Page 81 of Claiming His Throne
I shake my head. “He loves her.”
“And I love you,” Alfie insists. “Shit, I need to get you a ring.”
“I don’t need a ring.”
“Are you fucking with me? I need you to have the biggest fucking rock on that finger. Something that’s visible from space, so every fucker who looks your way will know you are mine, even the aliens.”
“We’re going to circle back to thisalienthing. But I have an idea that’s better than a diamondifyou’re brave enough,” I suggest.
Alfie has tattoos all over his body. I doubt he’s going to care about coming with me to a tattoo shop. We’ve also got each other’s initials scarred onto our skin. Whenever we’re in bed, Alfie’s fingers absently trace over that letter A just above my hip.
“Okay. Show me what you have in mind.” Alfie rises to his feet and holds out a hand.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The last place I was expecting Molly to take me to was a tattoo parlor. I’m obviously no stranger to tattoos. I have, however, inspected every inch of Molly’s flawless skin and she certainly does not have any ink. I know better than to question her decision-making, though, especially since she seems like she’s in a really good mood. Which is why I stand nextto her, with her hand gripped in mine as she walks up to the counter.
“Little Molly Olive, what brings your finery into a lowlife place like this?” the guy behind the counter says. I’m about to open my mouth and educate him on how to speak to my fiancée when Molly beats me to it.
“One time, Jude. I said your shop was for lowlifes one time. Seven years ago. When are you going to let it go?” She tugs her hand free and walks around the counter. Then the two of them are hugging.
What the fuck?
“Never,” the guy I now have a name for—Jude—says. “But seriously, what are you doing here?”
“I want something,” Molly tells him.
“I figured it wasn’t a social call. Still haven’t learned to let your hair down and relax, Mol?” Jude asks her.
I clear my throat, getting Molly’s attention. I don’t like her being closer to another man than she is to me. Molly turns. “Sorry. Jude, this is my… fiancé, Alfie,” she explains.
“Fiancé? Well, shit, Mol. Guess you did learn to relax a little. Congrats,” Jude says.
“Jude and I were neighbors growing up,” she tells me.
“Neighbors? I would have said friends, but Mol here doesn’t like to admit to anyone that she spent time hanging out with people who, as she says, were going nowhere.” Jude laughs.
Molly squints her eyes at him. “I never said you were going nowhere. I said you needed to stop with the street graffiti and think about turning your art into a money-making machine. Which you have. So, you’re welcome, by the way.”
“We were fourteen, Molly.”
“It’s never too early to plan your future,” Molly hums. “Anyway, will you ink something on me or not?”
“I thought you’d never ask. What do you want?” Jude says.
I watch Molly’s face, wondering if she really wants to do this and what the hell she’s going to get.
“I want an engagement ring,” she announces while pointing to her ring finger. “Right here. Can you draw a band with a round solitaire diamond? Line-art style.”
“You want a tattooed ring? What happened? Did you lose all those billions already?”
“No, you idiot. I want something that I can never lose, and I want something permanent,” Molly says.
“Okay, come on back.” Jude walks through a door.
Following closely behind Molly, I scan the room. It looks clean. I’ve been in my share of tattoo shops, and as much as I’m not stupid enough to tell Molly she can’t do something, I was never going to let her get inked in a dodgy fucking studio.
“Nice place,” I say. “Did you draw all these?” The walls are painted with murals—really fucking good murals.
