The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 87

Natasha really cannot dance; it’s so bad, it’s painful, but she seems to embrace it like a champ, and we end up giggling ridiculously. I try showing her how to shimmy but she just can’t, how to sexy wiggle, which is worse than bad, and even for the life of me, I try showing her how to just sway side to side and fake a dance, but each and every attempt is just hopeless. I have never known a woman have such little fluidity to her movements as her, and she seems so prim and proper out there that I have to rescue her before this starts to become embarrassing. I shake my head when it’s clear the new faster beat to the next song is beyond her capabilities and drag her back to the bar above, back into the fold of Arrick’s friends in a happier mood, strangely light and forgetting everything else for a minute.

When we get back up the stairs, I notice he’s standing at the bank of windows with Nathan and a couple of other men. They’ve been watching the floor below, while they chat and drink, meaning he’s most likely been watching me teach his hopeless girlfriend, not girlfriend, how to dance, and his turning our way expectantly, proves he knew we were coming back in here. He smiles our way and I get the weird vibe he’s giving off, hard to miss when you are as homed in on him as I am, aware of every little gesture. I know him better than most.

I know what he’s thinking as soon as his eyes lock on mine, same thing that hit me as I walked in here with her and she placed an innocent, delicate hand, in the crook of my arm, and looked up at me with sheer misguided trust. Like we have this newfound understanding and I’m suddenly her ally.

This is so fucking wrong.

It felt easier when I hated her. Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

It was less complicated.

It’s like I’m leading a puppy to the slaughter, and all of this is so sordid and two-faced, that somehow, I’m painting myself as some bitch mistress, while the doting wife is innocently oblivious. Trusting who

she thinks knows how to help her. It’s callous, and just not who I am, and that tremor of disgust engulfs me.

Looking at him now, watching him go from her to me subtly, eyes flickering and confusion over his face, I can already tell what he’s thinking. He’s asking himself if he can really do this to her, for real. If he has it in him to be this much of a bastard when she’s looking incredibly vulnerable compared to my strength and confidence. Break her sweet little heart so viciously.

He’s asking himself if he’s got it in him to keep on hurting her and keep both of us dangling in this weird nothing of gray area of hoping no decision saves us all. I can tell by the thousands of subtle tells across the seemingly calm face, that he’s been mulling this over the whole time he has watched us dance. Hitting home, just like it’s done with me that he can’t keep doing this and he needs to stop it all. I know his heart and he’s clutching for the solution of least destruction, like he has been all along. Arrick always tries to do the right thing, no matter what it means for him.

He gazes at me solidly, a flicker of something and the expression changes, along with his train of thought. I know he’s thinking the same thing as me as his eyes land on how Natasha is clinging desperately, like I’m some sort of shield to her pain. A small, feeble looking creature who seems capable of shattering to a thousand pieces and being lost on the wind. It’s in the narrow of his eyes, the frown and pang of regret as he takes in my seemingly calm and tough posture, and her broken fragile form of delicateness.

He thinks I’m stronger than her, that our bond will save us.

Everything about this is so wrong to him and he thinks he can undo it all.

Arrick moves from his group hesitantly, eyes locked on me and heads our way. An intense sense of purpose on his face and then he shifts to avoids my eyes. My heart jumps a little, unsure what to read from that little mannerism, knowing nothing good ever comes from his evasive maneuvers. He slowly

closes the gap between us, still looking anywhere but at me, and comes to face both, his tall height dwarfing us. My stomach lurches with tension, a hollow ache, and instinct tells me I’m not going to like this. I can almost taste the change in his aura.

“Natasha, maybe we should go talk over there, alone.” He focuses on her intensely and then uncomfortably glances at me, nervousness practically coming off him in swathes. My gut starts informing me that he’s making decisions, drunken decisions based on guilt and the last few minutes of whatever this is. He’s caving and good boy Arry is reigning supreme. He’s running backwards to undo the hurt he’s caused.

Whatever Nathan wanted to talk to him about has flipped a switch and watching her cozy up to me, seeing us have a friendly moment on the dance floor. Her obvious visual vulnerability and my lack of it has hit home. I’m the one who will pick myself up and heal because I’ve endured far worse. He doesn’t think she will.

The panic rises inside of me and Natasha slides out of my arm and goes towards him coquettishly, nodding and leaning in to say something softly. I don’t react or move, my eyes steady on him and as he dodges my contact again, and my temper rises. Heart stricken as it thuds out a rave tune.

He’s going back to her.

He’s trying to make this situation right. His moral code overruling everything in his heart. Too soft for his own good.

I glare his way as he meets mine for a second and then looks away. I can’t even hear what her response is as the bubbling rage of blood bursting through my head is drowning everything else out, and I lift that chin a little higher. Ache and pain drowning me inside, chest heavy with the sudden weight of how much this hurts and yet I stand my ground. Dry eyed and tight-lipped. I won’t let him see that

he’s hurting me again. And that is where the problem lies in what he’s chosen. I haven’t let him see true hurt me in so long, because of her.

“Don’t mind me … I can amuse myself, plenty of booze, men, and dancing down there to keep me occupied for the rest of my night.” I state it steadily, impressed with my ability to keep the emotion out of my voice, but the intent is there. Arrick’s brows furrow as he pulls her away from me by the arm and guides her towards the side of us. Nodding towards the booths and private seating in the far corner. He swallows noticeably, eyes still not able to meet mine for more than seconds, and he hesitates. Struggling to form words as she takes the hint and moves off without a backwards glance.

Today had been an all too familiar day of us just hanging out, and maybe, instead of telling him that we fit, that we work together, it told him that he should never let it stray from that. The tension on the way here, the flirty looks and definite sexual sizzle have obviously not swayed him. Maybe he thinks we’re safer and better off as we are.

Faced with the girl he doesn’t want to hurt and the magnitude of how wrong it is to see her and I together, has done something to that stupid fucked up Carrero brain and I have the urge to slap him. Head over fucking heart, logic prevails, and he wants to shelf everything neatly so that everyone is happy again, like he can turn it all backwards somehow. Everyone except me.

Why does he never think about what this does to me?

Maybe because I now put up a mask and no longer let him see my pain anymore.

“I just need some time to talk to her, and then I’ll come find you.” He utters it quietly; Natasha is already getting comfy at the seats and giving us space, without even realizing we need any.

So stupidly trusting.

I swallow down my pride, already sure I know what it is he is going to talk to her about, already sure I know he has decided to try and claw back what they once had, and that frosty ice queen inside of me rises up. In that good old fucking sanctimonious self-defense-defense mechanism of mine. Like shooting myself in the head to prove a fucking point. Maybe if he truly saw my broken heart, it would make a difference, but it’s not in me to show him anymore.

Thanks, shitty childhood, for making me this way.

“Don’t bother.... Enjoy your night. I’m pretty sure I’m a big girl who can handle it.” I turn on my heel and falter when he catches my wrist in his, he moves in close behind me, so that his body heat touches every part of the back of mine. From heels to top of my head, and his breath on my exposed shoulder makes me flinch painfully. I almost fall to pieces at something so simple. Inside I’m unraveling, breath hitching and tears bite at my eyes.

“We were never going to work. Not if we have to hurt people to even try this, Sophs. I can’t just throw it all away. We can salvage what we are, it doesn’t need to be a choice of you or her. We can get past this because what we have is stronger, you’re stronger.”

The crushing pain in my stomach rips through at a hundred miles an hour, disappointed that I predicted this, knew what he was thinking from just a look. Tears prickle in my eyes and I bite on my lip hard to curb any noticeable reaction, from him. Better than this and unwilling to let him break me this way. No man will ever be allowed to devastate me in any way again, I swore that to myself at fourteen.

Struggling to stay in control and completely broken by this heart-wrenching turnaround, I tug myself away from him harshly, yanking my wrist free to rid myself from his infernal touch on my skin. I’ve no words for him and walk off fast, knowing he can’t follow me while she’s waiting, and taking the chance to slide into the stairwell, back down to the pumping crowd before I literally fall to pieces.