Chapter 14 Bambalina
Bambalina
We drive back to the house in silence. There’s an air of smugness on Nicolò’s shoulders and I can only put it down to the fact he drove me to a gynecologist appointment and survived.
It wasn’t so bad after all. The worst bit was admitting in front of my stepbrother that I’m still a virgin.
And the weirdest bit was the doctor not making eye contact with me when I returned from peeing on a stick.
It’s like he was obsessed with the test or something.
He didn’t look up once, apart from when we left, and he looked only at Nicolò.
I stew on this a little. Why do my sexual circumstances have anything to do with Nicolò? Or any man for that matter?
I get why Antonia thinks it’s a good idea to do this now.
Most girls my age are on birth control. Most girls my age are sexually active.
I’ve been asked on a few dates by guys at school, but ever since Taylor was ruined on social media, the rumors swirled it was something to do with me, and now no guy will come near me.
Still, I understand birth control can help regulate my hormones and who knows when my circumstances will change?
Nicolò’s car is so smooth and quiet, I don’t realize how far we’ve come until we’re halfway home.
I chance a look at him while he’s driving, and swallow.
He’s relaxed and completely unaffected by the fact we’re breaking every speed restriction.
He has one hand on his thigh, drumming his fingers to the music.
The other one holds the wheel loosely, occasionally turning it with the heel of his palm.
I watch the way his fingers move. They’re long and sure and entrancing.
I wonder how they might feel on my skin.
A flush surges up my neck, but just before I whip my face away, I notice the scratches covering the back of his hand.
I have to clear my throat before I can speak. “Where did you get those?” I already know the answer but I’m curious as to whether or not he’ll tell me the truth.
He glances at his hand as if he can sense that’s where my gaze has been lingering.
“The garden.”
“My mama’s rose bush?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah.”
And the question I really want to ask. “Why?”
He sighs a little impatiently. “The new gardener can’t start for another week and those vines were getting on my nerves.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Thank you, Nicolò.”
He shrugs. “Sure. It needed to be done.”
I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the smile from fully forming. “Well, it means a lot.”
I swallow and look down at my lap. I sense his head turn and his gaze settle on the side of my face, but when I look up, he’s focused straight ahead.
When we arrive home, he simply unlocks the car door and lets me step out. I’m not sure what to say to him. I already said thanks. I don’t really want to be left alone but I know he has a job to do that doesn’t involve babysitting a seventeen-year-old. “Do you want a coffee?”
“I have to be somewhere.” His pause drags, then... “Are you going to be okay?”
I can’t help but smile at the fact he just asked me that. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
I’m about to close the car door, but I stop and bend down, knowing my breasts are falling forward, barely contained inside this dress.
I don’t know why I’m doing it, why I’m flaunting myself in front of him.
Maybe it’s knowing I’m now on birth control.
I feel a little more grown-up, more like a woman, perhaps?
And it’s coming out sideways. “Thanks again,” I say, my voice surprisingly sultry.
Then I close the door and walk up the steps to the house before I’m tempted to look around and watch him drive away.
The house is quiet, and after the morning I’ve had, I don’t want to sit in my bedroom to catalogue everything that just happened. It feels too stifling. So, I head upstairs, grab my journal and settle on a sofa in the living room.
I’ve only been writing for about five minutes when the buzzer goes on the intercom.
I close the journal then place it on the table.
I go to stand but something makes me pause.
What if someone comes in and sees the book?
If anyone read it, even by accident, I would be mortified.
I changed the character names but the writing is still…
sexually explicit. Papa, for example, would have a conniption.
The buzzer goes again and my thoughts scramble.
It’ll be fine. I’m not actually expecting anyone. It’s probably a package for Papa or Antonia.
Leaving my journal on the table, I go to answer it. In the camera screen is Riddick, my father’s head of security, standing beside a woman and an enormous box.
I unlock the door, my brows pinching in confusion.
The woman glances at Riddick then pans a slightly terrified gaze back to me before stuttering out a few words. “Th-this… um… is the delivery you were expecting? From Catwalk?”
It takes me a second or two to remember that this is a big day for another reason. The dresses I picked out for my birthday party have arrived.
“Ah yes, of course,” I gush. “You must be Ida? Please, come in.”
I nod to Riddick who gives me a deadpan nod then heads back to his outpost at the gate.
I’m new to the whole personal styling thing, but with everyone else in my family too busy to accompany me on a shopping trip into the city, I’ve had to bring the city to me.
I do remember now that Trilby and Sera will be waiting on my call as they want to live vicariously through my sartorial selections.
“It’s just through here,” I say, guiding the stylist into the living room. “Do you mind if I set up my phone on the mantle before we get started?”
“Not at all,” she smiles, pulling the enormous box behind her.
Within a few minutes I have both Sera and Trilby squealing over a group call, waiting impatiently for the big reveals.
I sit on the couch while Ida carefully lifts out each garment, hanging them on a rail. Then she unzips the nearest bag and reveals the first dress.
Three hours and eighteen dresses later, I’m growing tired of playing mannequin, so I’m relieved when Allegra appears, calling time so she can take me to dinner. I feel like I haven’t seen her in ages—she’s been so busy with her new friends—so I’m excited to catch up.
I slip on a pair of jeans, a sweater and flats, bid the stylist farewell at the gate, then slide into the warmth of Allegra’s car.
The moment our food arrives, I remember my journal. My appetite seeps out of me and I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth.
“Everything okay?” Allegra asks, noticing the blood has drained from my cheeks.
I shovel the food into my mouth and nod, my mind racing.
After swallowing, I look up. “When did you say Papa was getting home?”
“Oh, not until tomorrow afternoon. They don’t leave until the morning.”
A small sigh of relief eases my chest.
But that still leaves Nicolò. My chest tightens again.
I check the time on my phone. He won’t be home for another three hours. I still have a chance to get home before he does and lock my journal away in my room. Even though I should be okay, my heart is beating out of my chest.
This is the last time I’ll ever take it out of my room—the anxiety isn’t worth it.
I eat my food with record speed because I want to get home quickly, but Allegra chews slower than anyone I’ve ever met, so by the time her plate is clean, I’m having heart palpitations.
Eventually, we pay for our food and head back to the car. I’m practically bouncing from one foot to the other waiting for her to unlock the doors.
Once inside, my fingers curl and uncurl, nerves wrapping themselves around my limbs. All I can think about is getting my hands on my journal and locking it away for good.
We’re about halfway home when a loud bang knocks us sideways. Allegra’s hands grip the wheel while her foot slams on to the brake. My heart shoots up my throat, wondering if we just ran over a poor, innocent animal. But then, Allegra curses loudly and shuts off the engine.
“I knew I should have listened to the mechanic.”
I pan my gaze to her. “What?”
“My tires are shot, Bambi. He said it would only be a matter of time. I should have gotten around to changing them sooner.”
“Are you saying we’ve got a flat?”
“Yeah, certainly feels that way.”
My nerves are splintering behind my slow blink.
“And do you know how to change a tire?”
Allegra snorts. “Sure I do. I just don’t have a spare.”
I gasp. “Are you joking?”
She looks at me, pinning her lips. “No, Bambi. I don’t have a spare tire. But I know a company that does.” She grins and takes out her phone, then I watch her scroll through her contacts, searching for roadside assistance.
My head falls back against the seat and a tight breath pushes out of my lungs. All I can do is wait. And hope. And pray, that no one arrives home before we do.