Papillon

Chapter 25: Inked

Francis

As I turned the corner, a tiny body ran into me and I steadied it with my hands, about to apologize. Then, my eyes narrowed.

"Isabella Marie."

"Oh. Um, hi," she stuttered, looking simultaneously guilty and adorable in her skinny jeans, pink sweater with strawberry print, and boots. Between that, the matching headband in her hair, and her flushed cheeks, she was a goddamn vision. Straight out of a teen magazine.

"What are you doing in the city alone?"

"Nothing," she answered a little too quickly. I didn't believe her for a second.

"Don't lie to me."

She sighed. "I wanted to do something."

"Do what?"

"I can't tell you."

"Try me," I insisted, crossing my arms on my chest.

She stared at me for a beat before the realization that she couldn't get past me washed over her.

"I wanted to get a tattoo," she said carefully.

My eyes widened. "Of what?"

She narrowed her eyes, surprised that I wasn't saying no immediately. Why should I? I was happy the little diva was trying new things and rebelling against her parents a little bit.

"I don't know yet."

"You have to be 18 in New York, Isabella."

She huffed, tossing her hair. "Duh. Don't you think I know? There's a form you can get signed."

"You're telling me your dad signed a form for you to get a tattoo?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow.

She waved her hand. "I told him it was for school. He signs so many things every day that at some point, they all look the same."

Pride pricked my chest. God, she was a rebel. I fucking loved it.

Without a word, I slipped my palm into hers and dragged her along. She obeyed silently, not asking any questions. I liked that she trusted me.

When I noticed that she was practically jogging to keep up with my longer strides, I slowed down and let go of her hand to let her walk at her own pace. My hand burned at the loss of contact as I shoved them into my pockets. A second later though, she wrapped her arm in mine and settled her hand on my bicep. Warmth and satisfaction ran through me.

"Do you have any tattoos?" She asked as we continued walking down the street.

"Nope."

"Would you ever get one?"

"I think I have enough marks all over my body, don't you?" I said unemotionally and felt her arm tense around mine. Fuck, I was an asshole. "Maybe if I find something I like," I amended.

She asked me tons of questions about everything in the city as we walked past, and I answered them all.

"Have you ever been there, Francis?"
"What's that called? I've never seen it before."
"What kind of food is that? That looks so good!"
"Look at these decorations, Francis. How pretty are they?"

She might have lived in New York her whole life and her family may have owned half of the goddamn world, but this girl was so sheltered, never allowed to go anywhere on her own, I wondered how she even lived.

The ambush finally ceased when I stopped in front of a tattoo parlor.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're coming with me?"