Page 28 of The Tattoo Artist

“But you’re an exception,” he interrupts, surprising me yet again.

His eyes lingers on me.

The tattoo machine hums softly in the background, a constant reminder of the purpose that brought us together. Yet, in this small, intimate space, it feels like there’s something more, something unspoken, hanging in the air.

As our eyes lock, I see a mixture of emotions swirling in his gaze — curiosity, desire, and a touch of vulnerability. It’s a side of him that I hadn’t expected to witness, and it leaves me breathless. For a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it’s just the two of us, entangled in a dance of unspoken words and electric attraction.

But as quickly as the moment arrived, it fades away. Ares resumes his work, his fingers gently guiding the tattoo machine across my skin, leaving me with a tingling sensation.

After what feels like a few hours of tattooing, Ares finally stops the machine and sets it aside. He picks up a wipe, gently grazing it down the fresh tattoo to remove any excess ink. “Have a look,” he says, and I immediately stand up, eager to see the final result in the mirror.

As I gaze at the butterfly tattoo between my breasts, my heart swells with delight. It’s even more beautiful than I imagined. Ares stands next to me, leaning his back against the wall, watching my reaction with a small smile.

“Just like you wanted,” he confirms, and I can see the pride in his eyes.

I gently reach for his hand and compare the tattoo to the one on his hand; it’s a perfect match. He really did draw it himself. “I have to pay you, Ares. I put you through hell,” I say, feeling a sense of guilt for taking up so much of his time and energy.

I slide on my dress halfway before he stops me.

“You don’t need to pay me,” he replies, shaking his head. Ares then grabs a roll of black cling film and crouches down in front of me. I watch as he carefully covers the tattoo with the film, ensuring it’s protected and will heal properly.

His hand brushes against my jaw as he lifts my face to meet his gaze. “I love it, Ares,” I say, unable to contain my excitement.

“You know, many girls come asking for the same tattoo on my hand,” he admits, and my heart sinks a little. I knew this was a bad idea. What if I’m just like all the other girls? What if Catherine asked? But then he continues, “and I said no to every one of them, except you.”

I guess I am different to him.

It feels weird.

It feels right.

He stands and gently raises my dress; I slide my arms in, and he comes behind me to zip it up.

“Have you eaten?”

A mischievous grin spreads across his lips. “Not what I want to eat,” he teases.

“We can go to this place downtown; they sell the best wraps...on me. Since I didn’t pay for the tattoo,” I suggest, hoping to ease the tension between us and return to a lighter mood.

His smile widens, and he nods in agreement. “Sounds good, butterfly. Lead the way.”

CHAPTER TEN

ALEXANDRA JONES

IPUSH THE DOOR TO THE DINER OPEN AND THE

bell above rings, announcing our arrival.

The place is seriously packed, and I squeeze in, holding onto Ares’ hand tightly so we don’t lose each other in the crowd. He tightens his grip around me, making me feel safe and secure. We make our way to the register where we place our orders.

“I usually get the chicken wrap; it’s really good,” I say, pointing to the picture on the menu. The noise from the other customers makes it hard to be heard, Ares tips his head down for my lips to meet his ears as I repeat what I said.

His lips curl into a smile, and we wait our turn in line.

When it’s our turn to order, Mike, the owner of the restaurant, greets me warmly, but his expression changes as soon as he sees Ares standing beside me. Ares stares back at him, giving a slight nod.

Mike seems nervous and stammers for a moment. “U-Usual Alexandra?”

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