The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 49

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 deep black strands of hair and twirling them nervously. I have no idea what my Mom or Leila is going to say about this drastic change, but the reflection in the hair salon showed me 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 wasn’t able to stop staring at the stranger in the mirror when she showed 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 then 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 sauntered out of the house wearing this morning. I hate to admit, but the last few days of frumpy clothing are almost killing me. I know I’m just dressing to suit my somber 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 dental floss.” Camilla sips her English tea and gazes at me wisely. “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 is definitely another class of sexy, and I haven’t been able to stop staring at her

since the walk over here. I may not have any sort of attractions to women, but I can appreciate, Camilla is 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 conspiratorially with a half-smile on her face that is almost seductive. She’s too beautiful to be real.

“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. Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“How soon do you want to start? I’ve an itch to break daddy’s credit card and will shop at the drop of a hat.” She leans 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 hightailing it with my bag. Terry and Dionne are the reason my dad received a four thousand dollar credit bill, and he is still trying to have the bank recoup it, seeing as I never reported them stolen. Needless to say, I’m in the major bad books. Dad’s always so serious over our responsibilities with money.

“Let’s go! I have the most amazing little boutique I found down a side street that you will positively adore!”

***

I throw the bags down on my bed and haul off the new long black coat that’s tied over the shift dress I am wearing and catch sight of myself in the mirror. I do a double take with a gasp as it really hits me.

Sophie is gone, and some slender and poised girl in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress is staring back at me, flawless makeup, and killer tailoring, down to my ankle strapped shoes with a moderate heel. I have to give it to Camilla; she has style, and she’s 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’s given me her cell number and arranged to meet for drinks later tonight, over dinner at a nearby restaurant. It’ll be my first time out on the town since coming home, and I want to assure my mom that I’ll be careful and not come home drunk. I’m trying so hard to undo the damage I have inflicted on her heart and we’ve been spending a little time together 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.

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. This last week I have spent more time at home than at Emma and Jake’s. Just readjusting and pouring over the paperwork for the little evening classes I want to join.

Sitting at the table with my Chicken Caesar Salad, I freeze when I clock the front door opening, and the clatter of feet coming into the hall, the tell-tale clicks of my mom’s heels on the marble floor. Bracing myself for the moment my parents walk into the kitchen, my nerves get the better of me, but I remain poised and ready at the table. They walk in, smiling and chatting while carrying paper bags, oblivious at first as I stay completely still and hold my breath.

“Sophie?” My mom stops in complete shock, taking me in, while my dad bumps into her with wide- mouthed silence. It’s almost like that stomach lurching moment when your parents discover you have a piercing somewhere on your face, as Leila once did, or that time they spotted my rose tattoo on the

base of my spine, the one Arrick took me for when I was seventeen, and went absolutely ape shit over it.

“Hey... Ummm, do you like it?” I flick the edge of my hair up cutely. Chewing nervously on my lip. My mom traces her eyes down the entire outfit, silently losing all external expression.

“It’s certainly different, honey.” She smiles brightly. “Your dress is gorgeous, and well, it may take a bit of getting used to, but your hair is rather nice too. Don’t you think?” She nudges my dad, who is still staring silently. His eyes glaze over and with a tense jaw, and a silent broody look of disapproval, he turns and walks off, muttering under his breath ‘Not my Sophs’ moodily without a backwards glance.

“Ignore him, you know he finds any signs of you lot growing up hard to handle. He’ll get used to it.” My mom comes around the table and places a delicate kiss on my cheek, soothing over the hurt caused by dad’s reaction. “I really like your makeup, it does so much more for you than the three inches of ‘smokey’ eyes you are fond of. This is so minimal, yet stunning.” She brushes a hand over my cheekbone, brushing back my new silky hair, revealing my liner and red lips. Nothing much else is going on except a bit of highlight and blush. Understated glamour.

“I made a new friend,” I cut in, trying to redirect her attention and ignore the utter disappointment still reeling inside. I know it’s stupid, to always get like this when they disapprove of something that matters to me, but I can’t help it.

“You did? Anyone we know?” Mom moves with the paper bags to the fridge and unloads the delicatessen boxes she’s come home with. As much as we have cooks and cleaners, and Mom’s not against the odd cooking splurge, she prefers health food takeaway for convenience. She has a weakness for the couscous concoctions from her favorite organic food store.

“She’s new to town, the family are called Walters. They’re English. Camilla Walters.” I watch my mother fetch a glass of water and ice before returning to me, still looking thoughtful and nonplussed.

“Can’t say it rings a bell, but if they’re new then maybe we just haven’t run into them yet.” She smiles softly then moves off from the table in pursuit of her husband. A gentle stroke of my hair as she passes me. “I do like it, Sophie, just a bit of a shock to find our little blonde honey is now some slinky dark lady right before our eyes.” I smile at her, but it doesn’t really ring true, still mulling over the fact my dad pretty much dismissed it and walked off without a single word to me.

“Oh, before I forget ... Arrick left you about ten messages today. Please call that boy, something must be wrong with your cell, and he sounded so frantic. He never leaves messages, so it must be urgent.” My mom smiles innocently and walks off down the hall leaving me to sag into the table, that inner control and poise collapsing under the weight of his name.

Last thing I need is to know he’s still trying to get hold of me. It only makes me angry that he’s refusing to respect my wishes. He has no idea how much this it’s killing me, to try to separate him from my life, and he’s only making this worse by holding on. Just when I think I am doing okay; he somehow sweeps in and it all comes crashing down around me again in a torrent of horrendous aching pain.