Gabriel would be fascinated.
Ugh. Again,with Gabriel.
I give my head a small shake, trying to clear any and all thoughts of my husband. You’d think that after all these years, my mind would let him go. But nope… it’s like having a permanent tattoo of him imprinted on my brain… and dare I say my heart as well.
Either way, it’s time to let it go.
And for the love of God, I need to set those boundaries.
“They have to mean something,” I press, backing my way out of those wayward thoughts. I bring the glass of wine to my lips and speak over the rim. “You have at least twenty more pieces tattooed on your back.”
“Don’t remind me,” Alex grumbles, taking a long sip and tugging his sleeve back over the ink.
I place my glass down and fold my hands on top of the table. “At least tell me why you decided to have them tattooed on your back. I mean, who the hell does that sort of thing?”
He snorts, leaning back and setting his glass down. “My ex.”
“Emilee’s mom?”
“The one and only.” With the pads of his thumbs, he caresses his temples, as if the subject of his ex brings him pain. I guess in some ways it does. I get it.
“Meera was an artist,” he adds after a beat.
“Was?”It’s the first time he’s ever spoken about her. Emilee never mentions her mom either, and suddenly, I get this sinking feeling.
“Did she… die?”
“God, no.” He snorts and shakes his head. “She didn’t die. At least I don’tthinkshe has. Who the hell knows anymore? One day she was here, the next…” He flicks his hand dismissively in the air, almost knocking into the waiter as he returns with our food.
“Thank you,” we say in unison, distracted for the moment by the rich, savory smell of our lasagna. It’s saucy, steamy, and stacked high with layers of meat and cheese.
I unfold my napkin and place it in my lap, still watching him. “And the tattoos? Did Meera do them?”
Alex blows on his lasagna. “Well, she designed them.”
He digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye, making me wonder if I should back off the subject. But he pushes on.
“She’s a sketch artist, not a tattooist,” he adds, taking a bite. “Wanted to showcase her art, and I was young and dumb and let her use my body to do just that. But I think she was trying to tell me something—so she left her thoughts on my fucking skin.”
He stabs at another piece of lasagna and blows on it again. “Which, by the way, I still have no fucking clue what any of it means.”
“Were you married?” I ask, suddenly realizing he’s never once called her his wife.
He chews, swallows slowly, and then looks up and meets my eyes. “Nope. Never had the chance to ask her.”
A pause.
A beat.
“I was straight then.”
“Pfff—”
Wine sprays from my lips and splatters onto my lasagna. I grab my napkin, blotting my mouth while trying to stifle a laugh. “Good god. I’m sorry. I just… wasnotexpecting you to say that.”
Alex laughs right along with me. He forks a bite-size piece of pasta into his mouth and chases it down with another sip of wine.
“Yeah, well. Marriage was something I planned to do one day, but we weren’t in any rush. Emilee came along, Meera immersed herself in her art, and I was doing some modeling. We were happy. Or at least I thought so.”
