Bona Fide Baby

Chapter 4 - The Video

Today was wash and iron day, but the last two weeks were a blur.

After an emergency trip to the hospital in regards to her youngest sister's weak lungs, last minute study sessions with the triplet, getting acquainted with the job, and of course, the single most embarrassing moment of her life, Xiomara decided to let her guards down and enjoy the peace that folding and ironing clothes brought to her.

Normally, she had dinner ready at six on the days she worked, but Willem didn't come home usually until after eight. That meant he was either a workaholic or he was straight up avoiding her.

And with good reason. She'd all but force her tongue down his throat the first day she met him.

Embarrassing. The memory was cringeworthy enough to make her want to bury her head in the sand like an ostrich and never come back up.

The way he'd kicked her out of his office ... priceless. The next day, she had shown up anyway, with her tail tucked between her legs like a dog that had been shooed one too many times and still didn't give a damn. Because... hustle.

Yet, she had to admit, she had acted totally out of character. She was known for acting impulsively, but going out on a limb and kissing a random stranger was a first for her.

Willem had been nothing but nice to her. He had given her a job just when she had almost given up hope, and somehow she had gotten the signals mixed up. Maybe her reaction was some kind of hero worship - lifesaver, you-saved-me-when-I-was-drowning kind of syndrome. However, thanking him by kissing him wasn't her smartest idea yet.

Nope. She'd acted plain out stupid.

The apology came a few days ago when she saw Willem hitting on one of the machines in the makeshift gym like he was desperate for the equipment to shred him apart, when in fact, he was the one doing the shredding. The sound of the metal protesting against the assault was so agonizing, it had her feeling bad for an inanimate object.

Willem seemed to work out quite often, but he wasn't big. Not like Omar. He was more refined, his body sleek and toned. He had accepted her apology and then they'd talk, casually, almost like old time friends. That's how she found herself opening up, and telling him things she would not have told a guy like him.

Since he wasn't interested in her, she didn't see a downside to it, except that now maybe he could see past her body-flattering thrift shop outfits, to the girl underneath it all. The Jlo from the block. That kind of girl. It was easy to make the world believe she had a glamorous life by dressing well, styling her hair, and making damn sure she smelled like a million bucks, even if the perfume only cost her two dollars and fifty cents because she bought it at the market.

A lack of sufficient funds was a none factor when it came down to being on point. It was her pleasure to dress to kill without breaking the bank.

Fake it until you make it. That's what they say. People gave away brand name stuff to the Salvation Army all the time. Cue the Michael Kors bag sitting in her closet just for special occasions.

Xiomara pulled herself away from her musings and walked into the laundry room. She picked up the basket of clothes Filo had set out for her to iron and carried it to the guest bedroom, where she dropped it on the floor and proceeded to open up the ironing board.

She got a small jar to put water in the iron. At the sink, she cranked the left tap with the red marking on it and yelped when hot water landed on her fingers.