55
SCAR
The tattoo artist set up shop in the living room, getting her chair in place and disinfecting all the surfaces. Irina’s request to have someone I trusted come to the mansion had come as a surprise.
I’d expected her to need more time to decide what she wanted to cover up the marks on her stomach, but something in the way she looked at me when she asked told me this was not something I wanted to fight her on.
There was a steely resolve there, which came from the inner strength of a woman who’d been broken and risen stronger than ever. She sat in the kitchen, chatting amicably with Ivory and Aoife while the tattoo artist got ready for her.
Yavin had taken to bringing his fiancée to the estate as often as he could, forcing the young woman to get to know the family she’d soon gain. Just as he’d been spending a great deal of time with her father and his men, learning the ropes of the organization he would run once Murphy was dealt with, Aoife had some adjusting to do.
Acquiring an Italian family was nothing to laugh at.
Fortunately, she fit in well with the other women. Particularly Ivory, since their business endeavors both leaned toward technology. Until she’d become Mrs. Bellandi, Ivory had run her own lucrative food blog that required her to have a basic understanding of computers and marketing, as well as an artistic eye for websites and photography.
Aoife’s chosen career in graphic design meant the two were frequently deep in conversation that drove their men up a wall with what they considered to be pedestrian and beneath the women they worshiped.
Even if Aoife did still want to cut off Yavin’s balls.
Their wedding was less than a month away, so she’d at least stopped trying to find ways to escape the obligation her father had thrust upon her. Considering she’d been betrothed to marry Tiernan Murphy himself, before Yavin had stepped in and agreed to marry her, she’d gotten off easy.
“I’m ready when she is,” Ada said, patting the arm of the chair dramatically.
I nodded, snagging Irina’s attention when she glanced my way. She heaved a sigh, spinning and lowering herself from the stool at the kitchen island.
“Good luck!” Ivory called, watching with a furrowed brow as Aoife moved to follow her. “What are you doing?” Ivory asked Aoife.
“Getting a tattoo,” Aoife said with a playful grin, smacking the fabric of her skirt covering her ass.
Yavin was going to kill me.
The two women made their way into the living room, Aoife watching as Irina lifted herself into Ada’s chair with a smile.
Ada grinned back, grabbing the drawing she’d prepared ahead of time according to whatever specifications Irina had given her. She raised it to show Irina, and I watched as my woman’s face shifted. Tears stung her eyes but her lips parted into a beaming smile as she nodded.
“It’s perfect,” Irina said, holding out her wrist for Ada to prep. She shaved and wiped the area down, then sketched with a marker on her skin.
“Wait, you aren’t covering up your scars?” I asked, staring at her in confusion.
Irina shook her head, her hand drifting to the area that had been so horrifically changed against her will. She would always be beautiful, but I knew how badly scars like that could ruin your self-image.
“No. Those are a part of me, and I’m going to wear them with pride. I survived that, and I came out the other side. Just like this,” she said, nodding her head down to the blue ink on her skin.
A phoenix rose from the flames on her wrist, a semicolon at the center of the fire. The phoenix I understood…
“The semicolon represents a place where you could have stopped, but you chose to go on instead. It means that my story isn’t over yet,” she said, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.
Aoife reached over and took her hand in hers, offering a show of silent support that I wished I was close enough to give, but I stayed on my side of the room, watching as Ada prepared her ink and started to tattoo the woman I loved.
Knowing without a doubt that she was the strongest person I knew, as she marked her skin with what some might consider a weakness or a failure.
She owned her imperfections, all the broken pieces that made her who she was.
And she rose from the flames.