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“How does it look?” I ask, worrying my lower lip.
But he’s not faking that grin. “It’s beautiful, Sinclair. You’re going to love it, trust me.” Then, of course, he has to come and help me finish sitting all the way upright. I slide my hand around to rest on my stomach as he shifts me, letting out a little grunt of discomfort as all the weight I’m not used to carrying shifts. I feel a little wriggle in my belly, and I run my hand over my skin to let the baby know everything’s all right.
Just another few months, and then I can finally get this kid out of me. Maybe then my lower back will stop its constant low-grade ache.
“You really are brave as hell,” Ankor murmurs, close to my cheek, before he turns to kiss my jawline lightly. Then he helps me stand, and I lean on him until I catch my balance.
Nobody warned me about that. About how my center of gravity would change. I was clumsy enough already; now I’m a nightmare. But when I turn around and accept the hand-mirror the tattoo artist passes to me, so I can admire the tattoo on my shoulder, I forget about the pain it took to get here. My lips part, and I can’t hide the smile that breaks across my face.
“It’s beautiful.”
On my shoulder, there’s now a cresting blue wave, with a passion flower cupped inside of it. Exactly like the flower Ankor once tucked behind my ear, on our first real date. The first time he risked taking me out to a restaurant in town, so publicly. The first time we were spotted as a couple, which led to everything that followed. It led to him finally deciding that he was ready to stop hiding. It led to him asking me to come back to live his life in New York by his side. It led to me forgetting about my fears and my past—deciding to stop letting them define me.
It led to me coming here with Ankor, and becoming Mrs. Helmtree, in a small, beautiful private ceremony at his parents’ place in the Hamptons just over a year ago now.
It led to my whole life. Everything I’d ever dreamed of.
It led to the baby in my belly now. To our future family.
Ankor rubs my shoulder gently, careful not to touch the new tattoo, the ink still glistening and fresh. There are a couple of beads of blood around the edges, but aside from some reddish skin, it doesn’t even look that angry. “I love it.” Ankor smiles at me. “Do you?”
“It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted.” I flash the artist a huge grin. “Thank you again.”
While Ankor pays the bill, the artist explains aftercare to me. Honestly, after all the books I’ve been reading about all the newborn care I’ll have to be doing for this baby soon, taking care of the tattoo sounds like it will be a piece of cake. Wash it a few times a day, put on proper moisturizer, try not to sleep on it the first few nights.
Easy.
When he releases us, we don’t make it even two steps out of the shop before Ankor stops me and turns me around to admire it again. “You took that like a champ, you know.” He leans in to kiss my shoulder gently, just above the clear bandage the artist applied to the tattoo before I left.
I turn to kiss his mouth. “Hopefully birth will be the same. The anticipation more terrible than actual pain during the event.”
“Let’s hope so.” Ankor runs a hand over my hair, then kisses my forehead, before we both turn toward the car. “Either way, my warrior can do anything. Or should I start calling you my passion flower now?”
“Careful.” I spin around to face him, just as we reach the car. I run my hands up his arms before I drape them around his neck. “I hear tattoos are addictive. Maybe next I’ll wind up getting a big ax over my backside.”
“Mm.” Ankor runs his hands down my sides. “What next, will you get a tramp stamp?” He’s grinning, as he backs me against the car. My ass collides with the door, and he pins me against it, his hands running lower. He runs them over my belly, leaning down to kiss me, hard, as his hands slide back and forth across my belly.
I moan a little against his lips, loving the feeling of his hands on me. When we break apart, I grin up at him. “Maybe. A tramp stamp that says Brave Warrior.”
“Perfect.” He’s smirking. His hands are still pressed against my belly. He leans down to nip at my earlobe gently, his teeth grazing my skin, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp, as he whispers, “I put that baby in you.” His breath is hot against my ear, making my skin tingle, my nerves catch on fire.
