“Because he was going to pick Sera.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He loves you, you stupid idiot. He loves you. You, you, you!” Elena jabs her finger into my shoulder with every syllable, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to bruise.

  “Ah, quit attacking me, I get it, I get it.”

  “No, no, you don’t. Katie told me that she and Dean had to go and pick him up from a bar last night—he nearly got thrown out or something—and he whined about you the whole time. Whined. The whole time. All of the time.”

  I turn onto my back, wiggling my toes, staring up at the ceiling.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  Elena sighs. “Nope, not yet, you don’t. But you will. You will.”

  “Scarily ominous.”

  “Didn’t mean it to be. You’re his first choice, Sophie, you just have to choose if you want him to be yours. Like, is Russia your first choice, too?”

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  EIGHTEEN

  I’m surprised the next day at work when Jackie, the kid with the new chest tattoo, comes to see me. The healing on her chest looks spot on, nothing concerning or anything like that, and she timidly asks me to do a hand tattoo for her—a geometric heart on her left hand—“so I can remember that it’s still there, even when I’m hurting, it’s still intact, you know?”

  I had to go and close myself off in the ladies’ room for a good cry, my eyeliner shot to shit, but I totally forgot about bringing my touch-up foundation to conceal the redness in my cheeks and nose like I didn’t just have a breakdown because I’m still out of sorts on Sunday morning.

  It’s fine. I’m fine.

  “Shit, this one hurts so much more,” Jackie says through clenched teeth, and I glance up at her, checking in to make sure she can handle it. The geometric design means I have to spend more time on it, and if the kid needs a break, she needs a break.

  I can always go grab a bite to eat at any of the restaurants down or up the street—staying as far away as I can from that one.

  There’s a Lebanese place two doors down, and I could scoff down my body weight in garlic potatoes inundated with garlic sauce, stink enough that I’d kill forty vampires on the spot. I’m thinking about it as I do the outline to her tattoo, as I start (lightly) shading in the different facets of the heart, turning it into an impenetrable jewel instead of the fragile muscle it really is.

  It takes me a couple of hours, and when I’m done, all I can do is smile down at her left hand, hold onto it, give it a squeeze, smile ever wider when she squeezes back.

  “Thank you, it’s beautiful. I can’t stop looking at it,” Jackie says, hopping down from the bench as I wipe it down, sanitize it, wrap it up for her, go over care instructions one more time, as if she’s forgotten how.

  Jackie pays for the tattoo, and I sigh, clean up my station, get rid of what needs to be gotten rid of, and slump in my stool, swinging from side to side absentmindedly until Remy yells at me to stop the cacophony of squeaking.

  Too bad.

  I breeze through the shop and head outside, the day actually nine degrees above zero and it’s starting to feel like spring, enough so that I can make the walk to the Lebanese place without my coat on, basking in the warmth after the long slog of harsh winter we’ve barely left behind.

  I order my food, finding myself spacing out more than once when asked about my order, and end up walking back in a little bit of a daze. When I get there Katie DiNovro is standing in the middle of the shop, arguing with Dean.

  Well, shit.

  I wasn’t expecting this.

  “I’m getting the tattoo,” Dean says, his face scrunched up adorably, and I don’t know why Katie even pretends that she’s not affected, the whole shop is affected.

  “Okay, fine. But I’m not helping you moisturize it,” Katie says viciously, crossing her arms over her chest. “And if you have another allergic reaction, I’m going to kick your ass,” she says, voice laced with an anger that hides a well of worry.

  “She loves me, I swear she does,” Dean says to me as I walk closer to them, shivering a little from the temperature change. Bekah’s got thyroid issues and the kid’s always freezing, so the heat’s always a little high, even though she’s got her space heater turned on underneath the desk.

  “Of course I do,” Katie says, leaning in close to press a red-lipstick kiss on his cheek. Dean clutches at his cheek like he’s never going to wash it again, which is the gross kind of cute, but still cute.

  And still practically light-years away from me getting for my very own version of it with a person who’s name rhymes with fuchsia.

  “You want another tattoo?” I ask Dean. “You should’ve told me. I would have waited to go and buy some lunch.” I hold up my paper bags by way of explanation.

  “How about you take your proper hour off owed to you, and we can go eat in Dean’s car, or outside on the bench over there. It’s beautiful today,” Katie says, pinning her stare on Jake’s closed office door.

  “Yeah, okay, I can do that. It’s less depressing than eating alone in the back room with nothing but my phone for company.”

  “‘Atta girl,” Dean says, lugging his hulking arm around my shoulders and steering me towards the door. I get a nod from Bekah, who’s overheard everything—Dean’s not the quietest of human beings, and he went and fell in love with an Italian who doesn’t really understand the meaning of an indoor voice, or better yet, understand the need for it, but flouts the rules anyway.

  We head outside, round the building to the back lot, my coat on but unzipped, the two of them wearing lighter coats for the warmer weather while I’m still sporting the hulking mass of a winter coat now that defends my fragile body against temperatures of thirty below zero. I’m gonna start sweating soon, but that’s fine.

  It’s nice to have company, and it’s a nice break to the day.

  “Here, have some potatoes,” I say, opening the steaming bag and putting the container down between Katie and I. Dean presses up against her back to look down at the offerings of food, grumbling about some sort of spice that I don’t hear or understand. “Aren’t you guys going to eat?”

  “No, I’m just going to watch you eat,” Dean says, blinking at me owlishly.

  I grin at him. “Weirdo.”

  “The best weirdo you know,” he snaps back, then leans away from Katie and presses up against her back, the added weight of him against her making her lean forward.

  “So why are you guys really here? Like, I get why Dean wants more tattoos, but I also know you don’t just randomly show up. I know your schedule’s even more hectic than mine, so.”

  Katie shrugs, the blue-red lipstick she’s wearing reminding me that I need to buy that particular shade, too.

  “We took a chance, figured it was close to lunch time, and Elena let me know that you had the earlier shift today, so yeah, we figured you’d get some free time for yourself. How’s your day been so far?”

  It’s not like she doesn’t care, but we both know why she’s here, we both know it’s because of me and Russia, well not me and Russia, as it were.

  “Good. I did a sweet geometric piece on a repeat client.”

  Katie makes a noncommittal sound, swiping up a potato with her fingers and eating it. I have a feeling Dean doesn’t mind garlic breath, not when it comes to her.

  I gulp down the tightness in my throat and eat my pita sandwich with the deliciously seasoned chicken. The turnips make everything that much better, along with the extra container of pepperoncini unearthed from the bag when Katie snoops around.

  “Are we going to let her eat first, or do you wanna do this right away?” Dean asks, turning and leaning forward, his elbows planted on his monster thighs, glancing over at Katie and me.

  I gulp down more food. “I don’t know, am I going to throw up my lunch because of what you guys wanna talk about or nah?”

  Dean points a finger at me, then boops his nose for some odd reason. I don’t get it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. He fights with the parts of his hair that come loose from the tail at the top of his head, pushing them back over his ears, but they don’t stay where they’re supposed to, and he keeps grumbling to himself about bad haircuts ruining everything.

  “Well, surprise, surprise, I came to see how you’re doing, how you’ve been.”

  “Elena,” I say as way of explanation.

  Of course Elena would talk to Katie about it, maybe not divulge my deepest darkest secrets, but yeah, it could have come up in casual conversation, sure.

  “No, Russia. When he was whining about you at the bar the night before. I’ve never seen him that drunk. Russia’s never been that drunk, okay? He was the mother hen most of the time if we went drinking together, never let himself get that loose or that out of control, all right? I’ve never seen him like that, and I’ve known him for a long time, like, almost half of my life at this point. He’s never been like that, not ever.”

  I blink at her, mouth gone numb, losing all the ability to taste my delicious food. “Never say never.”

  “Shut up and listen,” Katie snaps at me.

  “What she means to say is that she values your friendship a whole lot and would like for you to get your head out of your ass and figure out what it is that you want,” Dean supplies, nodding his head, still hunched over at the waist, elbows planted on his knees.

  “Thank you, baby,” Katie says, turning to give him an award-winning smile.

  “No problem. S’what I’m here for.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s rude being that lovey-dovey in front of the broken-hearted,” I say, flapping my hand at both of them, delving down into the bag for the napkins, swiping delicately at my face because lipstick and I forgot to pack this particular shade (seriously, it’s called dragon blood) in my purse this morning.

  Katie’s eyes go sharp and deadly. “And whose fault is that?”

  “I already had this talk with Elena yesterday, okay? She tried to convince me that he doesn’t love Sera anymore, I get it.”

  “What?” Dean squawks, sitting upright fast, hands on his knees. “Katie, what the fuck? When did that happen?”

  Katie looks back at him and twists her body so she’s facing the front instead of me alone.

  “Are you serious? When we met, he thought he was in love with her, wanted to do something about it when she and Hunter got together, like an ass.” Katie’s face pinches closed, like she got seared by a bad memory.

  “What? How did I not know this?” Dean asks, rearing back, blinking in horror like he just realized Santa Claus isn’t a real thing and is reeling with the betrayal at being lied to all this time.

  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Katie pats his hand placatingly, but Dean makes a grab for it, threading their fingers together. “You...” Katie turns to me, eyes narrowing in that DiNovro stare that I’ve come to learn well. “Explain yourself.”

  I already half-know that I made a mistake, that I ruined this for myself, that I was using Sera as an excuse to push him away.

  But I only half-know it, the other side of me is still steeped in fear, still marred by past experiences where I didn’t fit the part to be someone else’s girlfriend. Seriously, though, opposites attract, but birds of a feather flock together—maybe we’re just too different.

  You know that’s not true. He gets your jokes; you guys are more similar than the way you look.

  I’m not the wild child that everyone paints me to be—that’s old-fashioned, thinking in that way.

  “I don’t know, I just, I got scared, and he always talks so highly of her, and it’s my own damn fault, because she’s so lovely and I always just thought that I could never compare, never measure up.”

  Katie sighs, long and exasperated, weary. “What am I going to do with you. What am I going to do with the both of you?”

  “I vote to send them to a deserted island, and the bonds they form trying to survive together will get them to where they need to be in the end. Mainly in love and happy, and they can watch really awesome sunsets together, too. Bonus.” Dean gives himself a high-five and I kind of want to hug him really, really hard.

  Katie’s lips twitch at the corners, but she doesn’t deign to reply—it’ll probably only encourage him.

  “That’s a lot of out-of-pocket expense,” I say, eating some more, the misery in my belly making me full before I want to be full. This emotional crap is no joke. “Who’s fronting the cash to get us there?”

  “Don’t look at me. I just cook for a living,” Dean says, hands up in a freeze motion, still holding onto his girlfriend’s hand.

  Katie shakes her head, looking like she wants to wring both of our necks. “Okay, listen up. Tell me, are you all right?”

  “I’m sad, sure, but I’ll get over it.” I shrug, because I will get over it, and Russia will be another regret like some of those unfortunate tattoos I got when I was eighteen.

  Katie nods, bites at her crimson-stained lip. “That’s not what I’m asking, not at all. I’m asking if you can live with your decision, that it’s not going to be a regret you’ll have later on.”

  “I mean, I regret some of my tattoos, but I still keep them on my skin. I might regret it later, but maybe it’s better this way, you know?”

  Katie’s brow furrows, and she shoots me a death glare. “It’s not better this way, you know it’s not better this way. Dean knows it’s not better this way. Come on. Own up to it, own up to being scared. Own up to letting it rule your head.”

  My eyes start to well up and Dean looks about ready to panic.

  “Quick!” he says, pointing at my face as my chin starts to wobble. “No, no, kitten, you have to fix this, we have to fix this. I don’t want Sophie to be sad, what the hell?”

  Dean stands up as the tears fall down my face, and my food tastes awful (through no fault of the restaurant. It’s just everything’s numbed today and that includes my sense of smell, my taste buds, my will to eat my entire body weight in food.

  Dean comes to my side of the bench, plopping down, a giant at my back, sheltering me from the oncoming storm.

  Why is he being so nice to me? Why couldn’t he be Russia?

  Why did I do that to Russia, test him in that way that was completely unfair?

  Why did I let that insidious voice in my head get in the way?

  “You could never see him again,” Katie says, as if she knows something I don’t, but maybe I’m reading too much into it, like I always seem to do. “You live in the same city, but you could never pass him by in the street ever again, never see his face, never hear him call your name.”

  It hurts, it hurts, to think like that, to feel it in my chest, sharp as any needle I use on a daily basis.

  “You’ve fallen in love,” Katie says, just a statement of fact.

  “Like an idiot,” I say, wiping at my cheeks with my hands, and Dean pets my head, like I’m one of his dogs he’s trying to soothe, which still feels nice, even if I am a human. “I think he’s great. I really, really do.”

  Katie nods, inviting me to continue.

  “He’s a baby when it comes to pain—I’ve seen eighteen-year-olds handle it better than he does, but he lets me carry on, like he’s trying to impress me by suppressing it. Idiot, he’s such an idiot. He loves his friends, anyone can see that, the way you’ve become his family. He loves Matty, too, even though I haven’t heard him talk about kids, not even once, when we hang out. And...” I sigh, wiping at my cheeks roughly enough to hurt my face.

  “And he calls me ‘darling,’ and it’s all I want, to be treated that way, not like I’m the one who’s fickle just because of the way I look. I know, I know, I’ve been projecting, but what can I do now? What can I do?” I sniff hard, using napkins to mop up my face, blow my nose. “Is my mascara all over my face?”

  Katie shakes her head, reaching forward to squeeze along my forearm in reassurance.

  “Then why don’t you tell him all that?”

  I shrug, like it’s answer enough.

  I’ve been scared to, been scared of being rejected. I haven’t liked someone in so long, haven’t been in love like this before, and it’s so new and raw that I don’t even know what to do with it, how to press it down, to fit the confines of my heart when it feels so big, so unmanageable, like whatever’s pumping in my chest doesn’t belong to me, and only to me, anymore.

  But I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?

  That’s the point.

  “No one says you need all the answers right now—you don’t. You need one answer, to only one question,” Katie says, her dark eyes piercing me through, reading all of my contents, like being analyzed underneath a microscope. I don’t like the feeling at all.

  “Yeah?” I croak, sniffing hard enough to keep the snot from dripping out. Ugh, I’m a mess, a mess. All I want to do is go home and crawl underneath my bed covers and sleep the sleep of the dead.

  “Do you want to be with him?” Katie shakes her head when I open my mouth to talk. “I’m not asking if you think he’s in love with someone else, which I know Sera talked to you about, but you don’t want to listen, so we’re glossing over that,” she says, waving my fears off.

  “I’m not asking if it won’t work out, or you don’t think you look a certain way, or whatever. I’m asking one simple question: do you want to be with the man you love?”

  I hesitate, I do.

  I allow myself that one moment to reflect, to contemplate what it would be like—my life without Russia.

  I could fall in love one day with another faceless man, but it won’t be Russia, it won’t be him. I won’t look into his blue-blue eyes and see love and affection there, he won’t burn any more steak dinners, and he won’t call me meelaya anymore.

  I nod slowly, feeling like my heart could burst, pressing against my rib cage, too big for my chest, for my body.

  “I need to talk to him,” I say, matter-of-factly. I nod to myself, decided now. I glance at Katie, as if seeing her for the first time. “I need to talk to him and let him know everything that I’m feeling, like an adult. Shit.”