“So, who’s going first?”
Rocco gestures to me. “Ladies first.”
“Is that just because you’re worried you’re going to cry like a baby,” I tease him. There’s no way Rocco would cry. He’s already covered in tattoos. One tiny one around his finger will barely make him blink, even if it is a painful spot to get one.
“This might be my smallest tattoo,” he says, “but it’s definitely the most important one.”
“Yes,” I agree. “It is.”
The champagne is poured, and we all clink glasses, toasting the new flat, and for once I’m able to toast my good health as well.
“Ready?” Art asks me.
I take a sip of the champagne, the taste tart on my tongue, the bubbles going up my nose.
Art’s already laid out a sheet of protective paper from the studio across our coffee table, and I sit on the floor and put my left hand onto the paper.
Rocco stands over me, looking down as Art prepares the ink and needle. “No going back now,” he says to me.
And as the needle’s placed against my ring finger, I smile back up at him. “I’d never want to go back. All I’ve ever wanted is right here.”
THE END
