The Carrero Heart - Beginning: Arrick and Sophie. (The Carrero Series Book 4)

by L. T. Marshall

  ‘Jake picked the last two, so this one’s all mine. I kind of like the name Ava, something just tells me this is a little Ava. It has a romantic sound to it.’ Emma beams down at her bump, which is now moving slightly, smoothing her hands over and going back to her previous resting position.

  ‘I like it, it’s pretty. A pretty name for another pretty child. Your kids are always beautiful Emma.’ I genuinely mean it, both her children are gorgeous.

  ‘Pretty kids come from pretty men.’ Emma beams back out at Jake, I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue. The Carreros definitely own the market in good DNA, even Giovanni in his fifties is still a handsome man and Sylvana, Jake’s mother, is a beauty to behold. I don’t think I have met a single Carrero relative, at any of their family parties, that wasn’t above a seven on the attractive scale.

  ‘I don’t know if I ever want kids.’ I shrug, turning to watch Mia squealing with delight as her father hangs her by the ankles and spins her around at an alarming late, Emma doesn’t even blink. Lucas is quite happy to follow in his little Ferrari and beep his horn behind them.

  ‘I used to say the same thing, but then Mia happened, and well, it changed everything.’ Emma watches me for a moment.

  ‘You’re only twenty Soph’s, so young still and so much ahead of you before you need to decide if you want kids.’

  ‘I don’t have any happy memories of childhood and with my track record of douchebag men, I would never inflict that on an innocent baby.’ I pick up some stems of grass, abandoning my sewing lesson and avoid Emma’s gaze.

  ‘Soph’s.’ Emma breaths sympathetically, but I only shake my head.

  ‘I’m over it… I don’t want to go back there… What we having for dinner?’ I deflect quickly, seeing Emma back down and feeling relieved that she hasn’t been pushing me the last few days, it’s like she senses that I just need a little time to act normally, and not focus my life on this ‘thing’.

  ‘Whatever Maria makes, she’s been a godsend in the kitchen lately. I’m just too tired to do much anymore, except count down the days to a bump’less existence.’

  ‘Oh, and how I look forward to having my bump’less sexy wife back, so I can manoeuvre her into….’ Jake cuts in and is halted with me slapping his leg in disgust.

  ‘Ewww noooo. NO, NO , NO.’ Jake only laughs and flops down on the grass beside me, tugging my hair like a child.

  ‘Stop traumatising the children.’ Emma chides, and I wrinkle up my nose at him.

  ‘You’re vile… I don’t know why I ever thought you were charming.’ I screw my face up at him.

  ‘I AM charming, and sexy, and hot, and pretty much a lothario in the bedroom.’ He winks at his wife, who can only shake her head at him.

  ‘See, she can’t even deny any of the above.’ Jake rolls on his back, propping his hands behind his head, and then crumples with an ‘oooft’ noise as Lucas launches himself on top of Jake’s abdomen.

  ‘That’s what you get!’ I laugh as he sits up to recover and hauls his son into a cuddle, kissing him on top of the head and scooping him into man muscles that makes Lucas look tiny.

  ‘Dadda, kisses.’ Lucas smiles sweetly and is met with what he desires in the form of daddy kisses, all over his face, before Jake then pretends to eat him, roaring like a dinosaur, making the kid scream and wriggle to be free, through hysterical giggling.

  ‘You’re next!’ Jake warns me as I roll out of reach from poky fingers and jabs, Mia comes and sits on my lower back gently, and lifts my ponytail up with such tender dainty little hands. She pulls my face to the side so her little soft wispy breath is in mine, those wide innocent blue eyes, so endearingly close to mine, with a serious look on her little face.

  ‘Be my horsey.’ She smiles down at the side of my face, before almost killing me by bouncing down hard on my spine.

  Chapter 11

  I’m walking home from Emma’s when my phone starts ringing in my pocket, pulling it out and seeing Arrick’s name, I let it ring and just slide it back in place. His calls have been getting more frequent, repeated texts to get me to answer the phone all day. I am trying my hardest to ignore him, I can’t face talking to him right now; I know he will only repeat the same things he said in my bedroom, and I really cannot face it.

  My heart is in no way ready for another rejection from him, and I have been trying everything I can to keep him out of my head. I breathe a sigh of relief when it stops ringing, knowing he won’t leave a voicemail, he has a weird aversion to those, and hoping he doesn’t send another text. It is obvious he is finding the cutting ties hard, he has been my best friend for years, and this is completely new for us. Even in the past two years when he had gone to the city, we still had contact if we wanted it. I have never cut him off and ignored him, and my frequent drunken calls meant he never really had space to miss me at all. I can’t deny that I miss him too, but it’s just never going to let me move on if I fold now.

  I know that’s all this is, he’s missing me because he can’t get hold of me. In time, he’ll get used to it and then he won’t notice anymore. I have to protect my heart, I’ve read enough ‘how to get over him’ websites this week to know, the only way for me to move on is complete radio silence in all ways. Severing ties and giving myself the space to accept and breathe.

  My phone beeps with a text, despite hoping he wouldn’t, and I can’t help myself from looking.

  ‘Soph’s talk to me, we need to talk about this. A x’

  I shove the phone back down into my pocket and gulp down the sudden pang of emotion, hitting me hard again. I hate that he is a decent guy, that despite all of this, he is trying to do the right thing and smooth this over. Find some sort of middle ground for us.

  There isn’t one. I have had time to come to terms with just how badly down that road to love I am on with him, and it’s deep. My behaviour had been like a neon sign for months, that I was falling apart without him. I can’t ignore that Natasha is in his life, and will probably be forever; he never dated women long term before her, choosing a life like Jake, and playing the field a lot before he settled down. Arrick is almost twenty-six now, probably ready to settle with a wife and kids, while I’m just a kid to him, young and reckless and childish. Even if his feelings were more, I doubt he would be happy with someone like me, and that hurts more than anything. The last thing I even want is marriage and kids, from anyone.

  I barley hit the doorstep when it rings again, scooping it out impulsively. I look down, seeing his name once more and frown that he’s being more persistent this time, he rarely repeat calls in a row. Checking the time, I realise he should be in his changing room for his fight tonight, and shouldn’t be trying to think about anything but that, he should be focused on getting ready, his hands wrapped in bandages and gloves, and psyching himself up. I hold my breath a moment, caught in doubt and hope that maybe he has changed his mind about us.

  Reality slaps me in the face almost as quickly, realising that Arrick always calls me before a fight, to wish him luck, he always said I was his good luck charm and two words from me guaranteed a win. I bite my lip anxiously. It’s such a stupid ritual, but I have no clue if he really needs it that much. I know Jake and he are super weird about good luck stuff when it comes to sports, and I find myself standing staring at my phone, really contemplating this. Wondering if by not wishing him luck I somehow jinx him into losing, ruining his non-defeat record he has worked so hard on. It would explain his constant calling, if he really is that superstitious about this.

  In two minds, I quickly type out a text, hoping it will stop him calling and send it on.

  ‘Good Luck with your fight x S’

  Moments later my phone rings again, his name flashing up, and I almost cry in desperation. I can’t keep filtering his calls and texts, it’s agony and he just won’t stop trying to reach out to me. I red button him this time, hoping he will get the hint, and then decide to take drastic action when it immediately rings again.

  Swiping int
o my contacts, I highlight his name and then add him to my automatic block list. Feeling like absolute shit while doing it, and hating how my hand and insides tremble and ache as I do. I honestly feel like I am stabbing him in the chest with a huge long blunt pointy thing right now, and I hate myself for it.

  Arrick won’t be able to call me anymore, he won’t be able to text, he’ll know it the next time he tries, which will probably be soon. I feel sick to my stomach at taking such cruel and drastic action, but I’m determined to put this pain behind me. It’s like severing my own limb, and tears sting my eyes, doubt filling my head. I stand for a moment staring at his name on the screen, my thumb crossing the text and the picture of him and I making duck face selfies; we look so carefree and happy on a trip somewhere. With a shearing splicing pain in my chest, I allow one tear to roll down my cheek, push the button on my phone to black out the screen, before throwing back my hair and heading home with a much heavier weight inside of me.

  * * *

  I stand in front of the mirror in the salon, while the stylist lifts my hair up at various heights behind me, a look of calculation on her face as she tries to decide what I should have done. I told her to go in for the kill and transform me in anyway she pleases.

  ‘I think maybe a sleek bob, or a pixie cut, would add some maturity to your face; this long hair does nothing but baby you.’ The woman smiles behind me and I can only shrug with indecision. Watching as she pulls it up to simulate a bob and I can see what she means. With the hair lifted, and jaw length, it ages me about five years, changing my face shape and the whole look.

  ‘Oh my god yes, a sleek bob would look sexy as hell on that bone structure.’ A smooth English accent comes out from behind us, as a slim red head slinks into view, picking up a strand of my hair and admires it in the mirror beside me.

  ‘Definitely a bob, collarbone length and super high at the back. You know, sassy, classy, and sure to make the boys wink and all that. Edgy, yet super smoking hot.’ She paws over my hair, narrowed dazzling eyes, scanning my blonde locks effortlessly.

  ‘Do you work here?’ I blink at the girl who doesn’t look that much older than me, dressed in a figure hugging shift dress and pearls, matched with sexy shoes and killer fifties make up. She is a complete contradiction to the girls from the city, yet somehow, so much sexier, while being completely dressed from neck to knee. That accent just adds to her allure and I want her dress so bad. It’s like an Audrey Hepburn remake and so freaking cute, I cannot help but eye up the sexy stilettos and wonder if they are Louboutin.

  ‘Hell no, dahling. I’m Camilla. I’m here for my awful roots.’ She smiles and tilts her head at the mirror, messing with her non-existent regrowth.

  ‘Ghastly, I look like death. Can’t believe I even left the house like this.’ She smiles; her precision red, lined lips, forming the most seductive of smiles and I am strangely captivated by this overly sensual beast. She has something that just draws you in and holds you prisoner.

  ‘You live around here? I have never seen you before.’ I watch as the other girl leans in and touches up her lipstick, completely bold and unashamedly in the mirror beside me, then blows herself a kiss. Something about her confidence just makes me like her instantly; she has this air of giving no shits, and doesn’t seem to care who is looking at her pampering herself in the full-length mirror.

  ‘Just! Mummy and Daddy bought a holiday home here, so we’re here for a few months to catch some sun and integrate into the community. You know, all that golf and caviar lunch nonsense. Daddy seems to think the only way to get the best from being in a golfing club is to get chummy with all the members.’ Camilla rolls her eyes and smiles widely at me.

  ‘What about you? Are you a local or just popping by to have the best stylists in town, pimp you out?’ She laughs, a deep husky and sensual laugh that turns a few heads her way, and makes it clear she doesn’t care about who looks at her at all.

  ‘Local. I stay about a mile away from here and I’m just looking for an update to my style. Sick of looking like a kid.’ I go back to lifting my hair as the stylist primps and preens it behind me. Fussing with different lengths and looking to me to make my choice.

  ‘So, what’s the decision?’ The stylist pops her head out in the reflection and catches my eye. I hesitate and look at Camilla with a waiver of doubt. For a second I look her over in her obviously dyed bright red hair and classic get up, and suddenly feel brave, this bold woman standing so close, and smiling so daringly has inspired me. I want to be as in control and confident as her.

  ‘What she said…. Let’s change the colour too. Make me a new person that no one will recognise.’

  * * *

  I can’t stop running my fingers through my hair as I sit across from Camilla in the bistro café we have come to for a coffee, lifting the black strands of hair and twirling them nervously. I have no idea what my Mom or Leila are going to say about this drastic a change, but the reflection in the hair salon had shown a completely transformed woman. I look and feel, for the first time ever, that I actually look my age and the amount of well-dressed men turning our way in passing has not just been for Camilla.

  Gone are the long blonde strands and round baby face, with pale stormy blue eyes, and in its place, a more angled sleek facial shape. Framed with dark hair that seems to make my eyes stand out crazily, as though the blue is somehow more intense and less washed out. I hadn’t been able to stop staring at the stranger in the mirror when they had shown me the new look. I don’t look like that stroppy child anymore, I look like some vampy woman in much need of a sexy dress. Camilla attacked me with winged liner and red lipstick, declaring me her new hair bestie, and invited me for coffee.

  ‘We really need to sort this out.’ Camilla leans over, pulling up the baggy sleeved t-shirt, emblazoned with an old boy band that I had sauntered out of the house wearing this morning. I hated to admit, but the last few days of frumpy clothing is almost killing me. I know I am just dressing to suit my sombre mood, but my love of clothes means I actually feel so much worse dressed this way.

  ‘I’m sort of going through a restyle, this was my comfy phase, after binning about three wardrobes worth of slutty attire.’ I sigh heavily, hoping to avoid any talk of the reasons behind the complete lifestyle change. The man behind my pathetic wardrobe dilemma.

  ‘Oh Dahling, slutty is sooo overrated. Men want class, and something left to the imagination nowadays, only the club scruffs go after booty in a dental floss.’ Camilla sips her English tea and gazes at me.

  ‘You have so much potential, a whole other class of sexy. I mean have you looked at that hot girl in the mirror today, Sophie Dahling, you’re truly fucking stunning. You’re what the mere mortals call ‘da bomb’.’ Camilla was definitely another class of sexy, I hadn’t been able to stop staring at her on the walk over here. I may not have any sort of attractions to women, but I can appreciate, Camilla is definitely a new breed for me.

  ‘You would be willing to help me pick some new clothes?’ I regard her with wide eyed innocence. The little fashionista inside my head running on into excited overdrive.

  ‘Oh my god, dahling, I like totally love styling people. It’s what I live for. What look are you going for?’ Camilla leans forward conspirationally with a half-smile on her face that is almost seductive.

  ‘Something mature, yet sexy. Something that says grown up, and got her shit together.’ I fiddle with my mug, acting braver than I’m feeling. Smiling when Camilla claps her hands in glee.

  ‘How soon do you want to start, I’ve an itch to break daddy’s credit card and would shop at the drop of a hat.’ She’s leaning in, excited and smiling, shuffling her shoulders in anticipation. Beaming at me mischievously.

  ‘I’m not doing anything right now, and I only got my new card this morning after I, um, lost my last one.’ I smile, omitting the fact my ex-boyfriend ripped off my cards, after high tailing it with my bag. Terry and Dionne had been the reason my dad had received a four-thou
sand-dollar credit bill and he was still trying to have the bank recoup it, seeing as I never reported them stolen. Needless to say, I am in the major bad books. Dad always so serious over our responsibilities with money.

  ‘Let’s go! I have this most amazing little boutique I found down a side street that you just have to adore!’

  * * *

  I throw the bags down on my bed and haul off the new long black coat, tied over the shift dress I am wearing, catching sight of myself in the mirror. I do a double take. Sophie is gone, and some slender and poised girl in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress is staring back at me, flawless make up and killer tailoring, down to my ankle strapped heels with a moderate heel. I have to give it to Camilla, she has style and she has made me look like a million dollars.

  My parents weren’t home when I got here, and for that I’m thankful; I’m not sure how they are going to react with my natural blonde locks sheared off, and dyed vampy black, but I hope they see this as a positive sign, that I am getting my shit together.

  Camilla has given me her cell number, and arranged to meet for drinks later tonight, over dinner at a nearby restaurant. It will be my first time out on the town since coming home and I want to assure my mom that I will be careful and not come home drunk. I am trying so hard to undo the damage I have inflicted on her heart, we have been spending time together, a little over the last few days, growing close again. I want to prove to the people who love me that I really want to move on with my life.

  Wandering downstairs carefully, I listen for any signs of life, checking again that no one is home before heading to the kitchen to fetch myself something light to eat. The last week I have spent more time at home than at Emma’s and Jake’s. Just readjusting and pouring over the paperwork for the little evening classes I want to join.