I pulled her against me and kissed her temple. “Perfect.”
When Dinara told her father about our decision that night, his excitement was limited. Not so much because she chose to marry me. I think he’d made his peace with me at this point, but he was appalled by the fact that his precious daughter would marry in a cliched chapel in Vegas. But he, like my family, had to accept our decision.
The next morning, Dinara and I followed Nino into a room that he’d prepared as a makeshift tattoo studio.
I was nervous if Dinara would like the tattoo I’d chosen. I’d searched the internet for days for possible options. Most of them were just tattooed rings but that would have been the too obvious choice. Dinara and I wanted something more subtle, not for everyone to see.
Nino pulled out the sheets with his design of our wedding tattoos. He pushed the sheet with the tattoo for Dinara’s palm over to her and the other sheet to me. Dinara scanned the drawing of an intricate lock in the shape of a heart then glanced over to my sheet with the matching key.
“Do you like it?” I asked when she didn’t say anything. She nodded with a slow smile. “Can you do something this delicate on a small scale like a finger?” she asked Nino, who frowned in response.
“I thought we could ink it into our palms. That way the key and the lock always merge when we hold hands. The downside is that tattoos in palms only last up to a year so we’d have to redo them regularly,” I said quickly. I hadn’t discussed this with her yet. It was meant as a surprise.
Dinara nodded immediately. “That’s actually perfect, because it means that we have to renew our vows every year.” She paused. “I feel bad that you’re the romantic in our relationship.”
“I’m glad your expectations are low when it comes to romantic gestures, trust me.”
Dinara and I exchanged a grin. Nino looked impatient. “So I assume you are both fine with me tattooing the designs into your palms?”
“Yes,” Dinara said, and I nodded.
“I should warn you that the palm is a tender spot and the tattoo is going to be at least uncomfortable, maybe even painful depending on your level of sensitivity.”
“I don’t think either of us is very sensitive to pain anymore,” I said dryly. I’d gone through torture at the hands of our enemy and more broken bones than I cared to recount during fights or race accidents. And Dinara had lived through enough shit as well. Not to mention that she had a nipple piercing, which Nino of course didn’t know.
“Who wants to go first?”
“Me,” Dinara said without hesitation and thrust her hand at Nino who disinfected it thoroughly.
He took the tattoo needle but didn’t begin right away. “If you need me to stop, just say so.”
Dinara nodded but she didn’t say anything as Nino tattooed the intricate design into her palm, only watched with fascination. While I admired my brother’s tattoo art, my gaze often wandered to Dinara’s gorgeous face, unable to believe that we’d actually say yes to each other today. When Nino was done, she held up her hand between us. The skin was red but it was obvious that my brother had created something magnificent.
“Your turn,” Nino told me.
I held out my hand but didn’t take my eyes off Dinara who gave me a small smile. When the needle pierced my skin, I twitched once. It was uncomfortable like Nino had said, but nothing close to the pain I’d felt before, only this time the end result was worth every second of discomfort.
After Nino was done with my tattoo, he nodded in satisfaction before he turned into warning mode again. “Try to keep the wounds clean and no hand-holding or tattoo merging in the next few days. The result will suffer if you get an infection.”
“We’ll behave,” I told Nino sarcastically.
He gave Dinara a look. “I hope you’re the sensible of the two of you.”
“I love racing and got my belly pierced in a dingy back-alley place that also sold second-hand cell phones.”
Nino sighed and got up. “I think you two are a good match.”
“We are,” I agreed.
Three hours later we stood in front of an Elvis imitator after all. Dinara and I had chosen matching outfits of our favorite leather jackets, ripped jeans, and white tees, no fancy shit. But I’d stuffed a white rose into the pocket of my jacket and Dinara held a bouquet of white roses in her hand. A single flower was also woven into her red hair, creating a beautiful contrast.
After we’d said our vows and kissed longer than was appropriate, I carried Dinara out of the chapel and toward my BMW. I lowered her into the passenger seat, then gave her another lingering kiss before I closed the door and took my seat behind the wheel. “Ready for happily ever after with me?”