4 Meeting a stranger

Date = 26 March

A whole long week has passed.

Place = San Francisco (Mission Street)

And I’m still here.

 

POV - Aria

“I can’t believe you let me buy all this shit!”

Three heads swivel to face the blonde, who’s been talking nonstop. Her exaggerated hand gestures, despite the fact that one is still in a cast, draw attention from the other pedestrians walking up and down the vibrant world of Mission Street.

I open my mouth, but Kiara jabs me in the ribs, pulls a skew face, and shakes her head. I zip my lips. She knows Mel the best, so it’s better to follow her lead. The dark beauty then circles a finger along her temple, and I snigger through my nose, lifting my face to the sky with a sweet grin. Secretly, not to let the hormonal diva notice.

The shopping bags cut into my fingers like karma with a grudge. Diaper pails. Designer clothes … for babies … that cost more than my previous house rent. Tiny cotton sheets and swaddles in colors that sound like overpriced cocktails — sage whisper, honey mist, ocean cloud.

We’ve taken the southeast of Downtown by storm, or rather, Mel has, glowing (or maybe sweating) through nineteen boutiques like a pregnant tornado in athleisure. Haley keeps buzzing around her like she is about to lay a golden egg.

Kiara and I are just the mules. The very stylish, very exhausted mules.

“You okay back there?” Mel calls over her shoulder as she strides ahead, both arms looped in shopping bags like she’d robbed a baby Target. She walks like a model, and looks like one too, not affected by the eyes on us at all. Either she doesn’t notice, or she’s used to it by now.

“I think I’m developing biceps,” I huff, shifting a squishy giraffe plushie that has glued itself to my hip with static. “Or a hernia. Either way, I’m evolving.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mel chirps. “Do you think we’ve got enough bottles?”

“Sweetie,” Haley snips dryly, “if the baby drinks as much as Damion eats, you’ll need a keg system.”

Everyone laughs.

I’ve come to realize that this close-knit group —

is intense (some more than others) …

extremely cocky …

looks like they all stepped out of the pages of Vogue …

is psychologically unstable …

and is probably all suffering from some or other mental illness (again … some more than others).

But all in all, they’re rather decent and mostly well-behaved.

And I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. A very long time. My life has been rather boring and uneventful.

And I really needed this outing.

It’s been a long 7 days, 11 hours, and 43 minutes since I moved in with Enrique, and it’s the first time I’m allowed out of the complex. We needed to wait for the airport fiasco to die down. I’m not exaggerating if I say the complex was surrounded like a free sample stand at Costco on a Saturday. I swear, everyone in town who owns a camera was camping outside just waiting to get a good shot.

So it was either THIS … or me strangling a very famous socialite in his sleep.

That man is driving me up the frickin walls. I swear he has multiple-personality disorder ― one moment we’re having a decent discussion, getting to know each other; the next moment he is all flirty and sweet; and in an instant he becomes an arrogant, haughty, conceited, heartless prick.

He has the emotional capacity of a bloody robot, I tell you ― a mechanical egomaniac. It’s as if he finds pleasure in driving me insane.

And the way he stares into my eyes for prolonged times … makes my heart want to jump out of my chest.

“What about some great pasta and wine before we head home? I know the perfect place, my treat,” Haley says while she grabs my arm and pulls me from my reverie.

“That boy of yours is something to daydream about. They all are. A little on the wild side, maybe, but they’re what you would call diamonds in the rough,” she whispers and winks at me with a warm smile, wrongly interpreting my blanked-out state, but I let it fly. If such diamonds truly exist, Enrique’s is hidden under an abundance of unemotional layers.

But those longing stares ― can I be wrong? Could there be a gem under his armor?

Haley is a real mother hen, taking all of us under her wing as if we were her children. She’s the warmest person I’ve ever met, and she has already bundled herself into my heart, together with the rest of them: robots, devils, cocky asses, divas, the lot.

“Come on … wine … really, Mom?” my little expecting ‘sister-in-law’ gushes with a pout.

I’ve heard that she loves wine … and coffee … but her condition prevents her from having any right now. It doesn’t, however, keep her from sniffing everyone’s glass whenever she can.

“Oh, shit, sorry, Angel. But, it’s not our fault, neither you nor my very handsome son paid attention in biology class. You can get some juice.” The baby voice Haley used through most of the trip is gone.

Grunting like a piglet, Mel throws a little phony tantrum while mumbling something about players that don’t know how to use freaking condoms and mothers that didn’t teach their sons any manners.

I smile, thinking how amazing her life seems ― she’s stunningly beautiful, incredibly smart, rich, with a loving family, and the almost perfect fiancé. She grabs onto me.

Yeah, but I know that although her life seems immaculate, it’s also not. She lost her parents in a worse way than mine, she almost got killed by some weirdo and his kids, she’s gonna be a mother before she turns 21, gets harassed by the paparazzi, and has to hide her pregnancy.

“Okay, my favorite sister-in-law — ” she starts with a sweet voice.

“She’s your only potential sister-in-law at this stage,” Kiara butts in, earning her a stiff neck rejection, as Mel continues in the same syrupy voice.

“You’re going to order some nice wine … red, rich, dark … then you’re going to let me inhale it, and then you’re going to enjoy it for my benefit. Right?” So there’s that ― the other imperfect thing in her almost flawless life right now — no alcohol. I grin at the thought of her desperation.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she scolds, “this is some serious shit. You don’t know the craving I have right now to down a bottle of Merlot.”

My eyebrows rise. I believe that she believes it since she’s swearing. Mel is not very big on swearing. Damn, I truly appreciate this girl and the way she’s accepted me as her brother’s girlfriend unconditionally. Even though she and Kiara have a special bond, they always try to include me in everything. I could always just dream about a friendship like this, one where you can share everything without even blinking. A sisterhood. No judgment whatsoever. I’ve never had that. Not with someone my own age, at least.

“Oh, just come on, my feet are killing me.” Kiara swings the parcels in her hand, gesturing for us to move our buts. I think we can all agree on that. I’m sure we’ve covered the whole Westfield Center, as well as a 1-mile radius surrounding it.

But, during this whole outing, my thoughts kept on straying ― so much that I didn’t even have time to feel tired.

Tomorrow we have our first public appearance as a couple, and the bastard forced his sister to get me an ‘appropriate outfit’ for the occasion. Gmf. As if I have no taste at all. Citing the contract, he made his instructions very clear about what he wanted me to wear ― something sexy but not slutty. But it was the words he whispered secretly in my ear that drove me almost over the edge: ‘That is if you can do sexy.’

It set off one of those stare-offs in which I always end up with some moist briefs and a racing heart. It must be those frickin eyes.

But I’ll show that robot what sexy is. I’m not conceited, but I’m also not naïve ― I’ve got a few things going for me.

And the outfit I bought enhances every single one of those things. I can’t wait to rub it in his face! Make him eat those words!

The thought helps to decrease my anxiety about the first public appearance concept. That and the fact that Mel will also be there at least.

I clench my fingers to get a better grip on the hoard of parcels in my hands. I got Leyla some canvases. My sister loves art, and she has real raw talent. There’s a niche, specifically designed for her passion, with probably every art supply item available on the market, in her new room. Which, by the way, is bigger than our ex-apartment.

I’ve learned that Enrique asked Noah how they could make the room extra special for my sister. And although they went a little overboard, I must admit that they succeeded. Leyla loves her room. So even if it’s not evident, the robot does have some kind of heart hidden inside.

I focus on the sidewalk, thinking about my sister while listening to the cheerful banter of my new friends.

Then it happens.

Something slams into me — full force from the front — which sends me flying — before I land with a thud on my buttocks. Parcels scatter all over in a rainbow confetti cascade. Haley gives a little whelp, while Mel and Kiara seem half shocked, half amused (so much for sisterhood). A fat brown teddy bear rolls under a nearby parked car like it is making a break for freedom.

I look up into taunting chocolate eyes.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” The man reaches out his hand to help me up, but I refuse it with a grunt. His voice is smooth, polished — like one of those actors who always play morally gray lawyers.

“I can get up by myself, thank you very much.” I dust off my pants and rub my bruised bum.

“I’m really sorry, I was on my phone.” He is tall, handsome, and vaguely familiar — not friend-of-a-friend familiar … more like face-on-a-milk-carton familiar.

He struts a dangerous smile, and I wonder why everyone in San Francisco seems to be hot. Take this attractive dump for instance ― black hair, a well-groomed beard, smirking without trying ― the kind of face that says ‘I win things’.

It just ticks me off.

“No shit.” I angrily grab some parcels from the ground, stuffing back some clothes and rattles that fell out. He reaches for one of the bags and picks up the runaway bear.

“Baby shopping?” he asks, glancing at the bear.

“Wild guess,” I say, deadpan.

His eyes linger on my face just a second longer than is necessary. Something flickers there— recognition maybe? Or curiosity? But before I can ask, Mel jumps into action, her protective hormones in overdrive.

“Maniac! Being famous doesn’t give you the right to not look where you’re going.” Mel slides her finger under his nose as I stoop to pick up the last parcel. Seems the dude is famous. No surprise there … it appears everybody in this city is well-known for some or other reason.

For a beat, he stares straight into my eyes before looking at the rest of the girls. Calculating. Figuring stuff out.

Mel is standing with her hands on her hips, Haley is frowning as if she smells something off, and Kiara is frantically scanning our immediate vicinity. Then I notice it too.

All eyes are on us ― or more accurately, on me ― and the airport scenario replays in my mind. If this turns out to be a PR disaster again, I’ll track down this jerk and kill him.

I cast my eyes down to the pavement, not sure what hurts more — my bum or my ego. I do know that this big ape is responsible for both injuries, so I bulldoze him out of the way with my shoulder and grab onto Mel.

Mel frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m so fed up with conceited hunks and their egos. Hell, it’s as if they go out of their way to find and annoy me!” I blow off steam to Mel, who’s now clutching my arm like a tiny monkey, steering me rather harshly down the street as if on a mission.

“And out of all people …” Mel says, squinting down the sidewalk. “You have to bump into Brian.”

“Who?” I ask, trying to keep up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mel suddenly snores, “Don’t foster homes have television?”

Technically … yes, they have. But viewing is limited. I open my mouth to reply, but she holds her injured arm up protectively.

Because suddenly — BAM. Flash. Shutter. Voices.

They come out of nowhere, like roaches with serious teleportation skills. Just peeling from the shadows — paparazzi, at least six of them, pushing in with long lenses and caffeinated energy.

Mel squeezes my arm and whispers in my ear, “Keep quiet and smile.”

Shucks, the previous incident hasn’t even fully cooled down yet. Not to mention how they contorted things to portray me as the villain ― I manipulated the frat boy to assault the fat lady so I could seduce her nerdy pervert; and somewhere through all this, I was supposed to meet a dealer selling me an illicit kidney for my sick love child (who happens to be my sister with two fully functioning kidneys by the way).

And people actually believe that shit!

“Mel! Over here!” “Can we take a photo of your ring?” “Do you have a wedding date planned?”

Thank goodness they’re more interested in her. She smiles. A very sincere fake grin that shows off her perfect teeth. She holds up her hand to show off her special ring … a harlequin black Opal encircled by smaller Alexandrites — their birthstones. It’s so romantic.

“Aria! Do you enjoy living with Enrique?” “Are you getting engaged?” “What do you say to fans who think you moved too fast?”

A mic nearly hits me on the cheek. Someone else shouts my name like we are best friends. I try to follow Mel’s advice and keep a creepy smile on my flustered face.

“When’s the due date?” “Is Enrique the father or just playing house?”

That one gets me. What the fuck?

“When is the baby due?” “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Or twins!” a voice yells from the back.

For a split second, I’m discombobulated ― pregnant? Me? To be pregnant, you need to copulate, and I haven’t even been in eye contact with a penis in months.

Do I look pregnant? Instinctively, my hand moves to my tummy, and I look down ― maybe I’m getting fat or something. I circle my hand over my stomach. Nope, still flat, thank heavens.

“Can we see what’s in the bags?” “Are you buying pink or blue?”

Only then do I realize that I’m holding brown paper bags with the ‘allbuybaby’ ‘Mudpie’ ‘Fiddlesticks’, and ‘UpChoose’ logos on them. So, no way to hide the fact that we were buying baby stuff at all.

Someone yanks a bag from my hand, and some baby gear slips out.

“Is this baby your ticket to richness?” “How did you trick him?” “Is it because he’s allergic to latex?” “How long until he sleeps around again?” “Is Enrique excited about the baby?”

I pick up a spilled pacifier and go into full panic mode.

“Back off,” Mel says sharply, voice colder than iced coffee. “She’s not your story.”

I know Mel hasn’t declared her pregnancy to the press yet. After almost losing the baby, they decided to wait and keep it quiet for as long as possible. Then Mel steps forward, and I know she’s going to set them right, so I pull her back.

“When we’re ready to reveal any pregnancy, you’ll be the first to know,” I say coldly. “But until then, I have nothing to say.”

Luckily, her small bump is still almost unnoticeable, especially under the loose shirt she’s wearing. Let them write what they want … Mel’s well-being is what’s important.

We push through the now dense crowd that’s still throwing questions in the air. I try to remain calm, but with each question, I feel more and more explosive because they dare to invade my personal space and shame my values. And then one of the vultures steps over the line.

“Is this baby a replacement for your dying sister?”

I discharge, and before anybody can react, I drop the parcels, grab the man’s shirt with my left hand, while slapping him in the face. I pull him closer, beyond mad.

“You can say what you want about me, but you leave my sister alone!”

“It’s the baby hormones!” someone shouts. Kiara grabs the packages. Haley grabs me and Mel.

We hustle to the parking lot before any more celebrities or their roaches can assault me.

As soon as we’re all safely buckled up, the three girls let loose.

“Shit, sister, that was demented!” Kiara gasps with a big smile.

“Yep, I can already see my brother’s face!” Mel giggles, ending with a snort. “And I’m sorry that they think you are the one getting knocked up.”

I look down at my trembling hands, my whole body still shaking with anger and rage. I was so mad I didn’t think about the consequences.

“I’ve hit a reporter. This is so bad,” I say, irritated, already seeing Enrique blowing his lid. Not that I’m scared, but that man gives me the chills for some reason.

“Oh, honey, he deserved it. I’ve stopped counting the number of reporters Damion punched, not to mention Jackson … oh boy,” Haley snickers, and Mel rolls her eyes, not sure if she’s thinking of her badboy fiancé or her scary brother.

“And Enrique certainly is no angel either! Remember when …” Kiara starts, and they recall encounters between the boys and the press. Encounters that have me rolling in laughter. For this moment, I’m just Aria Thompson. A girl who’s having fun with her new friends. A girl who can laugh so hard her tummy aches. A girl who got lost in the difficulties of life.

I’m just glad that she’s still in there, somewhere, at least.