After I’d made my next appointment, we left the studio side by side, but no longer touching. I longed to reach for his hand but held back. I glanced toward Maddox’s bike, desperately wanting to ride with him. And not just that, I wanted to go to his place with him, be alone with him, feel his body on top of mine, but I knew it was too soon.
He nodded with a wistful smile as if he could read my thoughts. “Call me when you need me again,” he said, hovering close to me before he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I could see it in his face that he wanted to do far more than that but he held back, respecting the boundaries I’d set and was already starting to regret.
“Why don’t you come over to meet my mom and little brother?” I asked when Maddox was about to turn back to his bike. I ignored the looks of consternation from the bodyguards. This was a decision I couldn’t really make. Dad was the master of the house and uber protective. The tentative peace between him and Maddox was only a day old, but I was desperate for Mom and Valerio to meet him. They wouldn’t judge Maddox by years of enmity.
Maddox gave me a sardonic smile. He’d probably noticed the guards’ expressions too. “While I’d love to meet your mom, I’m not sure I want to piss off your old man so early on, even if pissing him off really gives me a kick.”
I nodded, trying to mask my disappointment. I was feeling strangely lost and vulnerable at the moment. The raw feeling in my back brought back unwanted memories. Maddox stepped closer, tilting his head. His voice was low and full of concern, when he said, “If you need me, Marcella, I’m there, even if I have to knock your dad out, just say it.”
I shook my head, not wanting to appear weak. “Next time.”
Maddox frowned. “You sure?”
I nodded and took a step back, needing to pull out of the situation. “I should head back before my family worries.”
“I’m sure your guards keep your old man up to date,” Maddox muttered.
“Bye,” I said with a firm smile and got into the car.
Maddox didn’t stop watching me and I had half a mind to ask him to come after all. The car finally pulled away, taking the decision from me. My stomach flipped and my throat became tight. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so anxious and vulnerable because of the tattoo. I had chosen the design. It would cover up the horrible words Earl had marked me with.
This was supposed to make things better.
I managed to avoid my family when I came back by hurrying upstairs. Mom would console me, but she would also worry about me, and Dad would blame himself and then try to protect me even more, maybe even decide to keep me away from business after all. I didn’t want either outcome.
For a long time, I stared at the wrapping covering my back, torn between curiosity and trepidation. The tattooist had warned me that it would take several sessions to cover up the words. I wasn’t a patient person and this time patience seemed completely impossible. I glanced at the clock. It was almost six in the evening. Gianna would arrive with the pregnancy test soon. I wondered what kind of lie she’d tell my family for her visit.
“Marci!” Valerio shouted. He was the only one who shouted my name instead of just knocking at the door.
“Come in,” I said, glad for the distraction. I reached for the cardigan to pull it over but wasn’t quick enough.
Valerio barged in and immediately his gray eyes zeroed in on my back. They grew wide and he hurried over to me. “Can I see?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure how much of the words were still visible. Valerio had probably heard worse words coming from the mouths of Dad’s soldiers when they hadn’t noticed his presence, but I didn’t want to explain myself.
Seeing his pleading face, I caved. I nodded and sank down on the bed. “Can you help me remove it? But be careful, it’s still tender.”
Valerio leaped on the bed and kneeled behind me. I braced myself but he was surprisingly careful so I only felt the occasional tug. “Whoa,” he said.
I got up and moved toward the mirror to catch a glimpse at it myself. The tattooist had focused on covering up “whore” in this session and not touched the scribbled Vitiello. The points of the crown pierced the name in places and the base of it covered the insult. Most of today had been spent contouring but he’d begun to color the lower part of the crown. I could still read “whore” but a fleeting glance wasn’t enough anymore. Valerio climbed off the bed, his blond brows pulling together. I tensed as he scanned the tattoo closely.