All black. That was good. No acid-trip colors to worry about. Except…
Her stomach plunged toward the polished concrete floor, leaving the rest of her body behind. The black ink didn’t trace out the delicate wings of a butterfly or the petals of a flower.
There was a name printed across her bicep in bold cursive letters.
Caleb.
CHAPTER 3
LIV STARED AT her arm, waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into a hummingbird or a flower. She’d even settle for some obscure Sanskrit symbol that meant peace. But the ink remained stubbornly immobile.
How on earth had she ended up with Caleb’s name on her arm? She was sure she’d pointed to a butterfly.
Seventy percent sure.
Heart thudding with panic, she searched the room for the one person who might be able to explain, but CJ was nowhere to be seen. “The guy who was with me. Where is he?”
“He took off.”
“Took off? As in, he left?”
Ocean On Fire nodded.
Liv sprang out of her chair. “I’m going to kill him!”
“Hey!” Ocean On Fire looked alarmed. “I still gotta wash that and wrap it for you.”
Think, Liv. Think. What happened?
A couple of hours in, CJ had started complaining that she was squeezing his hand too hard. She’d let go, and he’d taken off, muttering something. He must’ve gone outside for a cigarette. Or maybe he’d needed coffee. He’d probably told her, but she hadn’t had room in her head for anything other than the mechanized hum of the tattoo machine. “How long has he been gone?”
“You should really let me finish. If you don’t keep the area clean and damp, you can lose color, and—”
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“I was kind of busy getting poked with needles.”
Ocean On Fire just stood there, not volunteering any information—yet another guy who was frustrating her.
Fine. She’d find CJ herself.
She rummaged in her hemp bag for her cell phone, working with only her right hand because she was afraid to move the side with the tattoo. Why was there so much crap in her bag? She was going to clean it out as soon as she got home. For real this time.
Finally, she made contact. She dialed CJ’s number and pressed the phone to her ear, clenching the case and wishing it was his neck. If he thought he was getting laid tonight, he was sadly mistaken.
It rang four times before he finally picked up.
“Hey, babe.” CJ sounded cautious, like she was some crazy ex he’d run into at the grocery store, and he was afraid she was going to shove him into the pyramid of Spam. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s up is that you ditched me while I was being repeatedly stabbed in the arm!”
“Yeah. I guess we need to talk.”
“No kidding. You can start with where the hell you are and why you’re not here.”
“C’mon, babe. You know I can’t deal with that kind of pressure.”
“I wasn’t squeezing your hand that hard.”
He sighed. “Look, babe. We’ve had fun together. You’re wild in bed. But I’m not ready to commit. I mean, at first it was kinda cool. Flattering, you know? But then I started to think about it. Like, what if you expected me to propose or some shit?”
She clenched the phone hard enough that it was probably cutting a permanent impression into her palm. “CJ, I swear to God if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about in the next two seconds, I’m going to strangle you right through this phone line!”
“Inking my name on your arm is so…permanent.”
“And that’s another thing! How did I end up with your name when I was supposed to be getting a butterfly?”
“A butterfly?” CJ snorted. “No, babe. You pointed at the your-man’s-name-here tat.”
“Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I said you should probably think about it.”
“But you didn’t say why.” The reality of the situation hit her, leaving her weak and dizzy. She put one hand to the wall to support herself. “I have your name on my arm. Forever.”
“So it was an accident? Not some crazy play to get a ring out of me?” CJ had the nerve to sound skeptical.
“Of course it was an accident!”
“Okay. Well, if you want to hook up later—”
“Hook up?” Her voice went so high Ocean on Fire cringed. “Are you kidding me?”
“Naw. I mean, as long as you’re sure you’re not gonna go all Bridezilla crazy on me, there’s no reason we can’t pick up where we left off.”
“Actually, CJ, there is.” Her heart beat fast and hard, but it felt nothing like her earlier panic attack. Her head was totally clear.
CJ didn’t love her. He didn’t even care about her enough to give her the basic courtesy of a heads-up before taking off. They’d never been right together, and every effort she’d made to turn herself into the girl he wanted had only been postponing the inevitable.
“This relationship isn’t going anywhere,” she said. “I’m not the woman you want, and you know what? You’re not the guy I want either. So let’s not waste any more of each other’s time. We’re done.”
“C’mon, babe. Just ‘cuz we’re not getting married doesn’t mean we can’t have fun together.”
“I’m not having fun.”
He muttered something about crazy bitches, and Liv took great pleasure in punching the end call button.
She stood straighter, letting the weight of CJ slip off her shoulders. But as the adrenaline drained out of her system, she could no longer ignore the pain in her arm—the world’s worst sunburn. She’d broken up with CJ, but she still had the jerk’s name branded onto her skin.
The tattoo throbbed, her body chastising her for her impulsiveness. How many times had her family warned her that she was throwing her life away? She’d been stupid and immature, and she’d finally done something there was no going back from.
All she could do now was try to find a way forward.
CHAPTER 4
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Livvy! There you are!”
Liv started at the sound of her mom’s voice—high and nervous, like she’d been combing the city in search of Liv’s unconscious body—knocking over the mustard, which hit the mayo, which plopped into the center of the platter of deli meats she’d gotten out of her parents’ refrigerator.
She angled herself in front of the counter, trying to hide the damage. “What’s wrong?” she asked brightly. What did I do this time?
She must not have done a very good job hiding the mess, because her parents crossed the kitchen in record time. Mom insinuated herself between Liv and the sandwich fixings. “Here. Let me help you.”
Before Liv could object, Mom had taken two pieces of rye out of the bread bag, and Dad was spreading on the mayo.
“You guys. I can make my own sandwich.”
“Of course you can.” Mom spread a layer of mustard on the bread. “But we want to help you.”
I don’t want your help.
Liv swallowed the words. As much as she’d like them to be true, they weren’t. She’d spent the three months since the tattoo debacle trying to muscle her life back on track, but it wasn’t there yet.
She’d made some progress. She’d written up the business plan for Designs by Olivia. She’d entered a local design competition with a small cash prize, and made it to the final round. She’d upped her hours at Hannigan’s. And she’d moved in with her parents to save on rent; even if she did win Design Divas, the prize wouldn’t cover the cost of starting her business, and she was going to open her shop one way or another. Starting a business was something an adult did, and with her mistake-of-an-ex’s name tattooed on her arm for all time, she desperately needed to prove to herself that she was an adult.
“Here you go.” Mom handed her a sandwich.
While Liv
had been daydreaming, her parents had made her turkey and cheese with the crusts cut off. Her favorite food—at age five.
“Thanks,” she said, even though she’d wanted pastrami. “It looks great.”
“Eat up,” Dad commanded. He leaned against the counter, watching to make sure she followed orders. Mom slid onto one of the stools behind the counter, in case Dad needed backup.
Liv took a bite.
Dad nodded in approval. Mom beamed like Liv was about to accept a Nobel Prize for curing cancer.
Mom never beamed at her, and the shock of it finally jolted Liv out of her self-involved bubble. She saw what she should have noticed five minutes ago. There, at the edge of the counter. A purple folder covered with sketches of crazy dresses. The folder she’d used for her business plan.
Her heart fast-forwarded through a minute’s worth of beats, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like the plan was a secret. Not exactly. “Where did you get that?”
Mom couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I was in your bedroom, dusting that thing.” She waved her hands around like a magician trying to distract the audience.
“My desk?”
“Yes. It fell out of your desk while I was dusting.”
More like Mom had unearthed the folder from the depths of Liv’s file cabinet while tossing the place to make sure Liv wasn’t hiding any drug paraphernalia or sex toys. It was no fun moving back in with your overprotective parents at age twenty-two. But saving the money to get her business off the ground was worth the sacrifice. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Why didn’t you show us?” Dad sounded…hurt.
“I was going to. I was waiting for the right moment.” She’d wanted to have the money in her account before she made any announcements. She’d made too many promises that she hadn’t followed through on. She’d wanted everyone to know she was serious about this.
Dad opened the folder. “So…” He flipped through the pages. “How much do you need?”
“How much…?”
“Tell us how much money you need, and we’ll loan it to you.”
She stared at the page he was looking at—her detailed budget projections for year one—but it still took a second for the words to penetrate. “You want to loan me the money to start Designs by Olivia?”
If her parents loaned her the money, she’d be able to open her doors in a few months instead of a few years.
“Absolutely.” Mom hugged her close, sandwich and all. “We’re so proud of you, Livvy. We know you’re going to make this business a success.”
Liv swallowed the lump in her throat. When was the last time her parents had told her they were proud of her? She couldn’t remember it happening since her dance recital in kindergarten. For the ballet class she’d promptly quit.
With one last pat, Mom let her go.
Liv hadn’t understood the value of her family’s faith back then, but she did now. And she wasn’t going to lose it. She blinked back a couple of tears that had come out of nowhere. “Are you sure you want to do this? It might be a while before I can pay you back.”
Dad waved that away, as though the possible loss of a huge portion of his savings was no big deal. “Yes. Of course. But we do have one condition.” He paused, giving her that look she was all too familiar with. The one that said he wanted to believe her, but he wasn’t that much of a sucker. “Promise us you’re not seeing that cafone anymore.”
Her hand clenched around the sandwich she’d forgotten about, and half the turkey fell onto her plate. “I already told you. CJ and I broke up—” She narrowly avoided disaster, stopping herself right before she admitted the real date of the breakup. “It’s been almost five months since I’ve seen him.” The lie sat, spiky and uncomfortable on her tongue, before she finally pushed the words out.
She didn’t want to lie to her parents, but what was the point of upsetting them now? She wasn’t hooking up with CJ anymore. That was the important thing. So she’d lied to them five months ago, when she’d needed a little help with rent. That was the old Liv. The new Liv wouldn’t ever lie to her parents again.
Her arm throbbed under her half-sleeved shirt even though the tattoo had healed months ago. You’re lying about this.
But it wasn’t a lie. Not mentioning the tattoo was an omission, which was not the same thing.
“Of course she’s not seeing him,” Mom said. “She swore it on Nonno Augusto’s grave. You remember.”
“Yes. Of course.” Dad’s frown smoothed into a smile even as Liv’s forehead knit its way into a stress headache.
Swearing on Nonno Augusto’s grave was the most sacred vow of the Voretti clan. Even her brother Matt had admitted to totaling Dad’s car when forced to swear on Nonno’s grave. But she—she had taken the sacred oath in vain.
She took a deep breath. The lie was in the past. Present-day Liv was as honest as it got. The tattoo would serve as a constant reminder that she needed to act like an adult. From here on out, she was going to make good choices.
*
As a cop, it was Caleb’s job to be aware of his surroundings at all times. So he knew as soon as he crossed his best friend Rafe Voretti’s Welcome-to-the-home-of-Mr.-and-Mrs.-Awesome doormat that something was wrong.
He scanned the deserted living room, trying to find the source of his unease. The place was too clean. The coffee table that was normally buried under a mountain of his six-month-old goddaughter Becca’s toys and board books held a vase of flowers. The lights were dim, there were candles everywhere, and the sheer number of voices coming from the kitchen told him this wasn’t the casual family dinner Rafe had invited him to.
Caleb breathed in the delicate floral scent coming from both the candles and the bouquet, and his instinct for self-preservation finally kicked in. He didn’t know what was up with this “dinner,” and he didn’t want to know. He was out of here.
He was half way out the door when one of the voices rose above the rest—a happy lilt that froze him in his tracks. Liv.
He hadn’t seen her since that day in front of Permanent Ink. For the last three months, she’d been mysteriously absent from every Voretti family function that he’d made it to. But she was here. Which meant he’d finally be able to see with his own eyes that she was okay. Maybe then he could get her out of his head.
He started toward the kitchen, but before he’d gone two steps, Rafe’s wife Jen intercepted him.
“You’re here!” She locked arms with him, binding him to her side as securely as if she’d used handcuffs. “I have someone I want to introduce you to.”
He was so focused on Liv’s voice that it took him a second to process what Jen had said.
Ah, crap. Was that what the candles were about? “I don’t do setups.”
“Then you should’ve been more proactive about finding yourself a date. You’ve been such a recluse lately, I was afraid you’d be alone for the next decade unless I took matters into my own hands.” She marched him toward the kitchen. “Joslyn is perfect for you. She loves children. She teaches preschool and volunteers with the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.”
“That’s great. But—”
“She even organizes her clothes by color, the same way you do.”
“I don’t organize my clothes by color.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” She patted his chest with her free hand. “This is just a group of friends having dinner, so if you don’t hit it off, there’s no pressure.”
“I don’t think—”
“C’mon, C. Do this one thing for me.” Jen batted her eyelashes at him in a move so exaggerated it would’ve been hilarious, except that he knew he was going to cave. Jen was family, even though she wasn’t blood, and he couldn’t say no to family. Even when saying yes meant disaster.
“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll say hello. But no promises.”
“Of course.” Jen pulled Caleb into the kitchen. “Joslyn! There you are. Come meet Caleb.”
&
nbsp; The kitchen smelled like lasagna, beer, and family, and Caleb was glad he’d stayed, despite the tiny blonde heading toward him, a sweet, hopeful smile on her face. She was holding his six-month-old goddaughter on her hip, while Becca gummed away at some well-loved rubber toy.
“Hi!” Joslyn held out one hand for him to shake, somehow keeping hold of Becca. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He scanned the crowd of Vorettis surrounding the kitchen island as subtly as he could, trying to find Liv. There. Talking to Matt.
She looked fine. Happy. No hint that she was pining over that waste-of-space CJ.
“Try the bruschetta.” Jen shoved a tray in his face. “Joslyn made it.”
“I love to cook.” Joslyn blushed, like she’d revealed a deep, dark secret.
Caleb’s legs twitched with the urge to move in on his target, but no way was Jen going to let him go before he’d tried one of Joslyn’s culinary masterpieces. He took a bruschetta, shoved it in his mouth, and chewed as quickly as possible. It was down his throat before he’d even registered the taste. “That was, uh, good.”
Jen gave him an I’m-disappointed-in-you look.
“Really good.” He made eye contact with Rafe, but his friend was too busy pouring a glass of scotch for his brother Alex to pay attention to the distress signals Caleb was sending out.
“Thanks.” Joslyn was still bright red. Did she have some kind of condition? Congenital blushing?
Liv finally surfaced from her conversation with Matt. She caught sight of Joslyn and him, and her lips turned up into a grin that must’ve been wired straight to his muscles, because before he made a conscious decision, he was heading her direction. “Excuse me.”
“Wait!” Jen tried to block him with the tray she was holding, but he was already past her.
“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder.
Liv’s smoky eyes tracked his progress across the room, but as soon as he got to her side her gaze locked back onto her brother. She laughed at something Matt said, ignoring Caleb.
“Hi,” he said, louder than necessary.
Pretty in Ink (Voretti Family Book 3) Page 3
