Chapter 12

Easy to Love

The tattoo needle pricked my skin, sending jolts of electricity up and down my arm. It wasn’t extremely painful as I’d assumed it would be. It was rather exhilarating, and dare I say a bit arousal inducing. Or that could have been because I had a hunky man sitting at my side, holding my hand and whispering sweet nothings to me in French. Those two things together were quite titillating.

Celine and I had chosen to get something deeply meaningful and had the design placed where we could see it every day. In light of the fact that we would be saying our goodbyes tonight, I wanted that physical reminder of her and our friendship.

Christophe had come up with the most amazing idea. Instead of getting our wedding date, since that technically also involved our husbands, he’d suggested something artful. He’d had the tattoo artist get an ink pad. Celine and I placed our thumbs onto it, and then Christophe positioned our hands in such a way that when we pressed our fingers onto a piece of paper, it created a heart shape made out of our thumbprints.

Nothing could have been more perfect.

We chose to place the fingerprint heart on the inside of our biceps on our left arms, closest to our real-life hearts. It was also a location we could easily hide if we desired.

“You dying over there?” Celine called out from the booth next to the one I sat in.

“Living the dream,” I answered truthfully while I looked at Christophe, his gorgeous hazel eyes beaming with something I hoped was akin to love. He lifted my free hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. He’d sat on my right side, while the artist was on the left, me seated in between them.

“My brave wife,” he murmured.

I winced as the needle struck a particularly tender spot and watched while Christophe reacted to my pain by kissing my hand as he continued to speak French, some of which I was able to catch.

Beautiful.

Kiss.

Courageous.

Kiss.

Loyal.

Kiss.

Mine.

Kiss.

He bathed my hand and wrist in featherlight presses of his lips, somehow making me forget entirely about the tattoo needle and the artist creating an image on my skin. I only had eyes for Christophe.

My husband.

I still couldn’t believe I’d been married and was completely falling in love with him within just a few days. He was that wonderful. Open, honest, attentive, considerate, compassionate. He walked through life with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. He rarely spoke harsh words and wasn’t easily angered.

“Tell me about how you were raised?” I asked, figuring it must have shaped him into the remarkable man I’d begun to know well.

He interlaced our fingers and set his head against my hand as though he was holding me, and I him at the same time. He seemed to want to touch me often. Not like Darren pawed at Celine, but with reverence and adoration. I wasn’t used to such a thing, but I wasn’t about to stop it. I craved that feeling of being desired and wanted, yet not in the lustful way, but in an intimate one that went beyond sex.

True intimacy.

“What would you like to know?” he asked.

“Anything you want to share.”

He nuzzled my hand with his cheek and closed his eyes before he spoke. “My mother was an art teacher. Taught me the basics very young. She was unearthly beautiful and didn’t know it. You and she have that in common.”

My cheeks heated, but I let the compliment fill my heart instead of denying it.

“My father doted on her. Always wanting to see her smile and make her laugh. Reminded me regularly that if I was lucky enough to have the love of a good woman, I’d be rich beyond words every day of my life. He taught me to respect women as my equals and to always right a wrong when I had the means and power to do so.”

“That’s very noble,” I offered.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Though I don’t see anyone as being better or worse than anyone else. We are who we are. I was taught to appreciate the differences in people around me because that’s what makes the world so interesting.”

I smiled, loving the ease with which he spoke. His voice was mesmerizing.

“Let’s see… My mother loved color. Our houses were never left with white walls.” He playfully shivered and I chuckled. “They were always filled with art, books, plants. Things she believed moved the soul into creating. She claimed her muse was a fickle thing but when she paid attention to it and worked with it, she created something magical.”

“Then how can I be your muse if it lives within you?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“A muse helps one create. As I mentioned, mine has been silent. For too long, I felt hollow inside. After my parents were gone, my muse left me.”

“Then you saw me on stage?” I swallowed down the sudden emotion.

He dipped his chin. “And then I saw you. It sounds like a movie or a dream sequence, but there was a halo of light around your entire body, and when I looked into your eyes, I saw it.”

“What did you see?” I held my breath, desperate to know what he’d seen.

“My future. With you.”

“Christo…” I whispered, my heart pounding a mile a minute within my chest as his gaze heated, swirling with desire and something more.

“I like this little name,” he purred, his voice raw and gravely.

“Nickname,” I corrected, smiling.

“ Oui. Christo . It sounds like melted chocolate coming from your tongue.” He licked his lips, making me want to kiss them.

I inhaled sharply as his pupils dilated.

“All done,” the tattoo artist announced, breaking the moment.

“Wow. Really?” I glanced at my inner arm and saw the two thumbprints melded together to make a stunning heart.

“It’s amazing, I love it!” I gushed. “Let’s see Celine’s,” I said, with giddy excitement.

Christophe and I thanked the artist and went to Celine’s booth. He was just pulling off his black gloves as she stared down at the design.

“It’s awesome! Now we’ll always have one another with us!” she exclaimed, bouncing out of the chair and showing me her tattoo.

“Wait! Let me capture this memory,” Christophe stated, pulling out the trusty camera from his bag.

Celine and I held our arms out so he could see the artwork as we smiled for the picture. He snapped a couple and then grinned. “I think it’s time to get you back to your husband.”

Celine wiggled where she stood. “Can’t wait to see what my husband thinks of my ink! If he’s happy, we’ll have great sex. If he’s unhappy, we’ll have phenomenal sex.” She winked.

I knew Celine and her personality well. Better than anyone else in the universe. What was so disheartening was that she believed what she spouted. Maybe I was wrong and being judgmental? Just because I didn’t care for Darren’s personality and crass behavior didn’t mean there wasn’t another side to him. One that he showed my best friend and no one else. That was certainly possible.

It was still hard to wrap my head around. My first instinct was to run from any relationship that came with bruises on my cheek and wrists. And yet, she seemed genuinely excited to go back to him.

We exited the shop while Christophe paid for the tattoos.

“This will be the last time we’ll see each other for a long time.” Celine sighed and looked up at the night sky.

I nodded, not sure what to say. There was too much. Years of being together. Through highs, lows, ups and downs, there had always been Celine.

“How will I live without you every day?” I admitted, tears filling my eyes.

She wiped at her own eyes and sniffled. “You’ll look at the tattoo.” She came closer and I showed her my inner bicep. She lightly placed her thumb over her print that had been covered in ointment and clear wrap. “When you feel alone or are missing me, just place your thumb right here, and I’ll feel it. Wherever I am, no matter where I end up, a piece of me will always be right here. With you. The first person I ever loved with my whole heart. My sister. My best friend. My Alana.”

I reached out and placed my thumb lightly over my print on her inner arm. “And a piece of me will forever be with you. My sister. My best friend. My Celine. I’ll love you always. You know that, right?”

She smiled so huge I could see most of her teeth. “I’m easy to love.”

I pulled her into a hug so tight I wanted our souls to merge together. “Yes, you are.”

“I love you too, Alana.”

* * * *

Christophe and I were both silent as we dropped off Celine and then went back to our hotel. He removed his dress shirt and undershirt and tossed them in a chair in the corner before walking into the closet. I dropped my clothing where I stood, grabbed his T-shirt, and slipped it over my head. His rich, earthy scent instantly eased my sorrow as I crawled into bed.

The tears came before he could finish turning out the lights. In the dark of night, he slipped in beside me and tugged my body against his furnace-like warmth. I tucked my face to his chest and cried a river, the loss of Celine in my day-to-day life breaking my heart in half. It’d become all too real the second we dropped her off as I’d hugged her for the tenth time, not wanting to let her go, but knowing I had no choice.

So, I cried.

And cried.

I cried for so long, I fell asleep within the safety and protection of my husband’s arms.

Would Celine have the same?

I’d never know.