His Name on My Skin

Everyone in New York knew one thing: I was hopelessly in love with Samuel Gibson–the devoted believer, the man I thought was destined to be mine.

I polished a prayer–bead bracelet by hand and gave it to him. He only frowned, but finally agreed to marry me. I thought it was a sign of love.

The night I went to tattoo his name on my lower back, I heard his voice through the wall.

“Samuel, are you serious about marrying Amanda? Even if you don’t, she’ll still chase you. Why break your promise for her?”

He fingered the beads I had made and said flatly, “Our families arranged the engagement when we were kids. And that’s the only reason I’m marrying her.”

“Oh? So you’d marry just anyone, as long as she’s the one they picked?”

Samuel stood up with an icy expression. His words were laced with contempt.

“Of course. And I’m doing myself a favor. She’s overly clingy–marrying her and keeping her confined at home might finally bring some peace.”

My heart lurched, and I trembled slightly, causing the tattoo to go slightly off.

As I gently touched the word “Gibson,” a bitter smile appeared on my face. “Perfect timing. Change the first word to Theo.”

However, on the wedding day, Samuel stopped me with a stern expression.

“Amanda Harlan, what are you doing? I’m ready to marry you, yet you went after my younger brother? Enough with your hard–to–get tricks. I have no interest in wasting my time.”

Surprised, I responded, “Samuel, I think you’ve got it wrong. My family did arrange a match with a Gibson, but no one ever said it had to be you.”