The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 134

I roll over and open my eyes, completely refreshed after sleeping so long and the smell of food drifting my way. I sit up on the couch and blink at the tv, still playing on low, the noise of Arrick clanging pans or whatever’s in the kitchen, and gaze over the back of the couch to watch him.

He’s been making Ragu sauce by the smell of it; his moms’ recipe and I can see the pasta on the counter, he made his own. She used to teach me how to do all that stuff when I was younger too, but I never had any real affinity with cooking. He seems to enjoy it when he’s in the mood and everything smells heavenly.

I don’t know what time it is, but the skyline over by the dining table looks too dark to be early evening and I wonder if hens changed his mind about going out tonight with his friends.

I know Jenny is meant to be coming, but Christian is with his boyfriend tonight and won’t be making a show of himself. We are celebrating Arrick’s win and the fact his next fight is a championship try at a belt. He could get a real title after this, one which could completely launch him as a fighter among people he really admires. Nate set up tonight as a celebration for them both, as he’s really the one who got Arry this far.

He’s worked so hard to get here and I know even though he jokes about retiring that he loves what he does. He keeps Carrero Corp in his back pocket so that when he does retire, he still has something to do in his life, besides spend money and rely on wealth. Arrick will never be one of those men who sits idly by a pool and lets life pass them by. He’s already booked us on three or four trips over the next months, in my school term breaks, and he’s taking me to Austria soon to go skiing before Christmas. Just the two of us.

“I’m hungry.” I yawn and call out to him while stretching my limbs out, like a contented cat; he spins his head and instantly smiles at me.

“Hey sleepyhead. Do you feel better? Food will be ten minutes still.” He has a towel over his shoulder and looks a little hot and flushed from slaving over a cooker all afternoon.

Love my domestic man when he looks like this.

“I do…. But now, I’m starving.” I get up and wander across to the kitchen, wearing one of Arry’s button downs as a sleeping shirt over fresh underwear. We showered when we came home, seeing as I left such a lasting impression on both of our clothes and I am still not entirely sure it’s the wonderful thing he claims it is.

I curl up in the arms that outstretch to me, snuggling in as he kisses me on top of the head and squeezes me against him. He feels hot and clammy from being in the kitchen with the steam and heat. He smells more like his anti-perspirant than normal, so I guess he’s been sweating it out over here while I acted like a Disney princess and conked out in front of Jurassic park. I let go of him and move past to the bread bin, where I stashed my open family sized bag of Cheetos last night and pull them out to graze.

Arry turns from stirring the water and dumping the fresh pasta in and frowns at me. Switching the bag in my hands with a breadstick, in a fast swipe, that gets him a major glare.

“Hey.” I go to snatch it back, but he holds it up over anything I could ever reach and then dumps them on top of the refrigerator, which is like seven feet tall.

Douchebag.

“You literally only need to wait minutes, besides…. Cheeto’s Sophie? You’re going to turn into one at this rate.” He scolds me gently, smacking my ass to move me as he leans into a cupboard for bowls.

“Why do you always do such mean stuff to me?” I shove his hand away when he tries to pinch my cheek on the way back up and start jumping up to reach the bag of snacks, like an adolescent. Failing

miserably because I am clearly vertically challenged and Arrick shakes his head at me.

“Yeah, wanting you to eat healthier is super mean. What an awful boyfriend I am.” He rolls his eyes and I smack his ass this time for his cheeky retort, and for stealing my mannerism.

I own the eyeroll in this relationship.

“You are!” I point out and then slump back against the chrome door and bite the end of my breadstick in defeat. Crunching noisily to be annoying.

“You know when we have babies, or even when you’re pregnant, I won’t be so lenient on what you eat.” He turns to me, deadly serious. I blink at him, completely stupefied and the blood rushes from my entire body in a split second.

“What now? Arrick why did you say the B word? We don’t talk about the B word, or the M word. Isn’t that like the number one cardinal rule of Arry?” heat creeps up my face and I gawp at him in disbelief, stomach churning over in nerves at this sudden surprise attack. Arrick turns to me with a soft look on his face.

“No. It’s just we never used to because we weren’t the subject. One day there will be the M and B Sophie. I know neither of us are ready for that, but I do think about that stuff with you. I know where my future lies.” He seems so sure, says it in such a matter of fact way, going back to scooping or ladling or whatever the hell he is doing over there with his back turned to me, without any other reaction.

“You do?” that tiny waiver in my voice betrays the fact he’s going to make me cry and his posture changes, head turning over his shoulder to look at me.

“Of course, I do…. I want you to finish school and get onto whatever career path you want to go on, Sophs, but one day, I want to marry you and have kids. Even if I’m the one who has to be the mom. You know, cos you’re clearly domestically challenged and all.” He smiles at me and my face crumbles,

a tear rolling down my cheek as bittersweet pain hits me right in the chest. I hate when he’s this randomly sweet and catches me off guard. Completely rips the rug out from under me and I never know how to react.

“I thought you never wanted any of that stuff with anyone, you always said you didn’t think about any of that. If I remember right your exact words were quote, ‘the thought of babies and a wife put the fear of God into me.’ Unquote.” I blink at him still, wiping away my moment of weakness, heart racing in both panic and yet something more. The thought that he would completely change that for me, and I want to break into massive sobs and wrap myself around him. Arrick puts down the ladle he’s been holding and comes to me, placing his hands on my shoulders and gazes at me adoringly with a long slow exhale.

“The thought of any old wife and anyone’s babies, sure… But you, and ours… No fear in here at all. Only the sad thought that I fell in love with a girl who thinks Cheeto’s are one of the five food groups, and uses bath towels to dust, occasionally. Or the fact, I’m pretty sure you weren’t meaning to dust at all… I think you probably assume towels live on the coffee table when you’re done with them. And you pretty much leave your shoes on any surface that they land on, daily.” He smirks, kisses my temple and then goes back to retrieve the pasta from boiling water.

“Why do you always ruin something so sweet with something extra, not sweet.” I blink at him, wiping my face and throwing a kiss on him from behind, recovering from the tenderness and hitting his neck because I am barefoot and he’s not bending for me. Completely blown away by what he has said and know he’s lightening the seriousness of his statement, because neither of us are ready for the M talk yet. Especially not me.

How can I marry a guy I can’t even tell I love yet?

“You know…. because I live with you and you rubbed off on me. You have made abrasive love an art form.” He winks, once again, sass in place of love sonnets and I eye roll.

“Thanks. I feel so proud! …. About that…… Ummmmm. How much do you like your spare room?” I finger the hem of my shirt nervously, pushed to do this now because it’s been on my mind and seems like a good topic to slot it in. Watching his strong shoulders move under that sexy fitted tee as he does the chef thing over there.

“If you’re planning on a sex cave, or an Xbox room, then I am all for it.” He turns to me a little, cheekily smiling, leans in and kisses me, completely missing the subtlety of my hint.

“I was thinking pink…. Maybe a lot of sparkle.” I blink at him nervously, watching as he goes and scoops the last of his pasta out of the water, into a colander thing and turns the heat off on the sauce. Preoccupied and not really getting the heaviness of my tone.

“You want a pink sparkly sex room? I don’t know if that will do it for me, baby.” He glances at me completely confused. Head clearly on what he’s doing and not what I am saying, although, my topics are usually random, so he probably thinks I am off on another weird tangent.

“You’re the only one thinking of sex rooms here…. I was thinking of ...You know? That if I’m going to move in, then I would need to bring my sewing room.” My heart skips a beat as I finally verbalize what I have been wanting to say for days now and kept losing my nerve.

“Mmmmmm.” he is only apparently half listening and answers vaguely before he seems to frown. Arrick pauses with moving the pasta to plates and looks at me twice. Face finally registering on that extra little glance. “Moving in?” For a moment I really believe he’s maybe changed his mind and my stomach drops to my toes, but then the smile that breaks across his face, like a sudden beam of light, soothes the pop of pain that went with it.

“If the offer is still there?” I sound so scared, completely out of my comfort zone and Arrick drops everything he is doing to pick me up and kiss me hard. It’s so sudden I yelp in fright and flail my arms

before gripping on tight. A clumsy kiss, bashing noises and I manage to bang my teeth on his, hardly the sexiest of moments but it makes me giggle away the nerves as he cradles me against him tightly.

“Offer is most definitely still there, baby… You can paint the whole apartment pink and fill it with fluffy cushions if it means I get to come home to you every night.” He spins me around, hugging me tighter and kissing me again, grinning like a crazy person and it’s infectious. I giggle back as he slides me down to my bare feet, but keeps a hold on me, hands sliding down to cup my ass cheeks through the thin shirt.

“I’m bringing my unicorns.” I point out sternly. Making it clear now, before he faints when I box up the three million fluffy roommates I have.

“Didn’t expect anything else, even if there is an army of like fifty now.” He kisses me again, obviously very happy with my decision to move in. Not caring about the Unicorn army either. Yet! He hasn’t seen them in their entirety all in one place like I have.

“And my complete collection of shoes. I may need another wardrobe though, as yours is so not big enough.” I raise serious brows his way, knowing the importance of my walk in, and the sheer lack of one in Arrick’s room. Just breaking him in gently for what he is agreeing to.

“I will sacrifice any room in the house to keep your shoes and dresses pampered, baby… I’ll even buy another floor if we need to expand down the ways. I want you here, always.” He lets me go to wander back to what he was doing, content and smiley still. I’m suddenly bursting with happiness too. He dishes sauce over the pasta in the bowls and stoops to pull garlic bread from the oven, winking at me as he does so. Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

My cute boy.

“You may need the cleaner to come a little more often… I don’t do cleaning, or cooking, or you know? … most adulting stuff that is normal for girls.” I shrug unapologetically and know fine well that he is

forever cleaning up my apartment when we stay there, being a bit of a neat freak. Arrick is forever loading my dishwasher and emptying my trash. He should understand all of this before the big move in, you know, in case he regrets it, or thinks I might miraculously turn into Martha Stewart or some sort of normal female. He should know he’s getting a fully-grown child with bad habits, and a really lazy side when it comes to cleaning.

“Nothing new there then. If I wanted a domestic goddess, I would never have picked you.” He slides the bread onto another plate and puts all the pans in the sink behind him. Smirking and still looking a lot like a guy who hasn’t changed his mind.

“We really doing this?” I blink at him nervously.

Last chance to run for the hills, handsome.

“Sophs, we have been doing this from the morning of Leila’s party, you’ve just been slow on the catch up.” He kisses my cheek as he passes by and starts to gather up plates on a tray, looking a little too at ease with this.

“Don’t take up snoring. I may have to smother you in your sleep if I have no escape from sharing a bed with you.” I warn, slightly panicky that maybe he isn’t really thinking through how serious this really is. It’s a huge decision, taking over half or more, of his man cave and making it a little less ‘guy’.

“I promise not to take up snoring.” He smiles happily. No sign of any confusion or doubt or niggles, infuriatingly cool and calm like always. Satisfied that he isn’t in shock, misunderstanding of my very real intentions and obviously with the program.

“Good, I think that we have that settled. Guess you just need to paint my room pink and then I’m all yours.” I pat him on the top of his head and saunter off towards the dining table to remind him how hungry I am.

“Wait? … I’m painting the room? You know I can afford a decorator, right?” He pauses what he’s doing and gazes at me, looking a little disturbed, his tone on the shocked side.

Yeah, that right there!

“Ummm noooo. It will mean more if we do it; well…you. I want to see you use a drill thing to build stuff. I think that’ll be hot.” I point out, sliding into my chair, so I can watch him in comfort and see him waiver. Feeling strangely evil in this moment.

“You don’t drill anything to paint a room, Sophs… I mean, I will do it if you want me to? I helped Nathan decorate his apartment, so I am pretty good at all that stuff. I figured you would want it done professionally.” He shrugs, goes back to sorting out the tray and lifts it up.

“You’re a professional fighter. Close enough. Perfect.” I smile, quite happy with myself for that one.

“Is this some passive aggressive punishment for something I can’t figure that I’ve done?” Arrick frowns at me suspiciously, but I shrug. Watching him making his way towards me, he is so effortlessly sexy at times and it makes me sigh and curl my toes.

“I’m thinking pink with wooden flooring, maybe white furniture and a whole wall of hanging rails for my finished pieces. I need a blackboard too, for the design stage. I like the idea of an old blackboard like they had in ancient schools.” I scroll off the list of things I have been daydreaming about when I snooped in the room the other day and try to picture where it will all go.

“Should I get a notepad?” Arrick comes to the table, lays down the tray in front of me, in the center of the table, then goes to his side unit and fishes for silverware. He hands me a spoon and fork and sits down to face me to eat. Handing me a bowl and taking his own, leaving the tray with the bread between us.

“Maybe. I want a chaise lounge; your room is so much bigger than the one at my place, more space for girly stuff, like mannequins.” I help myself and dig in with relish, it smells amazing and I am about famished already. So hungry that my mouth is literally watering.

“Mannequins? Is this a studio we’re building, or an actual store?” He seems momentarily worried.

“Tailors dummies! I have one in my size, but I need more if I’m making different sized items. A store is in the five-year plan, not yet.” I raise a brow at him and Arrick looks completely blank.

“Five year plan, huh? Sophie’s store? … Designer extraordinaire… Career girl in fashion. I like it.” He smiles, eyebrows meeting with that cute half smile, dimples galore. He looks down and scoops up sauce on his bread before stuffing it in his mouth.

“You better? … You’re going to fund it.” I grin at him and catch that small dimple get stronger as he fully smiles and then regards me with a long drawn out smirk.

“Don’t worry, baby… Carrero Corp has your back. We will be seeing you at New York Fashion week soon enough.” He winks throwing me that winning smile that takes my heart.