Chapter 155

I throw the fabric across the room at the back of Olivia’s head and try not to completely self-combust at the little bitch who has been goading me all day. I’ve had enough with all this shit lately. She spins in shock as it hits her and glares at me as though she hates me, which she probably does… She is one of the ringleaders in this class and is forever pulling me up and singling me out.

“You are so going to burn for that.” She sneers at me and takes off in the direction of our lecturer Claude in the far corner. I just glare after her, unphased by this constant barrage of snide bullying from my own personal mean girls. I have learned to stand my ground and ignore them for the most part.

Arry has only been gone four days and I am counting every second until he gets back. The stress of this show is killing me as I’m doing everything alone. Everyone else paired up and helped each other out, but I have had non-stop obstructions and bitchy girls trying to sabotage my attempts at success. I had to take all my designs home two days ago to protect them after I found dye had been ‘accidently’ spilled down a couture dress that took me four weeks to sew. I now have to try to either hide it, cut it out and patch it, or start over. I do not have time and have a really deep gut feeling on who was responsible.

I glance down at the table in front of me, water all over my papers and ink running across my sketches where Olivia knocked over my jar of water I was using with my paints. I know it wasn’t accidental, they never come near me unless it’s doing something juvenile or to spy on what I am working on. There is no end to the immature behavior in this class and I for one will be glad of the end of term, to get the hell out of it for a while.

“Sophie, can I have a word Cheri?” The heavily accented male voice drags my eyes up from the mess and I spot my tutor standing at the other side of the narrow table. He is one of the schools most respected designers and has a real foot in the fashion world. He has worked for some big brand names as chief designers, before coming to instruct upcoming students in this world-renowned school. He has a name that I had even heard of before coming here and he still intimidates me a lot. I look up to him and his expertise in terms of talent.

“Yes, Mr Trevaunt.” I don’t even try to look innocent. I’m pretty sure Olivia was quick to tell him I threw a roll of fabric on a card tube at her head. I’m not one to lie my way out of something I’ve done, and I won’t be phased by a scalding on inappropriate behavior when I am surrounded by girls with a combined mental age of five. I stand my ground and wait for it.

“Sophie, ma Cheri, you are one of my most outstanding students, non?” He nods at me and I nod back, always so confused with this way of answering a question negatively when meaning yes. The French are still a mystery to me. Claude is one of the tutors I don’t interact with much as he has always given me a really cringe vibe. He also seems a little inappropriately cozy with one of my biggest haters in the class, Vivien. Olivia’s sidekick in crime.

“I guess.” I watch the cold grey eyes, homed in on my face. Claude is not really an ugly man, maybe around mid-forties. He has full fair hair that is greying at the temples slightly and a masculine sort of rugged face and physique, but there is something about him that just unnerves me. He has never said or done anything to spook me out, but he just has that vibe. That predator or creepy underlying aura that I seem to be able to sniff out in men. Which is weird, I guess, as most of the men in this school are gay. Although I don’t get that vibe from him either. Claude definitely does not seem gay at all and Vivien’s moon eyes at him daily do not go unnoticed.

“Is it not better to get along with your classmates and not make waves while under the care of this school?” He narrows his brows at me, and I frown straight back, part in trying to decipher his words from his heavy accent and partly because it’s always down to me when my ‘classmates’ are being dicks.

My fault they hate me, obviously.

“They make life hell for me, every day. I try so hard to not react.” I point out.

“I know, ma Cherie… these girls, they are jealous. They see a shining star, a beautiful talented star that will go far and they want to take it down and stomp it out, but you must rise above if you are to succeed.” He smiles slightly, an odd twinkle in his eye as his gaze run over my face and down my dress with a little more approval than I’m comfortable with, making me tense. His eyes linger on the fitted bodice of my dress and for once I’m nervous with any form of skin on show even though this has a modest neckline.

Guess he is definitely not gay after all.

“Thanks, I will try harder to not react to their pettiness.” I retort sassily, I don’t know what else to say to that. Claude has never really singled me out or shown any real favoritism towards me. He never really interacts with us closely either, so I guess this is why I am finding this uncomfortable. Claude tends to lead from afar and is a bit lax on the ‘one on one’ communication unless necessary.

“That is pretty. You like pretty things around your neck?” he reaches out randomly, startling me away from the topic and fingers my necklace on my throat, making me jerk back in surprise. His touch unwelcome and my skin burns with the shock of the gentle assault from out of nowhere. Instantly uneasy and nervy and try to cover it with a laugh, dismissing it as giving me a little scare but I move back slightly and cover my puzzle piece necklace with my hand to eradicate the feel of him against my neck.

“My boyfriend gave it to me; it symbolizes something between us.” A year ago, Arry gave this to me and I still love it as my most prized possession. I wear it constantly and never take it off. Arry even has a matching tattoo on his inner left wrist that he got shortly after giving this to me, to connect us in some way and it still warms me to my core at how sweet he can be. A bond, he said, another really soppy Arry moment, but I love him all the more for it. My boy is a hopeless romantic who isn’t shy to show it.

“Ahh, the billionaire Carrero… Lucky girl, non?” His eyes move to my face and I move back further out of arms reach. Stomach turning itself in knots at the way he seems to be dissecting me and I wonder if it’s my outfit and I am over-thinking this. I mean he is our fashion lecturer.

I withstand the urge to look down, knowing fine my classic Audrey Hepburn styled black dress and low-heeled black shoes are pretty much a normal Paris look, even teamed with my little baby pink cardigan and belt. He can’t really be evaluating it with any criticism as there are two other similarly dressed students in here today.

“Very lucky. He’s amazing, I couldn’t ask for a more perfect man.” I eye him warily, completely unnerved at his attentions and can see the girls in the background looking my way and whispering to one another. Faces twisted and glaring, probably wondering why I am getting so much friendly Claude attention if he is meant to be chastising me. I sigh heavily and pull up my ruined sketches from the table.

“I guess I better get this cleaned up. I have a lot to do still for the show.” I subtly hint at him to leave and try to avoid the penetrative gaze as he watches me do so, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable with how much this dress allows you to look down into the neckline when I bend over. I catch both his eyes settled there so I stand up taller, so he no longer has a view down my dress; straightening it with a smile and it seems to bring his attention back to my eyes.

“I have high hopes for you, I look forward to seeing what you put out on the runway, ma Cheri. I’ve been waiting for your unveiling moment.” He winks at me, creepily, before turning slowly and wandering back off towards the others, waving a dampening hand in their direction and barking something in harsh French that turns a few of their faces red. I have no idea what he just yelled at them, not that I care. I catch a couple of glances my way before they scatter and bury themselves in their own work, although Vivien’s unconcealed hatred aimed at me from her corner does not go unobserved, she looks scathing. Whatever he said, it’s done the trick and they are all quickly getting back to leaving me the hell alone—except her and her ‘Die Whore’ looks.

Definitely something going on there.

***

Getting home I kick my shoes off across the hall and throw down my jacket and bag in another rage. I seem to come home feeling this way every single day now. My front door meets a daily temper tantrum and my blood pressure hasn’t been normal in months.

My day started bad and only ended up close to tears when the ‘mean girls’ managed to rile me up at every opportunity and then one of them fell over my mannequin, hauling my pinned dress with her and ripped it off the stand. A whole day’s work wasted on adjusting a finished piece and a whole week of finishing the god damn thing. I feel like giving up. I so wanted to punch her in the face and stomp on her head, but I kept telling myself that I needed to breathe and count to ten before reacting. Just like Arry showed me… Breathe and don’t kill anyone.

It’s practically my mantra, fifty times a day.

I ended up walking out early, taking all my drawings and my dress and clearing out my workspace in five seconds flat. Unable to control the fiery demon that wanted to rip her stupid clumsy head from her shoulders. Claude said nothing about my early departure, just smiled and waved as he saw me hauling on my jacket and heading angrily to the door. I swear I heard Olivia laugh behind me, and if she’s not careful, I may go in tomorrow and end this childish feud she has with me spectacularly. She hasn’t met crazy psycho Sophie who was taught how to throw a punch and disable a human by the current MME champion in the USA. Arry has turned me into a capable little fighting machine over the last two years and she better watch her back.

I can kill her with my thumbs!

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Huntsberger, you had a good day, non?” Janetta our housekeeper comes sauntering from the kitchen, the smells of homemade bread and something good wafting after her now she has opened the door to let it escape. Arry made a point of increasing her hours over the past months as he disappeared more and more so that I wouldn’t be alone so much and even though I barely understand her most of the time, I like her company. It’s better than the silence of being alone here.

She is a kind older woman who reminds me a lot of my own mom at times. Caring, maternal, wise with a soft face, although she is a lot older with grey hair in a permanent neat bun and rosy cheeks which kind of make me think of Mrs. Claus. She always dresses in floral frocks, and navy cardigans, over dark laced up shoes. She’s very old world and I absolutely love her.

“Not particularly, but I’m sure whatever is cooking will make me feel a lot better. I’m starving.” I try for a smile and it ends as a grimace of some weird proportions. I was never any good at smiling through murderous thoughts without coming off as creepy.

“Ahhh, but oui, you love our food, non. You are a good girl with your hearty appetite.” She smiles at me, crinkling eyes and puffing cheeks in an almost proud way and pats me on the shoulder before turning on her heel.

“How long do I have before it’s dished? I want to call Arry.” I watch her go, head on just finding my calm in his voice. My deep breath in just connecting to him.

“Deux minutes, ma Cherie…on you go.” She doesn’t turn back and leaves me staring after her like a moron, trying to count in French in my head and getting nowhere fast. I don’t even know what comes after one. Arry usually translates my life here and when he is not around, I become completely hopeless. I shake it off and head to my bedroom instead, pulling my cell from my discarded bag with a sigh and figure I better tell him I have ‘dooo meenootes’ before dinner.

Once inside and nestled on the bed I call his cell and hope I’m not interrupting anything important. The time delay confuses me most days, so I gave up working it out; he never seems pissed when I call anyway, and he always answers.

“Hey, baby.” Arry is like a warm summer breeze washing over me the second he does, and I literally uncoil all the tension in my body in a nanosecond and physically relax.

“Hey, you. I miss you.” I sink back into the cushions on the bed.

“I miss you more… Did you just get in from school? Bit early for you isn’t it?” He asks softly, immediately homing in on the fact I’m calling him an hour earlier than normal; always aware of minute details like that and it makes me miss him more so and his attentive presence.

“Yeah, I have things to work on for the show that are better done here.” It’s not a complete lie.

“Ah, I see. How’s it going, are you almost ready for it?” he sounds a little distracted and I can hear the hustle bustle of a busy environment.

“So, so. I’ll be running around like a headless chicken right until the show is in full swing, I think. I’m trying not to think beyond the right now or I might freak out.” Closing my eyes and curling up, cuddling a cushion to try to envision him. I so badly need an Arrick Carrero hug about now.

“You will be fine, baby. I have every faith in your abilities and your show will be a knockout. I can’t wait to … Hold on.” Arry answers someone in the room with him, covering the receiver so it’s muffled, and I can hear what I assume is his PA Amanda’s voice in the background and immediately eyeroll. She tends to interrupt whenever I call him, and it irritates me. I miss him like mad and I just want one call where I have his full attention without her feeling like something more pressing should be discussed.

“Sure,” I mumble to no one in particular as his cell is clearly not attached to his head. I listen to the muffled sounds of Carrero Corp and try to picture it in my head instead. I’ve been there a million times now, even in Arrick’s office more than once. Naughty boy had me christen his desk one lunchtime when I took him some food.

I smile at the memory and feel a little less sour about his straying attention. He never really changed from the first months of our relationship and he still has just as high a sex drive as he did back then. Sometimes I revert to not wanting it, to not being touched and sometimes the dreams and memories creep in and shake me up. But Arry has never changed from being understanding and supportive in that way too, and effortlessly seems to know what I need. Be it a hug or distance, or to just hold onto me through a bad dream and lull me out of it with soft words. I couldn’t imagine having anyone else love me in the way he does, and it just makes me want him home more achingly in this second.

“Sorry, baby, we have so much shit going on here these past months. My schedule is crazy, and I never get a minute alone. What were we saying?” He sounds tired. I can picture my tired Adonis, his eyes a hazy brown with flecks of green and that cute cropped hair ruffled messily. He has his brothers’ habit of messing with his hair when he’s agitated or tired.

“My show, but can we switch to another topic as it is just stressing me out. Talk to me about anything else.”

“Okay, but you’ll be fine. … I’m coming home the night before, so I’ll be in bed with you to keep you calm and help you before the grand reveal. I can be your muscle, or you know, your assistant or some shit.” That tone in his voice hints that he is smiling and I eyeroll.

“You are my muscle, and I won’t need to do much on the morning of the show as we are setting up the night before. You can just focus on distracting me, giving me a lot of reunion sex, and putting a smile on my face before I have to endure what is potentially the start … or end… to my fashion career.” I gulp this time, despite trying to hide my fears.

“It’s going to be the beginning of huge things for you; I’ve seen your sketches remember? I know you’re talented. I may not be a fashion designer, but I know what’s good, and we do work with a lot of your type for our campaigns. Enough that I can see someone standing out with skill.” He’s schmoozing me, like he always does, and I’m grateful.

“Stop! … It’s a done deal, you’re getting laid on your return, so you don’t have to chat me up.” I giggle at him, lighter, less suffocated with my own moods.

“I already know you’re a sure thing… I’m being serious though, Sophs. You’re crazily talented, so stop stressing out about this show.” His soft sexy voice removes the last traces of my anxious turn and I spread out across the bed, rolling to his side in hopes of any lingering Arry scent, but Janetta has changed the bedding again. I sigh and inhale floral laundry powder instead.

“Just tell me you will be there… Without a doubt, and I’ll feel better.”

“I’ll be there. Couple more days and I will be right back beside you, where I belong.” He responds genuinely.

“Okay. So… What are you doing tonight?” I try to change the subject so the anxiety in my stomach will disperse.

“Meeting Nathan, Jason, and Christian to go have some man time, only… Somehow whenever Christian is there, it ends up feeling like a bunch of women having a girl’s night out. He really does raise the tone from beers and pizza, to cocktails and steak. What about you? No plans with anyone from school? You never mention them or seem to want to make any?” Arry pushes softly and I tense right away.

“I like my quiet time after school, I see them all day. I guess I just feel tired and like to come home and chill out. An early night after I do some of the sewing I need to do and maybe a movie in bed… You know me… Munchies and a movie and sleep, three of my four favorite things.”

Arrick laughs softly, deflection successful and I let go of the breath I’m holding.

“Let me guess… Me being the fourth? Or is it sex …With me?” He laughs again, only this time huskier and a hint of sensual flirting. Arrick can switch on the sexy whenever he feels like it and we are not opposed to sexting and dirty calls nowadays, in fact they have become necessity with his frequent absences and I finally got good at them.

“Actually, I was going to say shoe shopping” I answer in a blasé way and then giggle.

“Yeah, sure you were. You have been known to sacrifice many a shoe shopping trip for an extra few hours rolling about my bed, baby. I have no doubts about your love for some Arry between the sheets, and your thighs.” He laughs this time, probably at his own cringeyness and how pervy that sounded. I can’t stop the eyeroll that almost dislodges my retina.

“Ewww, stop… I may have to break up with you, you weirdo.” I grimace properly, a little shudder and thank my lucky stars he is not normally someone who gives out such sleazy lines.

“Ha, ha, I’m sorry, but we both know it’s fact. You helped me regain my Carrero Casanova crown and reminded me just how much I love sex, especially sex with you… Hold on.” he cuts off again, to another mumbling female voice in the background and this time I hope she heard every word of my man chatting me up and talking about sex with me. She needs to give him some breathing space when it’s clearly his girlfriend on the phone.

I sit for a moment and ponder what she looks like, having never actually met her. She sounds young, maybe. I somehow have managed to visit his office or Carrero house whenever she is either elsewhere or not there at all. I have never actually crossed paths with her, beyond talking to her on the phone once or twice. Arry made me take his cell and dictated something, while he showered or brushed his teeth. Or that one time he was peeing, and I was in the bath and he made me recite his to do list… Instead of, you know, calling her after he emptied his bladder.

“Sorry, baby, I have to go. The suits for my next meeting are in the conference room already and Jake is already glaring at me through my office window because I’m still here.” He sounds irritated, I guess because his brother is standing outside his office trying to intimidate him and as much as it may be worked when Arry was younger; it does not work now. I can almost imagine him sticking his feet on the desk and smirking while birding his brother. They are still so juvenile towards one another, especially at work, which you would think demanded a professional persona.

“Okay. Call me later, I will be up for another few hours. Arry… I love you.” I cradle the phone as humanly close to my ear as I can, willing him to crawl inside my head and stay there for the next hours of missing him.

“I will, I’ll call you before you go to bed, like I always do. I love you more, Mimmo. Much, much, more. Can’t wait to come home and wrap you up and smother you to death with kisses. This trip has been more monotonous than all the others and is dragging like crazy.” The noise around him intensifies and I guess he’s walking out of his office now.

“Ditto… I guess because it happens so much, they feel longer and longer every single time, especially when you were only home a couple of days. Bye, handsome.”

“Goodbye, beautiful, and yep… You’re right about that. Laters, Princess.”

Arrick hangs up and I’m left holding my cell to my ear, sighing heavily, and staring into space for a minute before the smell of Coq Au Van comes wafting at me from the other space. I guess Janetta is laying the table in the kitchen, with my food, which also signals her getting ready to go to her own home down the hall. She comes back after I eat to clear up the dishes and put the apartment to rights before I go to bed and she also leaves me supper.

I love having her so permanently close by as it means she can leave when I want alone time and doesn’t have to hang around when there is nothing for her to do. Arrick worked out a great deal with her so she can still tend her own home and husband in between tending to me and always on hand even late at night. She doesn’t work for the money as they really are pretty well off and have a modest apartment in our complex, but she does it for the love of caring for people she told me. Her own kids grew up and moved away and she misses family life.

She comes at seven am when I’m in the shower and makes me breakfast, irons whatever clothes I lay out on my bed and generally makes the place less lonely when I get up. She only does this when he’s not home though, as Arrick likes to cook for me in the mornings and I don’t mind ironing my own clothes while watching him.

God, I miss him.