Page 2 of Claiming His Property

“So you’ve finished school now, Skylar?” Beatrice asks. She should know that I graduated three months ago. I feel like she just forgets most of what I tell her, so I don’t know why she even bothers to ask anyway.

“Yes, I graduated in June,” I reply as our amazing brunch arrives. One of the girls even pours me orange juice without being asked.

“Top five percent of her class,” my dad says with a smile.

“Don’t boast, William,” Beatrice snaps. “No one likes a boaster.”

I audibly sigh, not even trying to hide it. Beatrice notices and turns to me, a scowl on her face.

“What is it you plan to do with your life now, Skylar? You want to be one of those skin stencilers, is that right?”

“I want to be a tattoo artist, yes.”

Always trying to belittle my life’s ambition.

She nods as she scrapes a butter knife across her grilled English muffin. “I’ve never understood why people put all that nonsense on themselves. Turn their skin into canvases. It’s just so strange.”

I feel my anger boiling up inside me. For years I’ve been drawing, training myself to be an artist. It’s my dream to go to art school, but not only would that leave my dad alone, but it’s a financial impossibility. Of course Beatrice could send me to any school in the world and not even notice the cost, but she would never do that.

“Well,” I say slowly, “I guess some people just have different tastes than others.”

She nods, stuffing her glossed lips with English muffin, dripping with butter.

“That’s for sure. My mother told me if I ever got a tattoo, she’d disown me.”

Somehow, I manage to make it through brunch without throwing anything. It helps that the food is delicious, no thanks to Beatrice, of course. She walks us to the door where we say our goodbyes.

“I hope you’ll consider another career path, Skylar. I hear there are so many mentally disturbed people in that profession.”

My inner pot boils over.

“You know what, Beatrice–”

“Hey, Sky!” My dad interrupts what’s about to be a major blow-up. “I just got a call from work. I need to go in. Let’s get a move on!”

I turn and look back at my aunt and force the fakest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“Thanks for the advice,” I say.

I turn and quickly take the steps down to her cobblestone path.

I see Dad climbing into the truck, but as I’m brushing my hair back, I catch something out of the corner of my eye and look to see the man I saw earlier.

He’s barely twenty feet away from me now standing by Beatrice’s front garden with his shovel.

He’s at least six-foot-two, I’d say, with a physique that would make any guy jealous. His chest is broad and thick, his biceps are like pythons, and his forearms look bigger than my calves. His skin looks like caramel, and he’s glistening in sweat, and when he turns to me and I finally see his face, I’m nearly knocked over by just how gorgeous he is.

Is he a workman or a model?

“Hey, there.” He smiles. “Did Beatrice send you to tell me something?”

My entire mind goes blank.

Did he just say something to me?

I feel a funny little tingle between my legs and just know my face is turning red. Hopefully he’ll just think it’s the sun.

“Hello?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Did Beatrice send you?”

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