as he dipped
the tip of the gun in the pot of ink and then went to work on the small of her
back again. Tate tried breathing through her mouth. Man, half her back was in
excruciating pain, the other half she couldn’t feel anymore. Maybe she should
have started small—a butterfly or a heart, something like that.

“What do I do if it gets infected?” Tate blurted. She didn’t
know anything about tattoos. Not the first thing.

“I’ll give you precise aftercare instructions; don’t worry.
In a week it should be totally healed. On extremely rare occasions, there are
allergic reactions to the pigmentation. In that case you need to go to the hospital.”

Elle snorted. “Then we have a problem, because she hates
hospitals. Three months ago she cut herself pretty badly with a knife, and
James had to literally throw her over his shoulder to get her to the ER.”

She glared at her sister; like Elle did hospitals so well
herself. Yes, Tate was terrified of hospitals, but after sitting in one for
twenty-four hours watching Jonah die, no one could really blame her.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, and I
haven’t sent anyone to the hospital yet.”

Good.

“Explain to me again why you’re doing this,” Elle said as
she saw Tate flinch.

“Have to. Want to,” she corrected.

Since waking up in Cape John four days ago, extremely well
loved but with her mind in turmoil from James’s remarks, she’d done nothing but
think about how to prove herself to him and hadn’t come up with anything as
final—and dramatic—as this. They were past words. This was not only a
statement, it was a promise that she was in for the long haul. That she
accepted him totally. Her commitment to him. It wouldn’t matter if he got all
his face inked and his tongue forked; she’d love him nevertheless. Although she
was praying it wouldn’t come to that.

She wanted this to be a surprise, so Tate had convinced
James to take that consultancy job in El Paso even though it was a four-day
trip and their wedding was in a bit less than three weeks. He’d fought her, but
as it turned out, neither Zack nor Sean could go, and that was an important
client, so he’d caved in. It’d worked beautifully because compared to Kai—who
had done all of James’s tattoos—Kat von D was nothing but an unknown,
inexperienced beginner. The guy was apparently the equivalent to royalty in the
world of ink, and frigging busy, but once he heard it was for James, he’d freed
a spot that first day, which would give her tattoo time to heal, at least
enough so that it wasn’t so red by the time James got to see it.

“You realize your wedding dress is cut very low in the back,
and the whole thing will be on display for everyone to see, right?”

“Yep. I’m making a point, Elle.”

“Which one, that prissy, uptight little girls can change?”

Ouch, that stung. “And that I love him,” Tate said quietly.

Elle looked at her, her eyes soft. “I’m happy he’s finally
rubbing off on you.”

“And I’m happy you’re here to see it, Sis.” That was an
understatement. She was thrilled that Elle was done running and was back in
Boston for good.

“Of course I’m here. Like I’d let you pick a wedding dress
by yourself. Jeez!”

Since getting back, Elle had kept extremely busy, taking on
more than her fair share of work in Rosita’s in addition to working at the
airport and finishing her studies. Still, she’d jumped at the opportunity of
being Tate’s maid of honor, with everything that it entailed.

“So, I heard Mr. Wonderboy bought a cabin down in Cape John
for you,” Elle said.

Tate threw her a dirty look. “Don’t play dumb. You were in
on it.”

She lifted her hands in surrender, the video camera flying
up too. “Nope. It was all him. He came to me and wanted to know the exact
address of the place we used to spend the summer. I insisted, but he wouldn’t
tell me why. He just asked me not to say anything to you. I guess he wanted to
make sure the same cabin wasn’t up for sale and he was buying it, you know, in
case you’d completely lose it.”

Yes, that was her James. Attentive. Loving. Golden. The best
man she’d ever known.

“Aren’t you glad I kicked your ass until you went back to
him?”

“Yes, but I’d have gone to him regardless,” Tate said.

“I wasn’t risking it, Sis. One of us at least should end up
with a good guy.”

“Please. Men drop at your feet left and right wherever you
go.”

Elle looked like a cross between JLo and Penelope Cruz.
Where Tate was pasty white and sadly lacking in the hourglass figure department,
except for her mega ass, that is, her sister was a frigging Mediterranean
goddess with her olive skin, big black eyes, and thick dark brown hair always
floating around her. Great tits, long legs. And it wasn’t only her gorgeous
body, which seemed to be so alluring to the opposite sex, but her attitude too,
brazen and sweet at the same time.

“Not good men.”

“Those too,” Tate said. “You just don’t give good men a
second glance.” Elle was only attracted to assholes, which was a hell of a
skill.

“I’m not into preppy guys. Or stuffy businessmen.”

“I don’t mean that. Aidan was a stuffy lawyer, and look how
that ended up. Give me some credit. I did learn from my mistakes. I mean good,
solid, dependable men, Elle.” Her sister lifted her shoulders. “You know what
your problem is?”

Elle rolled her beautiful black eyes. “No, but I’m sure
you’ll enlighten me.”

“You bet your ass I will. You walk all over good guys, and
the ones that you can’t walk all over are only interested in walking all over
you. With their steel-reinforced boots.”

“I’ve gotten better at getting rid of them before they do
any damage.”

Yeah, that was true, but that left Elle in man limbo.

“What can I tell you? Not everyone can snatch such a cutie
like James,” her sister said jokingly.

Only someone like Elle would call a tattooed, huge,
badass-looking guy like James “cutie.” Which he, by the way, was.

“Now tell me,” she continued, “how was Cape John? I haven’t
been there for ages.”

Tate told Elle all about it, managing to forget for a while
about the torture Kai was bestowing upon her, and for which she was paying him
a small fortune.

She remembered all about it when Elle shoved the camera in
her face again. “Smile.”

“Don’t even think about uploading this to YouTube,” she
warned her.

“Relax, Sis. I’ll wait for you to show the tattoo to James
in person. Then I’ll upload it. I’ll just cover your eyes and title it ‘Behold
the miracle: Haters can convert too.’”

Tate sighed. She didn’t know why she was fighting Elle. Her
sister would do whatever she wanted—she always did. The proof was the all-out
bachelorette party she’d organized even though she knew Tate didn’t want
anything big.

And thinking of the bachelorette party… “What did you do to
Jack the other day in Rosita’s?” She’d seen him yesterday, and he’d looked
quite tense. When she’d asked James, he’d just rambled something about Elle
desecrating Jack’s phone, which hadn’t made a lick of sense, but she was so
used to her sister’s outrageousness that she’d rolled with it.

“Nothing. I never do anything to him. I tried to engage him
in conversation, but he’s like a cyborg or some shit like that,” she said,
gesturing wildly, the camera precariously dangling from her hand. It looked
like her sister’s recording was going to be more jumpy than
The Blair Witch Project.

“You aggravate him on purpose.”

“No, I don’t. Well…maybe I do,” she conceded at last with a
pout. “He pisses me off.”

“How can he piss you off? He doesn’t say anything to you.”

“Exactly. He ignores me, and that pisses me off.”

Elle wasn’t used to being ignored at all, and Jack was not
only ignoring her but avoiding her too, which made matters infinitely worse.

“James must have been out of his mind choosing him as his
best man. I’d have understood if this were centuries ago when the best man’s
duties were to help the groom kidnap the bride-to-be—Jack would have fit the
bill perfectly then. Now? Ha!” Elle shook her head in dismay. “He’s supposed to
be nice to guests and make them feel welcome. To say he’s ill equipped is a
freaking understatement. It’s going to be the shortest best-man speech in the
history of mankind.”