Page 16 of All Your Firsts

“Keep telling yourself that. You sure she’s safe with you?”

Rosie turns around, her face twisting into a scowl directed right at us or, perhaps more specifically, at me. Her face contorts with anger, and you can almost see the hatred oozing from her pores.

“Damn, maybe I should be worried about her stabbing you in your sleep.” Ax laughs.

“I can handle her.” I shrug.

My eyes don’t leave hers as I walk back to my client. Before disappearing from her view, I leave her with a wink and a smirk.

I’m in complete and total hell, loving every minute of the burn.

Five

Rosie

True to his word, Vic makes me work Friday and Saturday with him. And by work, I mean sit down all day and only move to serve him his food.

Jess was understanding and said I could start when I was ready. I assured her, come Monday, I’d be there at the crack of dawn. Monday can’t come soon enough.

Sitting here reminds me of the etiquette classes I had to take as a child to become a brainless drone of a wife for my impending arranged marriage.

I remember staring at Mrs. Doubeaux as she practically hammered information into me but not seeing or hearing shit. My mind found faces, animals, and shapes in the crimson damask wallpaper just over her shoulder in our formal sitting room. Twenty hours a week over several years taught me the significance of silverware and its precise positioning. Find the perfect balance between being visible and unheard, skillfully conversing and gathering pertinent information for my future husband’sbenefit. The epitome of a Mafia Stepford wife, always perfectly put together and eager to please.

That was when I got the first itch to run, which only intensified as time passed.

“Well, I like this, but maybe we can change a few things. Like this, and this.” A customer is busy looking over Vic’s design.

I peek at the tablet and internally nod my head. He’s good at what he does. I’ve watched countless customers leave extremely satisfied with their new ink over the past couple of days. However, this customer has made him change the design three times. It wasn’t this, or it wasn’t that. I get it, though. It will be permanently inked into her skin, so it should be perfect.

I check out the fairly simple butterfly on a rose with a geometric pattern as the backdrop, but it’s missing more of the feminine touch she’s looking for, and the colors are wrong.

I look over at Vic, who’s irritated, but hiding it well, from his pinched brow and clenched fist at his side. You can tell this doesn’t happen often. Everyone else I’ve seen so far has loved their designs, and his portfolio on the coffee table is impressive, although I’d never tell him.

“Come back in around an hour. Let me fix a few things.”

She walks out, and I stand from my throne of boredom with a stretch I feel down to my toes.

“So, I was thinking...” I say as I look over at him.

“Oh, no,” Vic says in a mocking tone as he grabs his tablet and walks away.

I ignore his comment and chase him. “Maybe we can work something out...”

“Not interested,” he calls over his shoulder.

I grab his arm before he can walk any farther. He looks down at where my hand touches his skin. “Can you let me finish at least?”

“No.”

I continue anyway, not deterred by his dismissal. “Okay, great. So I was thinking I could draw her up something. If she prefers my drawing over yours, I’ll get to do something I want at some point and you can’t tell me no.”

“No,” he repeats for what seems like the millionth time before pulling his arm away.

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Why are you such a pain in my ass?”

“Because I want to do more than just sit around all day. I’m sick of it.”

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