Hormonal(Bonus) I
Camila's POV
Motherfucking bitch.
This can't be happening. It just can't.
A knock echos through the small room and I snap my head up towards the door. "Excuse me, Miss Gonzalez ?"
Miss Gonzalez .
I can already feel the tiny little prickles of tears welling behind my eyes.
This can't be happening.
My life is completely and utterly ruined.
"What?" I snap, wiping at the few stray tears that'd managed to escape.
Rule number one in Common Curtesy 101, never fucking interrupt someone that could be taking a Camnt shit.
"Sorry to be a bother." Her voice sounds from the other side. "But I have packed the dress up for you. I do apologize for the wait. We don't get window shoppers demanding to buy a one of a kind dress right off the rack." She laughs nervously. "Much less a wedding dress."
My teeth begin to ache from how hard I'm clenching them and my eyes narrow at the white door.
Fuck that one of a kind Alexander McQueen wedding dress.
I'd been eyeing it for months, driving past the cute little boutique on Madison Avenue and the day I decide to finally come purchase it right off the rack, this fucking happens.
I shove the stupid little white stick back into my handbag and storm out of the washroom, nearly running into the nosy boutique clerk.
The lady yelps and I sidestep her to move straight towards the front doors while her hurried footsteps sound behind me. "Excuse me Miss, what are you doing?"
"Leaving."
"But- what would you like me to do with the dress?"
"I don't want it." I grit out, grabbing my coat and tossing aside the complementary champagne she'd brought out.
"That's ridiculous. You already paid for it." She chimes in from behind me. "Aren't you going to want a dress for your wedding?"
My wedding?
"There is no wedding." I snap. I came in here on a whim after I'd checked the voicemail at the penthouse to find a message from the man that handled Alejandro's finances, saying that the transfer of funds to the Blue Nile company was complete.
I had no idea why the message was sent to the landline that no one used. It must have been a mistake on their part because Blue Nile was a jewelry company, and there was only one piece of jewelry I could imagine him spending six figures on.
Which meant that Alejandro had finally pulled his head out of my ass and decided he was going to propose.
I spin around and send the clerk a glare. "Burn it. Keep it. Give it to one of the crackheads on the street. I don't care. Just get it away from me." Her eyes widen in response and I withhold the urge to scream.
Maybe I would've felt bad for being such a bitch if she hadn't glanced me up and down the second I walked in here, and told me that the dress would only fit after I lost ten pounds.
I'd already been feeling a little insecure about my fluctuating weight. Not to mention, I was a stress eater and in New York, I was stressed all the fucking time.
The heels of my Prada boots click as I turn and stomp out of the shop, trying my best to storm down the street - for added dramatic effect - but since I'm in the middle of the fucking North Pole, my attempt is futile.
Did I ever mention how much I fucking hated this city?
When I wasn't nearly breaking my back on black ice, or sitting in a fucking Taxi for an hour to get less than a mile, I was getting harassed by crackheads and getting pick pocketed.
Yes, I had some of Alejandro's men always trailing me but even they were no match for the busy streets of New York City.
I'd been putting up with this shithole for four years. Four fucking years of car horns and shitty weather.
I missed the California sun.
I round the corner and storm down the street, passing the black sky scraper that's ironically right across from the off white coloured one Alejandro owned and we lived in.
I step away from the large black building and make a move to cross the street when a black beat up charger pulls away from the curb and rushes down the street, nearly knocking me on my ass.
"Asshole." I mutter, glaring at the back of the car as it speeds by, cutting off other cars, causing an even bigger traffic jam.
I knew that car and I knew the psycho sitting behind the wheel. Another con of living in New York City, I lived in the building across the street from the Grip Reaper.
I had no idea what kind of stick was always shoved up Nico Blaine's ass, but I wished it somehow found a way to his heart and killed him.
I'm greeted by warm air as I step into the lobby of my building and head into the elevator, hitting the button for the last floor, cursing every damn thing about this wretched city.
I was high maintenance, there was no denying that. And Alejandro was doing a good job of handling it, but New York City was hard on the both of us.
It's been only four years since moving out here yet I'd managed to take off at least ten years from Alejandro's life and while I felt horrible about it, the city was to blame.
I wanted to move back home, but I'd already made Alejandro uproot his entire life to follow me here. And while he'd give me anything I wanted, I knew it would put more stress on him.
So, I'd just have to wait until he came around.
Only it wasn't easy. He was constantly away on business, Marco had moved back to California needing to be closer to La Famiglia and I'd sent Cucci with him after realizing that she wasn't happy in the city.
Leaving me all alone.
Sure, I was now leading the Juilliard Chamber Orchestra from the piano and meeting world renowned musicians, but it meant nothing when I came back to an empty penthouse.
And right now, the loneliness of an empty penthouse makes everything that much worse. That is until I step out of the elevator and am instantly greeted by the sound of Italian curses blaring off the walls.
I practically throw off my coat and boots, chasing the sound of his rich voice until it takes me to the living room where I catch sight of my Italian Adonis.
Alejandro was back from his trip.
Only the excitement instantly vanishes as my hands tighten around my handbag and I'm reminded of what's inside. Swallowing thickly, I clutch my bag in my hands and slowly make my way towards him.
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