Page 121 of The Tattoo Artist

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door to Alexandra’s room swings open, and the doctor steps out into the hallway. His expression is unreadable as he approaches me, his footsteps echoing off the sterile walls.

“She’s stable for now,” he says, his voice gentle but tinged with concern.

“What is wrong with my wife?”

“Mr-”

“Nicolaides.”

“Mr Nicolaides, your wife is suffering from long term memory loss. She doesn’t remember you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ARES NICOLAIDES

THREE YEARS LATER

YES, I LIKE WATCHING HER.

I told you that before. Haven’t it?

It’s a privilege I relish, a secret indulgence that consumes me in the darkness of the night. For in those stolen moments, she is mine and mine alone, a muse to inspire the darkest corners of my soul. And as I watch her, I can’t help but wonder if she knows the power, she holds over me, if she realises just how deeply she’s captured my heart.

I shrugged into my blazer, the smooth fabric settling comfortably over my shoulders. A sharp rap on the door drew my attention, and I turned to find Atlas poking his head in.

“What do you want, Atlas?” I ask, a hint of amusement tugging at my lips.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what we need. And what we need is your help,” he replies urgently, his eyes wide with concern. “Your wife is acting crazy.” I chuckle softly, grabbing my phone from the charger. “Do you really think I’m joking? I’m not,” he insists.

“Alright, Atlas. What do you need?”

“She won’t let anyone in the room, not even Aunt Coraline,” he explains, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Why?” I press, my brow furrowing with concern.

“Wedding nerves, maybe? I don’t know, but I’m not going through that door,” he shakes his head adamantly.

With a determined stride, I brush past him, making my way down the hallway toward her room. Adjusting my cufflinks with a practiced hand, I heard a commotion to my right. Aunt Coraline was banging on the door with eagerness.

“Alexandra Jones! Open this door now!” She demands, her voice laced with authority and worry. Aunt Coraline shifts her sight towards me, and gasps with relief as she rushes by my side. “I cannot do it anymore; do you hear me? I cannot do it! She better be out of that room and standing at the alter!” She raises her voice enough for Alex to be able to hear her.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s crazy, that’s what’s going on?”

“You’re crazy!” Alex screams out from the other side of the door.

“It’s alright, I will sort her out.”

“But you’re not supposed to look at her! It is bad luck!” Aunt Coraline whispers.

“I won’t, I’ll stay by the door.”

“I’m going to get a drink then.”

“You need it!”

“Oh, you little shit-”

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