She still refuses to acknowledge me.
“You know…” I lean in, putting my face in hers.“Silence only makes me more persistent.And I can be incredibly persuasive.”
I reach into my pocket and hold up an apple in offering.
She stares into my eyes.“Did you poison it?”
“Depends.Do you consider charm a slow-acting drug?”
“Can’t you take a hint?”She snatches the apple.
“I don’t do subtle, Princess Leia.I do obsession and revenge.”Stepping back, I dig out the other apple and bite into it.“Why the wedding-day disguise?”
“Gavin’s family.”She rotates the fruit, examining it.“Conservative assholes.They didn’t exactly jump for joy about him marrying a mechanic with piercings and blue hair.He asked me to tone it down for the day.”Her voice tightens.“I agreed.Cleaned up.Looked normal.I hated myself for it.”
I believe her.Of all the things she packed in that one bag, she made sure it included her hair dye and body jewelry.
Makes me wonder where else she’s pierced.
“Normal is boring.This…” I gesture at her with my apple.“This is badass.Not that you don’t make a gorgeous princess bride.But the real you is extraordinary.”
Her gaze holds mine, a flash of vulnerability, there and gone.
“Stop flattering me or there will be blood.”She turns back to the ocean and bites into her apple.“I thought we were leaving.”
I draw my lips between my teeth, trying not to smile.I can’t help it.Her fucking attitude… Christ, she makes me so damn hard.
We board the yacht in silence.She keeps her distance at the stern, her gaze locked on the horizon.
I let her be, gripping the wheel, mind spinning with questions I know she won’t answer.
When we dock, she leaps onto the pier and vanishes into the crowd without a word or a backward glance.
I follow at a distance, shadowing her movements as she weaves around clusters of locals and tourists with graceful confidence.
A few blocks later, she disappears into the auto mechanic shop she found last night.
Safe.For now.
Forcing myself to give Dove space, I head to the tattoo parlor.My pulse quickens at the familiarity of the route, the buildings and signs all etched into my memory from countless days wandering aimlessly.
The shop comes into view, a dark brick-fronted building tucked between a bookstore and café.My designs clutter the window display, sketches I poured myself into when I thought maybe this place could be home.
I step inside, and the door chimes.
Declan looks up, eyes going wide.
This guy.
His mullet has zero fucks to give this morning, and he’s holding his signature coffee mug with the faded quote, DO OR DO NOT, THERE IS NO TRY.
If there were an art school for scarecrows, he would be the mascot.He’s like seven feet tall and a hundred pounds dripping wet with glasses that refuse to stay on his nose.Probably because he never stops moving.
“Dude.”He throws his hands up like I’m holding a gun and glances nervously at the security camera in the corner.“I was given strict instructions.You can’t be here.”
“You gonna call the cops on me?”I stroll in without hesitation.
“Well, no, man, of course not, but like… Jag was super clear, okay?”
