Page 73 of Omega Artist
Her head swivels as she surveys the massive crowd that’s gathered at Sybil’s fiancé’s estate in Brittany. When her eyes are back on mine, she declares, “Yeah, I made up my mind. You’re definitely Jackie. She was a badass, too, in her own way.”
“Why, thank you, on both accounts. Jackie and Lana are both strong women, in my humble opinion.” I purse my lips before asking, “That was meant as a compliment, right?”
My best friend’s soft giggle is the first part of her answer. Then she clarifies, “Not sure I would have dated an older man myself, though.”
Ink. Phoenix. Dead spouse. Older man… Oblivious to the impact of her words, she keeps babbling on about every outfit, one snarky remark after another, while I suck in a breath to appease my troubled mind. I’ve kept the bittersweet memories of my American escapade well buried until today. For some reason, everything’s reminding me of the last day I spent with the man that I thought I’d intentionally tricked when I was too blind to see that he involuntarily duped me. My throat tightens and I move towards the expansive buffet. Sophie drones on and on but follows suit. I quench my sudden thirst with a Perrier while I’m uselessly checking out the catering staff; old habits die hard… It’s not as if I would ever cheat on anyone.
Smiling at Sophie’s antics, I wonder where Raphaël went.
“Okay, fine, I’m done being Joan.” She bows in front of me, and I applaud the end of her show when she catches me off-guard. “Holy shit! I’m not done yet. Let’s play Guess Me from Behind!”
“What are you talking about?” I enjoy Sophie’s upbeat spirit. She’s almost as romantic as I am, which says a lot about our friendship. Chuckling, I turn around and remind myself that there’s no harm in taking a peek. “Where?”
“Nine o’clock. Perfect ass. It seems to belong to your cousin’s plus-one. Call the cops, I’m shamelessly checking it out!” It’s not so much her words that intrigue me, rather her tone. Her excitement proves effective, and I notice that a couple of women nearby glance in the same direction. You see, Sophie and I have always been ass girls, and the lust that colors her comment increases my interest in said ass. I’m also curious as to which of my cousins landed a swoon-worthy man because, honestly, I haven’t spotted many that Sophie would approve of—in the ass department, that is.
It takes me a moment to translate the “nine o’clock” comment, but, then again, my immediate family isn’t in the military. When I eventually do, my heart skips a beat, my knees go weak, and a wave of dizziness overtakes me.
“Aliénor, are you okay?” Sophie’s fingers snap in front of my eyes, yanking me back to reality. “I told you!” she adds, amused, as I brazenly stare. I spy, with my little eye, a gloriously toned ass that I definitely recognize. I spy, with my little eye, twirling ink that only I know embellishes the back of his neck. I spy, with my little eye, soft waves of brown hair.
Fuck, I long to grab his butt…
Him… The hottest man on the planet—as well as the most considerate, the funniest, and the most in sync with me… My hand reaches back for the table for support as the ground seems to slip beneath my designer shoes. And here, I wrongly thought that there was no way I’d ever fall for the tattoo artist because, seriously, how could he ever meet the high standards I’ve set for the man of my dreams? Raphaël eerily fits the bill to perfection. We naturally clicked, and I convinced myself that this alone should be plenty. Yet, the undeniable spark between us will never be as all-consuming as it’d been with my omega artist, and my thoughts can’t help but return to Tig.
Fuck, I long to nuzzle his collarbone…
“You might want to close your mouth because you’re about to start catching flies. Come on…” She gestures for me to follow her, but I stay rooted in place, unable to proceed. “Let’s find out who Greer’s man is.” She snatches my wrist and starts marching, slowing every couple of steps to greet people, which lengthens the time to our destination. All the while, my legs are numb. My heart is racing. My eyes are stinging.
“Oh my fucking God! How?” My free gloved hand flies to my gaping mouth. I would recognize this man anywhere. His hair seems longer. His frame appears broader. His ass remains spectacular. It’s covered by the most formal pair of pants that I’ve seen him wear, aside from his attire at Mike’s wedding. I also regret that his beautiful tats are concealed under his suit jacket. “How is this possible?” My low, strangled voice comes out needy, even to me.
Sophie stops in her tracks and pivots to face me. “What?”
“Tig’s here.”
“What the hell isyourTig doing here?” After she read my post, I had to come clean and spill the beans. “With Greer, nonetheless!” Most of it, meaning the sex part, since I’m still struggling with my conflicted feelings towards him.
My feet weigh tons, so I don’t budge. “My point exactly.” My voice hitches.
I’m struggling to process what’s going on. They can’t seriously be togethertogether, right? She wouldn’t do that tome… And what about Sybil? What a clusterfuck! I look around in a feeble attempt to get my bearings and regroup. My stupid heart betrays me by thumping so hard I might combust. My maddening mind teeters between reasoning and derailing. My traitorous body chose its side from the start, leaving me eager and panting.
Fuck, I long to lick his ink…
Did I make a mistake by sticking to my original plan, like Father insinuated in his comment on my post? Whenever I remember that my overbearing father read my confession, my cheeks grow hot. Today is no exception. I heave a pained sigh. Did I have to dump my omega artist so that I could write about my mission on my blog? Would I have been able to make a point with a different outcome, as Father suggested? How can I stubbornly disregard how this guy made me feel the whole time? All in the name of a blog post. A post that prompted more comments than I can count, mostly from women. Some disparaging ones. More encouraging ones. Fewer praising ones. None from Tig, like I’d ridiculously hoped. On the other end, I doubt that he ever saw it anyway. I promptly blocked him from my social media once I ran from him.
I finally manage to put on a blank face I’ve perfected over the years. I hide the inner turmoil that’s been haunting me since I left a note on a pillow in the Hamptons. Yet one emotion overrides them all: I’m utterly jealous. I swallow the lump that’s taken residence in my throat.
Yes, Sophie was right, Ihadimpossible standards. I exhausted myself trying to unearth the perfect guy that matched them. I fancied myself independent and yet limited myself in my search for my Holy Grail of a man. Believing that I was free to make a choice. Overlooking the fact that I was subconsciously trying to both provoke and appease Father. Denying my true needs in the name of a self-appointed crusade to right the wrongs of this patriarchal world. I threw everything away because I had convinced myself that it had to be this way. My blog post was online. My omega artist was lost. My love life was nonexistent. So, Father offered me a way out. Raphaël was a good person who belonged in my world. Inviting him today made sense. He was an easier fit that made me settle for less. Life’s too short, right? And we’ve only got one.
The three of us are in this situation because ofme. Raphaël doesn’t deserve to be a rebound guy. I don’t deserve to be ruled by my fears. Tig doesn’t deserve anything but respect, fairness, and equity. We deserve to be happy.
And to think that I blamed Tig for not staying true to his word when I was the one who blindly strayed. Same goes for my feelings. We both claimed that we were strictly casual, but at least, he had the guts to confront his demons. I didn’t... up until now.
OMG, I’m in love with Tig de Luca.
What I witness next is almost more confusing than this revelation. Tig is hugging Sybil as if there was no history between them. As if they’d seen each other yesterday. As if she invited him to her engagement party.
From a distance, I watch Tig release my sister from his embrace. He and Greer have finished talking to the happy couple, and that’s when my sister’s eyes meet mine. He follows her gaze and shoots me a glance.
Within a few strides, he stands in front of me. Longing. Wanting. Needing. His intense stare undresses me, and I’m well aware that he’s taking in every inch of my currently clothed skin.
