EPILOGUE
SUNDAY MORNINGS IN THE SHOP were Gigi’s favorite. This was especially true now that the oppressive heat of August hung in the air like a steaming wet towel. Air conditioning made everything better. It allowed her to enjoy the sunshine filtering in through the front window dappling her skin as she lay stretched out on the fully reclined barber chair.
Most of the time he came in to paint while she stretched out on the chaise in their corner to read a novel. Last month she’d caught on that he’d been painting her—just as she was—in her pink tank top and shorts, with a book in her hand. He’d rendered her as if she were a casual goddess. It hung in his place, above the bed. She almost felt bad about it because he spent nearly every night in hers.
Today it was her turn to serve as canvas instead of subject. The satisfying hum of Roman’s tattoo gun mixed with today’s soundtrack of Sara Bareilles and Adele. Roman let her decide the music when they came in to expand her new art collection. It allowed her to drift out on the slow burn of the needle carving a path through her skin.
“How you holdin’ up, beautiful?” He looked over the top edge of his glasses, a sexy smirk halfcocked. She loved those glasses and often asked him to wear them to bed so he could give her just that look from between her thighs.
Gigi gave him a lazy smile. “You know…kind of blissed out right now. I’m glad we’re getting this finished though.”
Roman finally started working on the under bust tattoo she’d originally envisioned for herself. The lace like filigree, pink roses and chandelier swags of jewels, made her feel like a human piece of Faberge—her tattoo turned into so much more than she could have hoped. His illustrative style never failed to convey just the story she wanted told. They were taking their time, small sessions every now and again, so that she could savior the experience. For her she found the pain-pleasure paradox became a kind of meditation.
“Do you still think you only want ink where you can hide it? That really limits what I can give you.” He rubbed coco butter into the inflamed skin, soothing the last of her newly laid ink.
“I like that it’s our secret—something just for the two of us to enjoy.”
Roman sat back, beginning his station breakdown as he spoke. “What if I wanted to put one someplace others could see it? Something we’d both have?”
He was going somewhere with this. The months with him taught her that he led her along with subtle suggestion. He may talk gruff and use crude direct language at times, but he meandered methodically in getting what he went after, especially with her. He’d never been underhanded about it, just gently persuasive while taking the long way around. Having the time to learn him like this, intimately, and letting him know her had brought its own unexpected rewards.
She pursed her lips, considering. “I never gave a couple tattoo any thought before.”
“No names, I wouldn’t want that—it’s the kiss of death.” He peeled his gloves off and got down on the floor. Down on one knee. He took her hand and began toying with her left ring finger. “What about here.”
She blinked back tears. “Are you asking what I think you are?”
He reached down pulling something out of the pocket of his jeans. “Maybe, you could hide it with this.” Covering her hand with his own, she felt the warm metal slid up her finger radiated his body heat. “That way it’s still our secret.”
When he pulled his hands back, a pale green stone like a minty sea foam but bright and clear, rested on her finger. The grid of facets cut into the cushion shaped gem caught the light and shimmered along with its halo of diamonds. Even the subtle pink of the rose gold band resting on her finger struck her as lovely and elegant. An untraditional ring for an untraditional couple.
“Oh. My. God. Yes!” She slid off the chair and into his waiting arms.
Roman fell backwards onto his ass, chuckling between her kisses. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
“But I know the question.” She claimed his mouth for another quick kiss. “You were taking too long.”
“You’ll really marry me? I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”
Five months ago, she wouldn’t have thought the answer would be yes either. How could she blame him for thinking the same? “You’re the only man I could ever imagine taking that step with—the only one I can’t do without. If that doesn’t mean that I should marry you than nothing does.”
Gigi nibbled on his neck, already working her hands up under his t-shirt so that her nails gently scraped along his ribs. He shivered at her touch and she moved her hand down to his waistband, circling forward until she grasped the button at his fly. That’s where his hand closed over hers. She groaned her complaint and gave him her best puppy eyes.
He echoed her groan. “I know, beautiful. And we will, just not right now. We have dinner plans—see I had this whole thing worked out…”
“But wouldn’t you rather have me?”
Roman gripped her chin and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Always.”
That one word—such a simple clean word—coming from his lips, it made her ache in dirty ways that he hadn’t intended. Always held so much power especially now that should would have one.
His fingers trailed down her neck and breastbone, continuing down until he reached the leading edge of the ink he’d just finished. “If it depended just on me, you would already be draped across the desk in my office.” He laid a tender kiss on her lips, an apology kiss—she knew the difference now that she’d been in a relationship for the first time. “Let’s take care of your new tattoo. The sooner we go there, the sooner we can make it to your place to celebrate.”
That promise made her move. She was out of his lap, handing him the plastic and tape herself. “Well then shake it. I have needs.”
Roman had her covered and bustled out the door, straddling his bike in record speed. The grin on his face through the whole progression had one stretching her own normally serious expression to match the happy bubble she felt in her stomach. A wedding. She’d never even considered the possibility. But it was a happy one. If she wasn’t in a hurry to haul Roman home to bed, she would have asked him to head across town so that she could share the news with her mother.
They spoke every day now that Leslie had started the court battle to leave John. Lots of laughter and healing had taken place now that both women felt free to simply be. Her mother owned denim—something casual—and had started her own small business. Leslie never did lose those skills from college that John had tried to atrophy out of her so that she could be his perfect show wife.
The other half of that equation, John, thus remained convinced of his own shitshow. Gigi’s brother wasn’t speaking to their father either. When Jack came home at their mother’s request, he’d discovered the decline of the firm and started the process of transferring home so that he could take over with the full support of the other partners. Their father would not accede any of this without a fight. Gigi guessed they had only begun to see the aftershocks of her parents’ separation.
Riding on the high of the moment, they made good time and Roman parked the bike in the lot behind her building. Anticipation coiled low in answer to the vibrations of his Indian motorcycle and her own emotional high. For a moment, she thought Roman changed his mind and couldn’t wait to have her, but then he helped her down from her perch behind him. He took her hand and led her away from the lure of her apartment and the privacy of her living room—they’d never make it past the sofa the way she felt right now if they’d gone up.
“What are you up to?” Gigi asked breathless as they jogged across the street.
He grinned back at her, amber eyes glowing with that flame that fanned her own fires, but kept his thoughts to himself. Aggravating but typical. He may wear his emotions openly, but expressing them was another matter. Instead of words, he showed her every day. Now, he could only be headed one place. The question had been an unnecessary one. The bar where they began on a chance encounter—a Tinder match gone wrong—waited at the end of the block.
They came to an abrupt stop and Roman pushed her back against the wall, just outside the entrance of Red Barron. His lips crashed down over hers and that rush—the crazy feeling like she was coming apart and yet resonating in perfect tune just like she did under his needle, only all pleasure rather than pain—it crashed into her like the first time. Every time echoed through her like that. Even the soft kisses made waves instead of ripples. Now she would have this always.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “I should have chased you out of this bar that first night and stole you away from that douche.”
“I would have thought you were crazy. No—this is our story and I like it just fine. It’s lead to beautiful art.” She licked her lips and his eyes tracked the small movement with predatory lust. “If it makes you feel better, I did think about you that next day. I’d started to hope Chad would really stand me up.”
Roman closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m taking you in their now, before I combust and drag you back to your place. I want you to know—I’m not taking any responsibility for this part.” Before she had a chance to follow up on that statement, the door to the bar opened allowing laughter and the opening notes to a Journey power ballad to float out into the early evening.
Someone poked out his head and yelled back inside, “Their here!” It sounded like one of the guys from the shop, but she never had the chance to see before they ducked back in, taking the ambient sounds with them.
A burst of suppressed laughter bubbled out of Gigi. “Secret’s out now.” She pushed past Roman and jerked open the door herself. His hand at her waist, reminded her of his steady presence as she took it all in.
“She said YES!” Roman bellowed over the top of her head.
Everyone they knew erupted into cheers. They had quality not quantity but they showed up and they were loud. All the guys from the shop made it and the fighters from the gym that Roman hung out with, Declan who stood by giving sidelong looks to Ann who remained willfully oblivious, and of course Billy. Even her Mother stood front and center with a smile and tears that left lines on her face now that the Botox had stopped being necessary—not that it ever really was. Whoever was behind this—since Roman refused ownership—had thought of nearly everyone.
Ann broke from the group and enveloped Gigi in a hug that rocked her back into the solid wall of Roman behind her. “Let me see it!” She backed up and grabbed at Gigi’s hand, leading her further into the bar. “Roman! You did so good! I knew you two would be so amazing. Can I be in the wedding? Can I help plan? I know you like to do events but I’m the matchmaker I feel like I should have a hand in this. So can I please?”
Gigi’s face started to hurt from smiling so wide. Her precise and efficient friend, the devious schemer and career climbing badass had just come unglued like a kid. “Of course, you’re going to be my maid of honor.”
Roman’s voice cut through the laughter and happy chaos as Declan came up clapping Roman on the back and shaking his hand. “We couldn’t do this without my sister anyway. Or my best man.” He looked at Declan with one eyebrow raised and a knowing grin. Apparently devious ran in the family even without a blood tie. “You down with that, Declan? I’m not taking no for an answer, dude.”
“You caught me. How can I say no to that?” His expressed matched his words, liked he’d just walked into a trap instead of his best friend’s surprise engagement party.
Ann looked much the same. Her mouth open in a stunned little O of perfect nude lipstick, as if the implications of her initial excited request and weeks of matchmaking manipulation had caught up with her in an unexpected and unwelcome consequence and swallowed her whole.
Roman leaned down and whispered against Gigi’s neck so that his words made her skin tingle as his breath stroked her skin like one of his paintbrushes on a Wednesday. “Enjoy the show, beautiful—wait—Mrs. Bishop. It has a nice ring to it.”
Mrs. did have a lovely ring to it—and now so did Mr. Forever.
The End