The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 151

“Hey, baby, just checking in. My flight’s at eight a.m. New York time tomorrow. That’s your two p.m. in the afternoon, so I’ll get in before dawn to climb into bed with you.” Arry’s voice is a breath of fresh air after another shitty day at school, another round of mean girl antics, and being made to feel like a leper. But I won’t let him know. He’s been gone two whole days already, I miss him like crazy, but it hasn’t been as unbearable as I thought it would. I’ve been so busy with work and essays to think beyond it that really; I only get pangs for him before bed and early in the day when I get up.

“Okay dokes. I’ll look forward to being woken by you and that sexy mouth.” I giggle down the phone, wishing it was tonight instead. I could really use an Arry hug, it’s severely missing in my life and his effects on me.

“You can count on it…What you doing any way? I miss you, baby, tell me what you’re doing.” He sounds husky and tired, even though it’s still the middle of the day for him there, while I’m home and already in a fluffy unicorn Onesie. Settling down for the evening while Paris has another monumental downpour of a rainstorm.

“Making food, getting ready to watch a movie in bed. Missing you crazily.” I smile to myself as I push toast in the machine and press it down.

“Wait… Making food? Sophs, why are you making food? We have a cook?” He sounds instantly alarmed, mild panic to that normally cool tone, and I frown that he thinks I’m this incapable.

I mean, really?

“I told her I would do it myself tonight. I’m making food because I want to. I am capable of cooking for myself.” I realize the toaster hasn’t lit up so look around for the plug in case it’s off and notice I never clicked it down properly. Messing with the dial to get it on, after a second, it lights up.

“Baby… In all seriousness… You can’t cook. Do you need me to list the amount of times you’ve set fire to our kitchen in New York? How many attempts at teaching you to cook have ended in failure?” He sounds more than alarmed; in fact, he sounds kind of horrified and I eye roll at his dramatics.

“Shhhhh… You’re being dumb. I can make toast. I know how to work the oven. You let me heat up oven food at home all the time.” I eye up the ready meal in the glass door I picked up on the walk home and peer in to see if it looks like it’s burning yet.

“Jesus Christ, woman!! Sophie, you do not make toast in the oven. Why the hell would you not let the cook, cook for you? It’s why I pay her. And me leaving you food to put in the oven when I’m due home is not the same as letting you make oven food unsupervised.” So now he sounds pissed and afraid, maybe a lot afraid and sometimes I wonder why my big manly boy can be such a girl at times. Anyone would think I was a complete reject at life, and he forgets, I did used to feed myself in the time before Arry.

“Firstly. I’m using the toaster, I’m not that dumb. Secondly… The oven is for the thing I got at the store; I am following instructions, sort of. And thirdly. She makes weird food, I don’t like, or even recognize.” I rattle off my responses motioning numbers with my fingers in mid-air, sniffing when it smells like something is burning and open the oven in alarm. Can’t see any fire so I shut it again.

“You bought food with instructions, instead of letting the cook do her job? And now you’re in the kitchen, using the oven… Alone? From a box?” He says it slowly, like he’s really having a hard time understanding this.

Okay so he’s not really amusing me with this anymore and I am starting to feel downright insulted.

“Weird food… didn’t like it.” I repeat with a sigh. He tolerates my Diva side, so I have to tolerate his anally overbearing side, I guess. Although I have way less patience than he does.

“She is your cook; she tells you what’s for dinner and you tell her yes, or no… She makes what you ask for, Sophs. Hence being your cook!” Talking to me like I’m a child and I glare at my cell as the toast pops up and startles me. It looks a bit black and I wave a hand at the little rivers of smoke coming from the toaster which only make me sigh harder.

“She talks French… I don’t know what she is saying.” I’m distracted by the fact that my toasts till seems to be smoldering and prod at it with a butter knife absentmindedly. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember Arry freaking out about me putting knifes near the toaster and shrug it off.

“She speaks English… Fluently. That’s why I hired her for you.” He sounds bossy, a lot like Jake in this moment and I’m starting to get irritated with him.

“In a really heavy French accent, that I don’t understand, and I am pretty sure she served me snails last night… Snails, Arry! … French people eat snails!” I pull the toast out and throw it in the trash can under the worktop to start over as it’s too black and smelly to even want to put in my mouth. I peer at the oven thing again, wondering if the black plastic is supposed to be curling around the edges of the tray. I shrug uncaringly and pull more bread from the bag to start over.

“For the love of god…” Arry is gritting his teeth, I can hear it and almost picture that little muscle twitching under his left cheek bone.

“Stop being so melodramatic, it’s just one Tv dinner… you’re such a food snob. I can handle a plastic tray of food for one meal.” I roll my eyes and watch the toaster for something to do, listening to him heavy breathing through an obvious panic attack.

“You did take it out of the plastic, right? Checked it wasn’t a microwave meal, instead of an oven meal, though, right?” He sounds strained, rambling like a weirdo. I can tell his nerves are probably a little frayed right now. Arry has a womanly love for his kitchen and all his gadgets in here. He’s a bit of a

freak about his space. He’s probably imagining an Armageddon-like scene of chaos and my managing to break his precious oven.

I eye up the obviously melting tray in the oven and grimace, murmuring a cuss word under my breath and turn it off in a bid to limit the damage as I spy black sauce dripping down the shelf onto the next level.

Shit

“Ummm… Sure.” I start looking around for some sort of bowl or tray I can prop in there to catch what is now oozing between the bars of the shelf and grab the first thing to hand. I open the open door and shove the oven mitt under the now stringy drips and close it again with a slam. It stinks, like molten plastic and vomit mixed together and I realize that’s not black sauce… but liquid plastic tray.

“Sophie?” Arrick sounds concerned, close to hysteria. I’m starting to think that maybe he is right, and I should never fend for myself. I almost shit myself, jumping in fright when our smoke alarm goes off like a sudden slap in the head with a loud invading beep, beep, beep, at ridiculous levels. The toaster is belching smoke this time and I hit it in a panic to pop the cremated toast while I waft the infernal smoke alarm with a dish rag.

He was the one who bought a stupidly efficient toaster that cremates bread in seconds, so technically this is not a fail in self-sufficiency, but more a fail of gadget use.

Dammit.

“This is your fault, you cursed me.” I blame him down the phone before I put it down and try like crazy to get the dumb alarm to shut up. Climbing on the counter to push open the window and air the room. I put my cell back to my ear when it finally stops, sliding to sit on the counter and hear him ranting my name in a very irate tone.

“What?” I cut him off.

“Swear to god, I’m coming home, right now. Have you called the fire service? Do I need to?” He’s so not sounding funny and probably one hundred percent serious. I jump down as the air starts to clear with the damp breeze from outside and try to ignore the alarm starting again, hoping it will stop soon before our neighbors call them instead.

“Shut up… Stop being lame. I just burnt toast and melted a little plastic… Oh, and set fire to the oven mitt…” I add in afterthought as I spot the tiny flame through the oven door appear naughtily and start filling a mug with water from the tap to throw in there. The noise he makes sort of suggests he just face planked his desk and is probably rubbing his face half to death in a bid to keep his crap together.

“I’m calling Janetta… And the fire service. Jesus, Sophs. This is exactly why I tell you not to cook… To let me handle things. I’m coming home, I swear. I’m on the first flight before you burn our apartment down. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when I know you’re stubborn enough to think you can fend for yourself?” He’s pissed now, a lot alarmed and sounding majorly catatonic while semi yelling at me. Cute, yet annoying, bugging my happiness and I open the oven and throw the water on the almost non- existent smoldering flames as it lets out a sizzle and dies.

“Calm your pants, Carrero. All fixed. Fires out, toaster and oven off… I promise. I think I’ll have cereal for dinner. You can cancel your panic flight home to save the kitchen… It’s only a little bit smelly and Janetta is not coming here at this time of night. Stop being such a woman!” I sigh and move to open the cupboard where we keep the cereal boxes, disinterested in his meltdown. He has them every so often and I have learned to blank it most of the time.

“This is supposed to make me feel better about being so far away? Are you sure everything’s off, the fire is out? Sophs?” He groans, mutters to himself incoherently as I ignore him. I smile to myself when I find that he’s bought me lucky charms and left them in beside my favorite bowl.

I love how thoughtful my cutie is.

“Shhhhh. I’m not completely useless. I’ll let Janetta cook next time; I mean she is the cook after all… that’s what you pay her for.” I answer pointedly, not really getting what his problem is. It’s not like I didn’t put it out. He takes a long-exaggerated breath as though trying to cool his reaction and curb that famous Carrero temper.

“I love you, but sometimes… Sometimes, Sophs… I honest to god feel like you make me crazy. I’m calling her to get her up to check you have eliminated the danger and fumes and switched it all off properly.” He sighs again, and I can imagine him rubbing his face as he tries to not lose his shit with me. It’s a common mannerism for him since we started living together.

“You’re just a girl sometimes. I think you need to take up yoga, or some sort of mediation. You get stressed way too easy for a dude and will end up having an early heart attack if you’re not careful.” I pour my cereal into my favorite pink unicorn bowl and smile to myself at all the pretty colors, tumbling together in such a cute aesthetic. Pleasing to the eye and instantly mood lifting.

“You’re my girlfriend… Do you blame me? I think I lose a year of life every three months I’m with you.” He sounds a little too deadpan for my liking.

“Ha, Ha!” I retort flatly and head to the refrigerator for milk.

“I’m being serious. You keep me on my toes for sure. Besides cremating the kitchen… Making me freak out … What movie you watching tonight? Please take my brain away from near death and house fires.” He sounds more relaxed, panic subsiding because knowing him he has already speed dialed help on his other line. I expect Janetta to be appearing soon and I know there is no stopping him; he won’t calm down fully until he has someone assure him, I am not about to harm myself with lack of domesticity.

I catch a female voice, faintly in the background saying his name, and the cell gets muffled for a second while he responds. I know he’s at his office, so it must be his PA Amanda. I’ve never met her,

but he mentions her sometimes and I’ve heard her on his cell before.

She sounds young, not that he’s ever said she is, and she has a kind of low raspy tone that I guess is attractive. I instantly get that pang of jealousy and push it away because I know I’m my most insecure when we’re apart for days. NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

I hate that I get this way sometimes; it’s not often and it’s not with every girl he knows. Just when I’m feeling low, insecure, or just lonesome. The past few days of school have me feeling all of that and his absence is getting to me.

“Sorry, baby, I need to call you back. I have a call to take. Look Janetta is coming, I text her and she said she will be up in five.” He sounds disappointed and it gets to me too, even obscuring the fact he’s sending in my housekeeper to check on me, despite my protests. Like sending the Nanny in to check on the naughty kid in her room.

“I miss you; I wish you were here.” I murmur softly, stupid insecure girl sneaking out and making me instantly emotional now he’s going and can almost see him smiling at me.

“I miss you too, baby girl, please do not use the kitchen at all, until I come home. You need a chaperone, and a fire attendant at all times. I love you, Sophs. I’ll call you before you go to sleep to make sure you’re okay.” His smooth husky tone hits me in the gut harder, now he’s hanging up. I want him home more than ever and not with his sexy voiced, probably hot PA who thinks business calls are more important than his Sophie time.

Bitch has no clue how important Sophie time is to Arry.

“I guess, bye then.” I respond a little lackluster, annoyed at myself for being stupid and he chuckles.

“Don’t you dare give me sulky… You’re such a Princess sometimes.” He laughs down the cell and I glare at the wall.

“Whose fault is that?” I accuse snappily. I hate when he calls me a princess and implies I’m a spoiled pampered nightmare. Even if it’s true.

“Yeah, I know… I created my little monster and I have only myself to blame for the diva in you. You’re my Princess… Stop huffing, I’ll call you back in an hour, okay? Goodbye, baby. I love you.” He hangs up before I can respond, and I glare at my cell.

Asshole.

Sometimes I really dislike him, and he makes me rage like nothing on earth, then other times I want to smooch his face to death and never let him go.

I guess it must be love.

I sigh and stare at the mess I’ve left in the kitchen and contemplate cleaning it up. The place stinks, but I’m tired and he does pay Janetta to do this for me. I know she is really anal like Arrick, it’s why they get on, and will probably clear it up when she comes to check on the damage anyway.

I wander to the bedroom lazily and pull back the throws and blankets I insist we have in here, even though the apartment never really gets cold. Laying my bowl on the nightstand to eat in bed, I smile when I slide into my side and see all his familiar things on his own nightstand. His shades, his watch he wears for special occasions and a discarded set of cufflinks.

I love all the little Arry things he leaves laying around; reminders of him when he’s not here and I sigh at his absence once more. The ache in my stomach spreads and the feeling of utter heavy loneliness hits me harder than before. It’s not just that he’s gone, it’s that I am far removed from everything that

was my life over here. It’s a huge emptiness in so many ways and feels so much bigger than just him going away.

I better get used to this; he will have to do it again if we are to stay here for the next year, probably frequently. This was the agreement before we even came out here. He flies back when he’s needed at Carrero Corp, or when he has fights to attend, and I stay here and focus on school. That is my only responsibility while we are here and everyone in the family knows I won’t be making trips outside of term holidays.

I snuggle down and try to tell myself that this will be okay. That I will get used to this and things will settle down in time.

It’s one year! I mean, how much can really change or fall apart in such a short space of time, right?