Page 25 of Inked Desires

ANDREW

Two years later.

Some days I still struggle to realize how much my life has changed. Sometimes, upon waking, I still expect that tight knot of anxiety in my stomach, the urge to run, the need to constantly look over my shoulder. But this morning, like every other, the only thing that disturbs my sleep is the weight of a warm arm around my waist.

Ares is still asleep, his steady breath brushing my neck. I don’t move, savoring the moment. Serenity is still fragile for me. It feels unreal, fleeting, like it could vanish at any second. Yet, it’s here.

He mumbles something unintelligible, then his arms tighten around me. He doesn’t want me to leave. The thought warms me more than I want to admit.

Our everyday life was built on unstable but strong foundations. We learned to live together, to navigate our wounds. We learned to trust, to tame each other without suffocating.

And against all odds, it works.

We no longer speak of William. Ares hasn’t heard from him, and he doesn’t try to. Maybe that’s for the best.

Robert hasn’t contacted us in months either. From what I understood the last time we saw him, he met someone and finally decided to give me space. It surprised me then, and maybe hurt a little too. Part of me had grown used to his presence, to how he was always there—even when I didn’t want him to be. But I suppose it’s a good thing. He needed to move on too.

I brush Ares’s hand with my fingertips and close my eyes. My thoughts drift to our trip to Greece.

It was his idea. One night, after a long day at the salon, he appeared in the kitchen, tossed his phone on the table, and simply said: “Pack your bags, we leave in a week.”

I think I laughed, thinking he was joking. But no. Ares never jokes about things like that. And a week later, we were on a plane headed to Athens.

The idea of leaving had never crossed my mind. Running, yes. Always running. But traveling, discovering a world that didn’t know me—that’s different. It’s scary. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be free.

We did everything. The narrow streets of Athens, the Parthenon under the blazing sun, the little tavernas where Ares always ordered too much food, claiming I needed to “gain some weight.”

We took a boat to Santorini, saw the white houses clinging to cliffs, sunsets setting the sea ablaze. He laughed when I nearly fell trying to pet a stray cat. I loved that laugh.

And then there was that night.

We were on the island of Milos, far from the crowds, just the two of us and the vast sea. The sky was clear, a sea of stars above us. A light breeze made me shiver.

Ares stood up, silent as usual, and pulled something from his pocket.

I think my heart stopped.

“You’ll think it’s cliché, but…”

He paused, searching for words, and I was struck by how nervous he looked.

One breath later, he locked eyes with mine.

“I love you, Andrew. I love you like crazy. And I know I’m not the easiest man to live with, but I want us to keep moving forward together.”

His fingers squeezed the little black box.

“So, marry me.”

It took me a few seconds to process. My brain refused to grasp what he’d just said. Then I looked at the ring. Simple, yet elegant—just like him. My heart pounded in my chest, and at that precise moment, I knew I’d never been so sure of anything.

So, I said yes.

And Ares smiled—that rare smile, the one that takes my breath away every time.

When we got back, he told me he’d handle all the planning. That he’d keep me informed when the time came.

I know what you’re thinking, that it’s a strange concept, and I agree. But I trust him completely, and I know he’ll organize something wonderful.

Ares isn’t the type to do things halfway. He’s meticulous, a perfectionist, and even if he pretends not to care, he has this attention to detail that pushes him to always do things right.

So, I let him.

At first, I tried to ask questions. Just to see.

“Do you think it’ll be a small gathering or with a crowd?”

He raised an eyebrow and replied flatly, “You’ll see.”

“Where are we getting married? Here, in Maple Creek, or somewhere else?”

He just smiled, grabbed a pencil, and dove back into one of his drawings.

I quickly understood I wouldn’t get any information.

And strangely… I’m not anxious.

Maybe I should be stressed about not knowing, but no.

Because it’s Ares.

And Ares knows exactly what he’s doing.

So, I wait.

Weeks pass, then months.

As the date nears—well, I suppose it’s near—I catch Ares spending more time on the phone. He disappears for a few hours here and there, claiming he has things to handle.

I watch him, amused.

He thinks I don’t notice, but I know him too well.

He’s focused, absorbed, and even if his face stays impassive, I know he’s taking this seriously.

One day, I come home and find a suit hanging on our bedroom door.

I blink, perplexed.

“Ares?”

He comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, completely relaxed.

“Are you going to tell me what that is, or should I guess?” I ask, pointing at the suit.

He grabs a water bottle from the dresser and takes a sip before answering,

“You should try it on.”

I stare at him, incredulous.

He finally meets my eyes, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

“Tomorrow.”

My heart skips a beat.

“What, tomorrow?”

He steps closer, places his hands on my hips, and simply murmurs against my lips,

“Tomorrow, we get married.”

It’s the big day.

I stand in front of the mirror, palms sweaty, heart pounding way too fast to be normal.

I should be calmer, right? After all, it’s Ares. There’s no reason to be nervous. Yet, as I adjust my bow tie, my fingers tremble slightly.

A sigh escapes me.

I try to focus on my reflection. On the perfectly tailored suit, chosen by Ares himself. I don’t know where he found it or how long he’d planned this, but it fits me perfectly. Black, simple, elegant, with a fitted vest that almost makes me look confident.

Almost.

I tug at the collar of my shirt, a bit too tight for my taste. I feel like I’m suffocating.

“Damn it…”

I give up for a moment and run a nervous hand through my hair.

My waves fall messily over my forehead. I grab a brush and try to tame them, but they have a mind of their own. An irritated sigh shakes me. Ares likes my hair like this, messy. Me? I’m not so sure. Maybe I should just leave it.

I put the brush down and stare at myself in the mirror.

It’s strange.

A few years ago, I never would have imagined getting here. Me, in a suit, getting ready to get married. To him.

To someone who truly loves me.

A shiver runs through me.

I straighten up and take a deep breath.

The Maple Creek sun greets me as I step out of my hotel room. Light filters through the leaves of tall trees lining the street, casting shifting shadows on the cobblestone ground. The air is mild, lightly scented with pine and the earth still damp from morning dew.

The church is right across, small and unassuming, with stone walls covered in ivy and a bell tower standing proudly against the blue sky. It’s a simple place, but beautiful. Intimate. Like us.

My heart pounds a little too hard in my chest.

In a few moments, Ares will be there, waiting for me at the end of the aisle.

I stand before the church doors.

No one is outside. All the guests must already be seated inside, waiting for my arrival.

My gaze drifts momentarily to the cobblestones beneath my feet, then slowly climbs back to the imposing carved wooden door. My heart races faster. Not just from excitement. There’s a shadow of doubt, creeping into my thoughts at the worst possible time.

I’ve been married before.

A shiver runs through me.

Jace.

His name lodges itself in my mind like a parasite, dragging me back years. My first marriage was a prison, an illusion of choice when I had no control over my own life. Saying “I do” had been my downfall, and for a long time, I told myself love was just a trap. A lie woven with invisible chains.

And now… here I am, standing before a church again.

Is this a good idea?

Did I make the right choice?

And Ares? He’s been married before too. His story with William left marks, scars he doesn’t always show but I catch in some silences.

Are we making a mistake trying this a second time?

I run my hands over my temples, as if to chase away the thoughts, and I laugh softly.

Ares would probably scold me if he saw me doing this. He’d furrow his brows, raise an irritated eyebrow, and say sharply,

“Stop doing that, Andrew. You’re thinking too much.”

And he’d be right.

I blow out a deep breath.

It’s time to join him.