The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

“Look, I already told you to stay away from me. There is no need to come over here and touch any of these fucking dresses at any time. Now go over there and deal with your own shit before I seriously snap and you meet a side to me I’ve been keeping under wraps this year. I will fuck you up and you won’t like it.” I snap at Melissa, the mousy brown-haired devil’s side kick to Olivia’s crew, as she once again makes a play at eating her greasy food beside my hanging rail of dresses.

We are backstage to where we’re having our show and setting up for tomorrow. Hours ticking down, prepping all this, and getting everything set out, with shoes, accessories and all the sketches of how the models are to be styled in hair and makeup is being pinned to each garment. I ran out of garment bags mid-way through my collection, even though I bought enough of them and know for a fact they have been stolen by some bitch or another.

“Keep your hair on… Like you could anyway.” Melissa sneers at me in that toffee-nosed English accent of hers and I glare harder, death stare at its finest.

“My boyfriend is a pro-martial arts fighter who has spent two years teaching me how to disable full grown men with only one swift move. Do you really want to test out if he has done a good job?” I raise my brows haughtily, inwardly smug as her face pales and she high tails it away from me at speed. I guess she saw the genuine intent in my threat and is finally taking a fucking hint. They have been driving me mad all day and I just want to get home and get ready for Arry coming in on his flight. I haven’t heard from him all day, not since last night and I’m slightly concerned that he hasn’t even told me what time he’s getting in. This is so unlike him.

“Sophie? … Make sure your order of outfits is left with the rail, so the stylists know who’s going out first and have your list of models and which outfits they are wearing to hand. I also need a copy for the commentator.” Sadie Brunee, our stand in tutor while Claude is absent is behind me, and I turn with a smile before handing her the papers from the little table beside me. I’m crazily uptight, everything building up all week until I’m at momentous levels of anxious and nervy as hell. I’m like a rubber band that is stretched so taut that a tiny breeze can be my undoing and snap my tension.

“There you go.” I smile back, tight lipped, and fake… I don’t really know her and from what I have known of her for the brief times she has run our class, is that she is cold, indifferent, and professionally aloof, always. She won’t care if I’m falling apart right now, she only cares that the show runs smoothly and makes her look good.

Tomorrow feels like it’s going to be the death of me. I am wrought and strung out with nerves and I need Arry to call or text or just be there when I get home before I self-implode. I’m finding it harder as this show looms up to get a grip on my emotions and this is making me crazy. I have no way to self-calm or release this anxiety and my mind is like a chaotic warzone with all I have going on inside it.

“Good, good. Well break a leg tomorrow. Cannot wait to see all the students hard work pay off. Good luck.” She wanders off without waiting on a response and I sag against my rail for a moment, resting my forehead against the cold bar of the end stand. I feel sick, terrified and it’s only exhausting me. I need to finish my prep and go home to sink into a bubble bath, hopefully beside my Carrero if he’s home, and assure myself that I have done all that I can to ensure this goes well.

***

Getting into the apartment I’m dead on my feet and later than normal. The walk home to clear my head only made me even more shattered even though it’s only a couple of streets away. I should have let my driver collect me. My full body is deflated and exhausted and practically unable to keep me upright.

I was on the go, nonstop all day, and finally have everything set to flow smoothly with my slot in the show. Music handed to the sound man, commentator has my notes and all the dresses lined up in order with pinned instructions, model names and sequence alongside all the extras, makeup looks and hair style images too. I’ve worked my ass off to pull this together on my own and proud that really, there is nothing else I can do now except show up and make my brief appearance on the cat walk at the end of my slot, to show the world who I am.

My work is done, and now I have to wait on the reaction of the attending audience. All notably important people in the fashion world; bloggers, fashion mag columnists, you name it. This show is being filmed, reported, and critiqued to death and that in itself is making me sick with nerves. I haven’t been able to shift the queasiness for days.

spirits rise as I hightail it to the kitchen in hopes of my sexy hobby chef making

is here and maybe gone to bed for a nap. He can never sleep on a flight and it always makes him so tired coming

and I pat her this time, on her shoulder as I wander back through to the open lounge and stare out the huge bay windows onto the building’s opposite. It’s overcast and grey, raining like it has been

straight to his voicemail and I hang up dejectedly. It could mean he’s still on a plane and I should have my bath and forget about it until he comes home. My gut aches a little with the deep insecurity I’ve been feeling lately and push it down. I’m being dumb. Arry has been later than planned a million times due to flight hold ups. I

***

in the tub I check my cell again. it’s past seven pm and he promised he would be here long before bed. I still haven’t heard anything and now I really am starting to get antsy. Sure, he has come in through the night a million

Fuck sakes.

my hand as his name and face appears on screen, and I almost cry with relief. Agony abated with a genuine ‘oh my god’ moment of

Where are you?” I gush as soon as I answer, so relieved he’s finally called me, a hot liquid running through my body, making me

my name, softly, a hint of trepidation and sounding very non-confident, unlike normal Arry, makes my heart drop into my stomach as a

I repeat sternly, this time both anxiety and anger rising side by side as the realization that I can hear

I got held up, all day. I

lose with the build-up of emotion and frustration from the past week

know, it’s just…” he tries again, but I explode. MY fraught emotions finally snapping my

hysterically, all emotions spewing out like a volcano, tears stinging and flowing down my face, not caring if Janetta can hear me. My heart is being wrenched out of my chest by my dickhead boyfriend letting me down

My ENTIRE fucking year!!

words for the level of hysterics hitting me full force or the gut-wrenching betrayal I’m feeling. I gasp for air as the darkness of an impending panic attack starts and I

“Sophs?”

you promised me. You promised me, Arrick!” I break, my voice croaking and start full on sobbing, barely able to take in anything but the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears. If he

He has to.