Inked Love: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Cassidy London

  Eventually, my parents and Jason got back to small talk. My dad’s praise for Jason’s accomplishments at the office was like a constant drip of sickly, sweet honey. They continued chatting until dessert, the three of them completely oblivious to me even being there.

  The rage inside me continued to build. Bubbling under the surface, beneath my constant submissive smile. Buying my time waiting for the perfect moment.

  Finally, when they were deep into a discussion over who would be invited to the wedding, I made my move.

  “Jason…” I said loudly, staring right at him.

  “JASON!” I called out even louder. A fork fell with a clatter to the floor as their heads whipped around in my direction.

  I sucked in as much air as I could and pushed my chair back. My chest was heaving and my palms were sweating. It was now or never. “I’m not going to be your little woman anymore. It’s over between us. I’m leaving you. I’ll be out of the condo by the weekend. And for all of your information…I’ve decided to move to Montreal.” I spat it all out in one shot. Like a foul taste that had been in my mouth just a second too long.

  I looked around the table. My mother was staring at me, her eyes once again filling with tears of shame. Only this time, it didn’t affect me in the least. I felt nothing. My eyes scanned over to Jason and my dad. Like two statues they just stared at each other, motionless. The blood had run from Jason’s face. As if all of his business hopes and dreams suddenly were thwarted.

  I knew I couldn’t wait for a response. For once, there was silence. I pulled off the hideously huge, diamond ring and threw it across the table. It clattered against the plates like a pebble before falling into the silence of the carpeted floor. Grabbing my purse, I headed for the door. The eyes of the entire restaurant boring into my back. Waiters, patrons, the maître d’...all staring at the girl who’d made a scene. Well, fuck them all.

  I had been a pawn in their hands for too long. I marched out; my head held high and hailed a cab on the street. Surprisingly, I was giddy with excitement. Where I had expected tears, there were none.

  Perhaps I had already cried too many.

  Chapter 6

  Two days later, the thrill of the moment had gone. Doubled over with my hands gripping my stomach, I waited as another wave of nausea came over me. This day was either going to be the beginning or the end of me. As it passed, I took the opportunity to heave another massive suitcase into the back of my white Jeep. Just keep moving Lexi, I muttered to myself. Catching sight of my reflection against the car, I made an effort to adjust my pink blouse and run my fingers through my short, messy hair. This new haircut that had looked amazing when I left the salon, was supposed to be very “wash and go”. Except I wondered if that meant “wash and go back to the salon for styling”. I felt more like a shaggy dog than the edgy, confident woman from just a few days ago. I’d have to figure out what to do about that…

  None of this was helping though, and honestly it didn’t even matter. More action, less thinking. Thinking only led to pain and pain was definitely not on the agenda for today. Today was my fresh start.

  New city, new life. Repeat. New city, new life. Repeat.

  I pushed away the dark memories that kept entering my mind and forced myself to imagine a different scene. One where I made my own decisions and chose my own path. No one would ever control me again, least of all in the name of love.

  Nausea twitched in my belly, threatening to strike.

  Leaving Toronto might just kill me but I knew it had to be done. I had no choice really. There was nothing left for me here.

  As I put the last bag into my trunk, my phone buzzed for the third time that morning. This time, I just shrugged my shoulders and threw it in amongst the suitcases. They could keep on calling and texting all they wanted but I wasn’t coming back. Besides, if any of them really cared, maybe they would have shown up in person to try and stop me.

  Nope, this was my time to head up the 401. I laughed to myself. Typically, people made the journey in the other direction, towards Toronto in search of a life void of la langue française. Yet, here I was running towards it.

  Growing up in Toronto, bilingualism had always seemed like such a useless skill to me, until now. That’s assuming I still remember what I learned in school. But at least my parents had given me something positive. There wasn’t much in that regard, so I’d have to take what I could get.

  In any case, despite my very basic knowledge of the language, I had decided that there was no better place to find myself than amongst the artistic European charm and laissez faire attitudes of les Montréalais.

  Both my parents and the jackass had always hated Montreal. Where I had great memories of the city, they used to say it was a smoke-filled city filled with people who were more concerned about arguing over signage than real world issues.

  That wasn’t how I remembered it though…

  We had gone there one summer for a family wedding when I was a teenager and I clearly remembered a sparkly light filled terrace on cobblestone streets overlooking a bustling port. There were circus performers and musicians entertaining the crowds under the old-world lanterns. The city had a vibe unlike anything I’d ever seen. That feeling had stayed with me all these years. Thinking back to that moment, I felt peace. Smiling through to my ears, I knew Montreal would be the right choice for me.

  Although I didn’t have a job yet, I had sent out a ton of résumés in the last week. It was only late spring though. So hopefully there were still some temporary summer positions available. Plus, I did have Angela.

  Angela Tilman was my best friend from high school. We had been inseparable for years as teens and had still managed to stay close despite the fact that she’d left the city when she turned eighteen. She now ran an Airbnb out of a small condo in one of the trendier areas of Montreal. Ang always said she’d been made for Montreal. Her mother was originally from the city and Angela had always felt more at home within the French culture. Thanks to her, I’d now have a few weeks of free rent, hopefully secure a job quickly and from there, I’d be able to turn my life around.

  I took a deep, cleansing breath. I could do this. Out of habit, my fingers went to my hair, searching for a long strand to twirl. Finding nothing, I pulled myself up and shook out my hair with resolve. This was fucking scary as all hell but I wasn’t about to turn back now. I got in the driver’s seat, clicked my seatbelt and typed Montréal into my GPS.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter 7

  I glanced at the time, it had only been three hours since I’d left the city but my stomach was already rumbling. The nausea had been replaced by a persistent reminder that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. That and my gas tank were already running low. Luckily, I was nearing Kingston and that meant Pita Pit.

  Yum.

  I had done this drive many times before. A handful of times as a child but those weren’t the times that stuck with me. My best memories? Those were the ones when my friends and I would skip school on a Friday morning to get a head start on a long weekend. In Ontario, the legal drinking age was nineteen, and the rules were strictly enforced. Montreal however, was to drinking like it was to everything else. Fucking chill. As long as you didn’t get caught, no one seemed to care. Eighteen was their legal age but if you could pass for the picture on your fake ID, and had money to spend, you were in. I had only been able to get out of my parents clutches twice to do it, but memories of those two crazy weekends were forever etched in my mind.

  Kingston was the halfway between the two cities and it was known in our teen years as the “meet up point” when we were traveling in a few different cars. Everyone knew the Pit. Although it was a chain, this particular one was special. It signified our last healthy snack on the way to a weekend of greasy food and beer or our first detox meal on the way home. The Pit was full of memories of laughter and fun. A smile came across my face as I parked my Jeep.

  The sun was shining and the air was warm. Unusually warm
actually for late April. Hopefully that was a good sign. Must mean it was going to be a hot summer. Un été chaud à Montréal. I smiled to myself as I pulled off my jean jacket. It took all of ten minutes to order my pita, then I was back on the road.

  As I drove back towards the highway, my phone buzzed from the trunk where I had thrown it earlier. And then right next to me in the front. Damn Bluetooth. Jason’s number came across my GPS screen and I hesitated. Did he want to apologize? Ask me to come home? Deny my mother’s claims? He certainly hadn’t done any of those things to date. So why now? I had to know. So, against my better judgment, I picked up.

  “Hey” I answered casually.

  “Lex…listen, I know you’re mad and you’re off on this thing right now but you have to know that I do love you. I mean we’re just perfect for each other. The right fit. Everyone says so.”

  He sounded deflated, he was almost begging.

  “Jason, I don’t have time for this. Is this the only reason you called me?” I answered forcefully. His pathetic tone was making me stronger.

  “No…not really, I mean…” he was stumbling over his words. Then paused. So very not like Jason.

  Suddenly he inhaled sharply. “I thought you’d want to know that your mom is taking care of all the planning.” His tone was stronger now, more commanding. Much more jackass-like.

  Now he had my attention. “What? What. Fucking? Planning? Jason?”

  “Lex, I get it, okay honey?” that familiar, sickly, patronizing voice was back and once again flowing through my car.

  “Just go do you for the summer. All I ask is that you make sure to be back for the wedding shower on September 10th okay?” he continued. He was back to that cold, unnerving voice. That small flicker of emotion from just a few moments ago was gone.

  I was silent. My finger hovered above the End Call button.

  “Listen, we had to make this…this situation, work…okay? Do you even realize what we’ve done to accommodate you?” His voice echoing through my car.

  “I don’t understand…” I said in a small voice. Tiny hairs on my arms stood straight up and a cold chill descended upon me.

  Jason continued. “Look, we’ve told everyone that the firm sent you on the road for the summer to lend an extra hand to our clients from the Montreal office.”

  “Dad’s firm doesn’t have a Montreal office Jason.” I said carefully, fully aware that my voice was getting squeakier by the moment. “And even if it did, I wouldn’t work there.” I paused, sucked in air like I was starving and exhaled it with more force than ever before. “I’m not coming home Jason. It’s over! We are over! There is NO wedding! Call it off, say whatever you like, just don’t call me ever again!” I pressed that End Call button so hard, I thought it might break.

  And just like that, it was over…for the second time. Hopefully, this time he understood.

  The tears that had filled my eyes from the tension were now spilling down my face making it impossible to see the road ahead. My throat constricted and I started heaving to gasp for air. The world was going black all around me.

  Suddenly the screeching sound of rubber came out of nowhere, followed by a horn and the roar of an engine blaring in my ears. I swerved hard. My palms gripped the steering wheel as I blinked furiously, trying to catch my bearings.

  “What the FUCK?!” I heard myself scream as a massive semi followed by a motorbike went flying past me. Shaking and white knuckled, I drifted off the side of the road. Was it me? What had I done? I parked on the shoulder and hung my head on the steering wheel, trying to catch my breath. That’s when the tears came. The floodgates had opened and I couldn’t close them. I cried, I wailed, I screamed. I cried away the fear, the tension and the loss.

  Right in the midst of my meltdown, a sound tapped at my window. Probably the cops. Crap. I looked up and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I imagined how I must look. All weepy and disheveled with pita crumbs all over my front seat. A fucking hot mess. Without turning my head, I rolled down the window and immediately began sifting through my purse for my wallet.

  Unexpected words came firing straight for me out of nowhere.

  “Hein, fuck ! T’es folle ou quoi ? You are crazy? Câlisse!! Do you even know how to drive?! T’as failli de me faire tuer là-bas!”

  I looked up, tears streaming down my shocked face. I had been expecting to see a cop and instead I saw a rage ridden biker dude. Leather jacket, helmet in hand and hair…From my angle inside the car and with the sunlight shining, all I could see was shaggy and jet-black hair that brushed up against a strong chin. Even without seeing his entire face, this guy’s aura was black as coal. One look at him made my blood run cold.

  “You almost killed me, cutting me off like that!” The voice repeated again. An all-encompassing fury and dark energy seemed to seep into my car and my mind. This guy was scary as all hell and I knew without a doubt that I needed to get out of there.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you.” I mumbled. “That truck…I don’t know even where it came from.” I whispered looking down at my shaking hands as I reached for the button to close the window.

  “Quoi? What’s that? Hello…? Tu m’entends?” said the voice as a strong hand grabbed onto the closing window.

  Again, I noticed the voice. Deep, raspy, angry and…accented. I looked up to see the face that was now eye to eye with me and found myself caught in a time warp. It felt the minutes ticking by as I melted into those smoldering, pools of darkness. Hair that casually framed his stunning face and a five o’clock shadow painted perfect lines along his cheekbones and jaw. Somehow, I imagined that rough face brushing up the side of my neck. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Umm…I thought you were a cop.” I said carefully as I lifted my hand to shade my eyes from the sunlight that was practically blinding me.

  “Non mais franchement, maybe I should be. You cut off both that truck and me and nearly killed us all! Do you even look where you are going when you merge lanes?” Fury was once again spewing out of his mouth like sparks out of a goddam firecracker. Despite that, all I could focus on was that a massive vein bulging out of his neck as he yelled at me and the French accent and words that had given him away as a Québécois. He was both terrifying and intoxicating but still I held my ground.

  “Me? The truck was the one who cut me off!” I retorted. “Maybe you’re the one who should have your eyes checked.” I spat angrily. Fuck this. I didn’t need his shit. Why was every man such a dick? It seemed like I only ran into the assholes. Did I have a sign over my head that read Assholes Welcome?

  Had to admit though…a really hot asshole. Don’t go there Lexi.

  “Listen buddy, I’m the one who was almost run off the road into the ditch, okay? And yet YOU have the nerve to stop and accuse me of being a shitty driver? Get the fuck back on your stupid bike and leave me alone!” I was shouting so loud my voice was cracking. A strange unnerving feeling had crept up my spine, making my body tingle and ache. I was losing control and I knew it.

  And that’s when he laughed. He laughed so damn hard. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t decide if that stupid laugh made him hotter or if I just hated him even more. Or both?

  I needed to leave. I was sweating. Somehow, just a minute ago this guy was yelling at me and now he was laughing hysterically like a fucking hyena. Seriously my life had taken the most insane turns lately.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I took off; my tires screeching and almost knocking him over in the process. He thought I nearly killed him before? Ha. Wonder what he thought now.

  Chapter 8

  Checking my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of him walking back towards his bike. A smirk crossed my face as I wondered if he could smell burning rubber. What a dick.

  Whatever. I needed to focus on myself now. That’s what my summer in Montreal was all about. There was no way I was going to let anyone redirect my focus. Least of all some cocky, leather clad, asshole.

  I
shook out my hair and turned my music up loudly. The music began to overtake my body and I started to dance in my seat and sing along to my driving playlist. Music made the confidence ooze out of me like a tap. A grin spread across my face as I slid my Oakleys down the bridge of my nose. Then something caught my eye and I turned my head to the left. As I did, I saw a blur of leather atop the biggest Harley I’d ever seen, swoosh past me. It was him. My mouth went dry. Had he seen me singing and dancing like a fool?

  My mind began to scream as I gripped the steering wheel. I wanted to disappear from embarrassment. I had tried to be so strong, confident and in control in front of him and now I just looked like the ditzy girl he already thought I was.

  Who cares? I tried to remind myself, as these ridiculous thoughts continued to torment me. It’s not like you even know this guy or will ever see him again.

  Stop making a scene Alexis. My mother’s voice rang in my ear for the umpteenth time in five minutes. Why was that woman always in my head? She was relentless. Shaking my head vigorously trying to rid myself of that crazy encounter, I decided to call Angela.

  Ang and I had both come from similar lifestyles and we were both expected to follow our families carefully laid out plans. Angela’s parents were high achievers and had wanted her to follow in their footsteps and “be someone” as they always told her. As if anything less than their plan for her, meant that she wouldn’t actually be anybody at all. Her dad David was a Supreme Court judge, and her mom Micheline, a pediatric surgeon and a Montreal native.

  Our respective parents had encouraged our friendship from the start thinking that we would be a good influence on one another. Until they realized that they had major differences in what they thought we should do with our lives. Angela’s parents soon realized that my family was more concerned about my future marriage and social appearances while they were hyper focused on Ang’s education. Needless to say, both sides ran in the other direction very quickly. Despite our parent’s best efforts though, Angela and I were meant to be friends, but we too were opposites. Where I obliged, Angela rebelled. I agreed and placated against my own desires in order to keep the peace. Ang on the other hand, blatantly threw everything in her parents’ faces and did whatever the hell she wanted. A part of me always admired her for that.