Page 52 of Hidden Echoes

"Perfect," he repeated, staring at me in a way that made my stomach turn.

There was silence between us, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. I’d never had anything like it—someone looking at me with genuine interest, someone who wasn’t trying to manipulate me or use me.

Zane was… just there. With me. Accepting me for who I was, no questions, no judgment.

"Do you want to make another one?" he asked, his voice soft.

I smiled. "Are you going to let me?"

"I would let you do whatever you wanted."

That phrase hung in the air for a moment, a shiver cascades down my spine at his words, igniting something deep within me. But instead of thinking too much about it, I grabbed my gloves again and started preparing for the next tattoo.

This night is starting to soundfun.

CHAPTER 13

ZANE

My head is pounding when I wake up, and a strange grunt escapes from my throat. My body aches, every muscle sore as I slowly open my eyes, trying to take in my surroundings.

My room looks... fine. Too fine.

“Good morning, husband,” Mia says, her voice light and cheerful, as she flashes me a smile that only deepens my confusion.

What the fuck?

“Mia, what are you doing in my room?” I croak, struggling to sit up, trying to make sense of everything.

She looks perfectly at ease, wearing my shirt—no, not just wearing it—lounging in it. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and that sight is enough to finally drag me out of my groggy haze and into full-blown panic mode. What the hell happened last night?

Fuck.

Fuck.

I remember tequila. A lot of tequila. The beach. And then... nothing. It’s all a blur.

“What the fuck, Mia? How did this happen?” My voice is rough with disbelief.

“Well...” she says, staring at me for a moment, like she’s trying to figure out how to explain it. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?” I laugh bitterly, my head still spinning. “We were trashed last night.”

“I handle tequila pretty well. I’ve been drinking it since I was thirteen. Part of my training, you know? So I wouldn’t say I was that drunk,” she responds, casually shrugging, like it’s no big deal.

“Mia!” My voice comes out like a warning. “What the hell happened?” I asked, my voice still shaky with confusion.

"Isn't it obvious, silly? We got married," she says, her tone light and excited, as she proudly holds up what she calls our wedding ring—aka a cheap plastic one—I can’t help but stare.

Fuck my life.

I blink, trying to process her words, still feeling like I’m trapped in some kind of bizarre dream. “Wait, wait. You’re saying we got married in Los Angeles? Last night?” The idea of it doesn’t quite hit me until she nods, her expression so casual, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah,” she says with a little shrug, her fingers absently twisting the hem of my shirt. “Before, we went to the studio. You were, uh, pretty... ‘inspired’ by the tequila. But you were really sure about the tattoos. I didn’t want to push, but you were really convincing. So, we just went for it.”

“We went to the studio?” I ask, still trying to process the mess I’ve gotten myself into.

“Yeah. I did some pretty nice tattoos on you,” she grins mischievously, like she’s holding back a laugh. “Like that Dahlia on your arm. You know, for resilience, since you’re always acting like you're made of steel. And, uh… well, I wrote Mia right here," she says, tapping close to my groin, and fuck my fucking life. “And, of course, there’s the Hello Kitty tattoo on your ribs, because, honestly? I figured, hey, why not? It's cute!"

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