A Beautiful Wedding (Beautiful, #2.5)(22)

“Griffin,” he said in a monotone.

“Of course,” I said. “I want MRS. MADDOX here.” I touched my finger to my jeans on the right side of my lower abdomen, just low enough not to be seen, even in a bikini. I wanted Travis to be the only one privy to my ink, a nice surprise every time he undressed me.

Travis beamed. “Mrs. Maddox?”

“Yes, in this font,” I said, pointing to a laminated poster on the wall featuring sample tattoos.

Travis smiled. “That fits you. It’s elegant, but not fussy.”

“Exactly. Can you do that?”

“I can. It’ll be about an hour. We have a couple people ahead of you. It’ll be two fifty.”

“Two fifty? For a few scribbles?” Travis said, his mouth falling open. “What the f*ck, chuck?”

“It’s Griffin,” he said, unaffected.

“I know, but—”

“It’s okay, baby,” I said. “Everything is more in Vegas.”

“Let’s just wait until we get home, Pidge.”

“Pidge?” Griffin said.

Travis sent him a death glare. “Shut up,” he warned, looking back at me. “This’ll be two hundred bucks cheaper back home.”

“If I wait, I won’t do it.”

Griffin shrugged. “Then maybe you should wait.”

I glared at Travis and Griffin. “I’m not waiting. I’m doing this.” I pulled out my wallet and shoved three bills at Griffin. “So you take my money”—I frowned at Travis—“and you hush. It’s my money, my body, and this is what I want to do.”

Travis seemed to weigh what he was about to say. “But . . . it’s going to hurt.”

I smiled. “Me? Or you?”

“Both.”

Griffin took my money and then disappeared. Travis paced the floor like a nervous expectant father. He peeked down the hall, and then paced some more. It was as cute as it was annoying. At one point he begged me not to do it, and then became impressed and touched that I was so hell-bent on going through with it.

“Pull down your jeans,” Griffin said, getting his equipment ready.

Travis shot a piercing look at the short, muscular man from under his brow, but Griffin was too busy to notice Travis’s most frightening expression.

I sat on the chair, and Griffin pushed buttons. As the chair reclined, Travis sat on a stool on the other side of me. He was fidgeting.

“Trav,” I said in a soft voice. “Sit down.” I held out my hand and he took it, also taking a seat. He kissed my fingers, and offered a sweet but nervous smile.

Just when I thought he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, my cell phone buzzed in my purse.

Oh, God. What if it was a text message from Trent? Travis was already digging for it, grateful for the distraction.

“Leave it, Trav.”

He looked at the display and frowned. My breath caught. He held out the phone for me to take. “It’s Mare.”

I grabbed it from him and would’ve felt relief if it weren’t for the cold cotton swab running over my hip bone. “Hello?”

“Abby?” America said. “Where are you? Shepley and I just got home. The car is gone.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice an octave higher. I hadn’t planned on telling her yet. I wasn’t sure how to break the news, but I was sure she was going to hate me. At least for a little while.

“We’re . . . in Vegas.”

America laughed. “Shut up.”

“I’m totally serious.”

America grew quiet, and then her voice was so loud, I flinched. “WHY are you in Vegas? It’s not like you had a good time when you were there last!”

“Travis and I decided to . . . we kind of got married, Mare.”

“What! This isn’t funny, Abby! You better be f*cking joking!”

Griffin placed the transfer onto my skin and pressed. Travis looked like he wanted to kill him for touching me.

“You’re silly,” I said, but when the tattoo machine began to hum my entire body tensed.

“What’s that noise?” America said, steaming.

“We’re at the tattoo parlor.”

“Is Travis getting branded with your real name this time?”

“Not exactly . . .”

Travis was sweating. “Baby . . .” he said, frowning.

“I can do this,” I said, focusing on spots on the ceiling. I jumped when Griffin’s fingertip’s touched my skin, but I tried not to tense.

“Pigeon,” Travis said, his voice tinged with desperation.

“All right,” I said, shaking my head dismissively. “I’m ready.” I held the phone away from my ear, wincing from both the pain, and the inevitable lecture.

“I’m going to kill you, Abby Abernathy!” America cried. “Kill you!”

“Technically, it’s Abby Maddox, now,” I said, smiling at Travis.

“It’s not fair!” she whined. “I was supposed to be your maid of honor! I was supposed to go dress shopping with you and throw a bachelorette party and hold your bouquet!”

“I know,” I said, watching Travis’s smile fade as I winced again.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, his eyebrow pulling together.