The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

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.

will shop at the drop of a hat.” She leans in, excited and smiling, shuffling her shoulders in

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

most amazing little boutique I found down a side street that you

***

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

tailoring, down to my ankle strapped shoes with a moderate heel.

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

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

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

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

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,

I flick the edge of my hair up cutely. Chewing nervously on my lip. My mom traces her