Page 51 of The Tattoo Artist

Ares’ words ring in my head.

This is the least I could do, so I mustered up all the jealousy and nodded. “I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“Thank you!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ALEXANDRA JONES

ITOLD CLARK THAT I WOULD SPEAK TO ARES TOMORROW, tomorrow turned out to be a week later. I couldn’t muster up the strength to go back in and ask if he was gay for Clark. Because I was afraid. Not off him, no, I was afraid that he wouldn’t want to speak to me because of the way I reacted after finding out he was Diávolos.

I realised that there really isn’t a need for me to be angry or afraid of Ares because he showed me another side of him.

The good side.

The side I felt safe with.

The side where he made me feel understood.

The side where he made me laugh.

I push the parlour door open; the bell above lets a small ring to echo, and I watch as Aliza makes her way to the desk. “Can I speak to Ares please?” I ask her.

She nodded, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. I walk down the tight hallways until I reach his door. Slowly, I push it open and found Ares engrossed in paperwork.

“Hi,” I announced myself, trying to break the tension in the air.

His eyes locks with mine as he stood up, “Alexandra,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a forbidden secret.

“Butterfly left your dictionary now?” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood. He ignored my attempt at humour, picking up the rubbish on the table and throwing it in the bin. “How are you?” I whisper, wanting to connect with him.

“Fine, yourself?” He replies, maintaining a cool distance.

I placed the container of pomegranates on the table, a gesture meant to show him that I cared. “I picked these out for you...”

“Alexandra, is there anything you need?” His tone is icy, and I could feel the walls he had built around himself.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my heart aching for the connection we once had. “For the way I shouted at you.”

Ares had the type of eyes that would make you fall to your knees and worship his every command, the type of eyes that you would let do anything to you. And the way he looks at me, almost with so much love and obsession.

“I shouldn’t have reacted that way...” I finally admit, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“You have a right to react, Angel. You know that, right?” He told me, stepping closer to him, yearning for the closeness we had lost. “And you never apologise to me,” he said softly, his fingers gently pushing a strand of my hair away from my face.

I miss him.

I miss the way he smells.

The way he towers over me.

“You know I won’t tell anyone, right?” I plead, wanting to reassure him that I could keep his secrets.

“I know,” he reply, a smile forming on his lips.

My arms wrap around his waist, seeking comfort in his embrace as my head rests on his chest. He brushes the back of my hair down, his touch electrifying before slowly lifting my face and kissing my lips gently.

“But you need to understand, this is who I am, Angel. And I can’t change it. So don’t expect me to change,” he warns, his voice laced with a mix of passion and fear.

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