The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 16: 16

From the banging around in the kitchen and the smell of food for the last few minutes, I assume the one known as ‘girlfriend’ is being all domestic and shit and acting like the good little housewife she aspires to be. I’ve managed to dry my hair into some sort of straight silkiness without having straighteners and I’m literally starving. I ended up leaving most of my smoothie out in the Livingroom and it will be ruined by now, warm and melted and totally unpalatable.

I can hear Arry talking to her as I make my way out, swallowing down that tide of sheer ‘grrrr’ I always get when she’s around, and walk casually out into the middle of the room; unaffected by the presence of the little dark cloud in the apartment.

I catch sight of him leaning his butt against the kitchen counter, tossing an apple up and down and catching it as she moves around the stove and sink. She seems to be chatting to him and I stand for a second to watch the cozy little couple, doing cozy little ‘coupley’ things. It just makes me eye roll in rage.

Watching these two have me wondering why people stick together after the passion fizzles away. I mean they barely touch each other from what I have seen, they don’t laugh and kid around the way he does with me. Natasha is far too grown up for that, and I know it irritates her when he hangs me upside down or chases me through the house when I won’t give something back. She’s like a non-fun mom who had kids too young and regrets having to be the grown-up. I only ever see them exactly like this.

Where is the fun in love if it makes you behave like this all the time?

Is this what a grown-up relationship looks like?

Arrick is in mature mode, listening to whatever she’s saying with that deadpan expression and talking back with a look of boredom on his face. Well, actually, he always looks a bit like that when he’s not smiling, but I want to believe it’s boredom. Because it’s her, and she is the most mind-numbingly boring person I ever met.

I remember once he tried to bring her along when he took me snowboarding for a weekend. His family owns a ski lodge up in the mountains and it was like going off for a weekend of fun and adventure but with your gran in tow. She didn’t want to try anything, even skiing. She didn’t like when the group of us that went all sat outside after dark, around a fire, and got drunk. She hated that Arrick played his guitar and everyone had a little sing-along; she seemed mortified that he can not only play but sing too. I guess the absence of his guitar in recent years is down to her, the whole ‘happy hippy’ vibe by the campfire just seemed to make her wholly uncomfortable that night, and she looked incredibly awkward.

She wanted to stay in the lodge, read books by the fire and bake cakes for us all coming back in the evening. It made him feel like he couldn’t come with us and he spent most of the trip stuck at home with her too, while Nathan took me with him and acted like my stand in Arry for a few days. Not that I mind Nate, he’s Arry’s best male friend, next to his brother, and we get along crazily well.

“Hey, hey,” I cut in and swagger into the space between the lounge and kitchen confidently, chin already up defensively and eyes roaming for things to criticize. Arrick immediately flashes me that frown which serves as a reminder to behave. I cross my eyes at him and catch that narrowed gaze deepen, almost to a scowl.

Like I said … he has zero sense of humor when it comes to that wench.

“Hi, Sophie, you look interesting in that outfit.” She beams at me, pointing out the fact I am in the oversized Arrick hoody over my designer frayed mini skirt, the top practically eats the skirt and makes it look like I’m walking around without one. Her eyes trail alarmingly down my long naked legs to the small feet that are clad in a pair of Arrick’s sports socks to keep warm. On me, they look like leg warmers and keep sliding down.

“Student chic ... totally the rage,” I reply blandly, earning another frown from his side. Another chastising ‘behave or else’ thrown my way. I sigh it away.

“Well, only you could pull it off and make it work somehow. Very cute.” Natasha giggles and goes back to the stove, pouring batter into a pan as she cooks up pancakes.

Arrick leans out to me so he bends down in a stretch, catches the hem of my hoody, and lifts it with a questioning peek under the edge. I realize he’s checking to see I do actually have a skirt on under it and slap his hand away with a scowl.

“Had to check,” he smirks, and I realize he’s being funny. I eye roll harder and throw him the middle finger when Natasha’s head is turned. He catches it and yanks me closer to him so he can get me in a headlock and rubs the top of my skull hard, friction burning my scalp as penance for giving him the bird. I yelp, squirm and start fighting back, trying to stand on his foot and making a lot of muffled moaning noise as he keeps grabbing my hands and pinning them to his body.

“Arrick! Can you and Sophie set the table? I won’t be long and like to have a little space in the kitchen.” Natasha’s stern tone halts our messing with its motherly scold. Well and truly told off by Mommy dearest, and I get pushed aside like a naughty kid with a shove in the forehead. I bat out at him and immediately go to smoothing my hair and fixing my clothes while cursing under my breath. Natasha flutters sweet little brown eyes his way, an attempt at retracting her harsh outburst and acting like she’s not a bitch after all.

Too late.

He pushes himself off the counter with a smile her way to walk to me, shoving me with him as he does so and gets one back in retaliation. Arrick is still in shithead mode, taking pleasure from pushing me around this morning. I guess he’s missed it these last few months and making up for lost time with overkill.

I’m ushered out to the dining area by his huge window view out onto New York and deposited by the table. Being high up has its advantages and I always loved sitting here. He pushes me aside with a

strong hand on my waist, to get me out of his way with a smirk and heads to the unit by the window which houses all the mats and cutlery for this table. He has a pretty formal set of linens and things for those nights he likes to cook for his friends and setting the table is totally unnecessary for us having breakfast. Another Natasha rule I presume.

To me, it’s always been normal to see him cook and have people round to eat. I’ve always seen him do it, even when he lived at home with his family. His mother encouraged her sons to cook and is someone who, despite having housekeepers, still does it herself too. I think it’s where he gets this attitude that he likes doing things for himself. Even though he can more than afford domestic help, he doesn’t want more than just the odd visits from his little cleaning lady.

Natasha hates it. Unsurprisingly.

She likes him to be old-fashioned and dependent on her, likes to fulfill that role as the little woman about the house, who cleans and cooks and brings him a beer and his slippers in front of the TV. She has no clue.

Arrick is traditional in so many ways, but never in that way. I think if he ever expected that from me, if I were her, I would poison his beer with drain cleaner and tell him to go shove his cooking pots up his ass. I don’t know why she sees being that way as some sort of fulfilling life. I thought women burned their bras back in the nineteen sixties to get away from that role.

I don’t think I ever want to be that girl, for any man. I want to be something that I love, with a life more fulfilling than someone’s domestic sex slave. Like maybe in fashion or design, have my own little studio one day and spend my life flying to events all over the world, while showing off my ideas and lines.

A strange feeling settles inside of me when this pops crazily into my head and I find myself staring out onto the New York skyline dreamily. Caught for a second on an idea of a dream that I haven’t thought about in years.

“Sophs? Earth calling Sophie.” Arrick’s voice snaps me back to reality and I realize he’s already laid out all the mats and glassware and is setting the table. ‘Where were you?’ He smiles at me softly, watching me as he leans over the table and puts down the silverware.

“Thinking,” I reply softly, blushing stupidly for such a childish notion as the one I just had, but a little eerie feeling deep down swirls and I can’t ignore that for a moment it was like a little excitement for a possibility. I shake it away and smile.