Page 62 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
The man behind the counter clears his throat. “Are you going to take her through, then, Rocco? You’ve got work to do.”
“Oh yeah. Course. My studio’s this way.”
I flash the other man a grateful smile. I feel as though we’d have been standing here staring at each other for hours if someone hadn’t intervened. I can’t tear my gaze away from Richard’s—no, Rocco’s—back as he leads me through to his studio. He’s certainly filled out over the years. He’d been a strong, lean teenager from years of outside activity, but nothing like he is now. I note all the tattoos running across his arms and wonder how much of his skin he has tattooed. The idea sends mixed emotions through me. I’d loved his skin when we’d been teenagers. We’d always been outside, on the beach, mainly, and he’d always tanned to a deep, honeyed brown. We’d often laughed, putting our forearms side by side to compare the difference in our skin tone. With my auburn hair and pale skin, I never went anything more than a slightly darker shade of pale. Then I would press my nose and lips against his smooth shoulder, salty from the sea and warm from the sun, and inhale the scent of him.
I step into the room that’s his studio and look around. Will this place tell me more about the man he’s grown into? I check the desk which holds the computer, wondering if there will be framed photographs of him with a girlfriend, or maybe even a couple of kids smiling back at them, but there’s nothing like that.
“Sit down, please,” he says, pointing to a plastic chair opposite his own.
I give a nervous smile and drop into it, placing my bag on the floor beside me.
He puts both his hands to his face, hiding his mouth. “Fucking hell, Sophia. I can’t believe it’s really you. I mean, I saw your name on the computer, and I was trying to convince myself there must be plenty of Sophia Alexanders in the world. But then I walked out, and it was you.” He gestures to me. “I mean, clearly it’s you.”
“I know. I can’t believe it either. You look so different.” I shake my head. “It’s weird, ’cause you kind of look exactly the same, but you look really different, too.”
He laughs. “Well, youdolook exactly the same. What happened to you, Sophia? All those years ago, you just upped and left, and I never heard from you again.”
I rub my arms, subconsciously hugging myself. “It was my parents. They moved away suddenly, and I had to go with them.”
“But you could have come back. You were seventeen. You could have visited. I had no idea where you’d gone, and you didn’t answer my calls or messages.”
I remember the night when I’d got back home after a day on the beach to find my house in boxes. My parents had announced they were moving, that my dad’s job was under threat unless he was able to start at the new location the very next week. I remember screaming and crying and threatening, but it had done no good. And I remember running over to Richard’s house, throwing myself into his arms and crying against his chest as I’d told him I was leaving.
“I know, and I’m sorry. Other stuff happened, and life just kind of got away on me.”
His lips twist. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, though,” I say, trying to make my voice brighter. I don’t want him to know what the years have been like for me.
He nods. “Things have been all right. How about you? What have you been doing all these years?”
“Oh, not much.” I give a tight smile and glance away, not knowing how to answer his question. I want to change the subject. “Are we going to do it, then?” I say instead.
His deep-brown eyes widen at my words. “Do it?”
“The tattoo,” I remind him, my cheeks flushing as I realise his mind had jumped to something else.
He gives his head a slight shake. “Oh yeah, of course.”
He turns back to the computer and pulls up my image. “This is the one, right?”
I smile and nod. “That’s right.Chikara,” I say in Japanese. “The symbol means strength.”
“And where do you want it?”
“On the outside of my right ankle, about this big.” I hold up my fingers to show an inch space between them.
“That’s no problem. It won’t take long. The ankle can hurt, though.”
“I have a high pain threshold.” I’ve needed to have, over the years.
“Hop up on the bed, then.”
3
ROCCO
Itry not to stare as Sophia pulls up her long skirt to reveal a smooth calf and a delicate, shapely ankle. It almost seems a shame to mark that skin with ink, but then I realise it means she will always have something I created with her.
