"You're a thorn in my side."
. . .
The bane of my existence has always been Alessandro Silvestro.
He's the reason my blood boils every time I'm in the same room as him. The reason why I do things out of my character.
He brings out the nasty, rotten...
"We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again."
. . .
I'd say my plan with Alessandro's car worked. He was pissed off.
Dante asked what happened, and I told him.
"Val, you know how much he loves that car," Dante frowns as we're sitting in our seats, waiting for the movie to be played.
"I know, that's why I painted it," I grin and wiggle my eyebrows.
Dante lets out a disbelieving laugh. "It's washable, right?"
"O-of course it is," I scoff. "Just one trip to the car wash and it's gone," I assure him.
It's knowing that he'll have to take his car out in public and experience the embarrassment that gives me satisfaction.
"How long did it take you to get that car painted?" he asks. "A-a few good hours," I admit, cheeks started to paint red.
I spent way too long painting his car and putting effort into Alessandro that he didn't deserve, but fuck it felt good.
His face was worth every minute.
Dante takes out his phone and he pulls up his texts, opening up the conversation with his brother. My heart warms a little when he asks Alessandro if he's okay.
Dante has always got my back, but he loves his brother just as much.
I wish my sister and I were like that.
Instead, our conversations are just when it's necessary.
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"Valentina, are you almost done getting ready?" my mother asks, impatience lacing her voice. I look at her through the mirror in my room.
Martina is still getting her hair done, but I'm the one who needs to hurry?
"Yes, Mami," I sigh, irritated. I put my hair up in a French braid, letting some loose strands escape at the front and I've put some decorative flowers throughout my hair.
My makeup is light and I've still got to put on my dress. And then I'm ready to go.
Meanwhile, Martina is taking her sweet time, but as usual, she doesn't get any comments. The clacking of my mom's heels resounds throughout the house as she walks down the hallway. I get up from my chair and go to put my dress on.
The dress is a deep red with purple undertones, and layers of black lace covering it, accompanied by lace gloves that reach to my elbows.
And then I put my heels on, making my short frame a little bit taller, and I exit my room.
