Chapter VIII ۞ Aaron ۞ Part I

Aaron Vaughn-Solomon's point of view

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I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD USE this word to talk about my horrifically annoying down stairs neighbor, but she's complex. And when the flood of her complexity hit me, I was left stunned. She's much more than I ever gave her credit for, and to think that she is actually a self-made, is surprising.

Her family is clearly as rich as mine, but instead of following any of the careers that her family paved for her, she chose a different one and made her own bed alone, without their help. And even helped her siblings out. For that, she has my respect.

But I remain stunned by how big her family is. And it's adorable how she keeps calling her parents by the Brazilian way, and her grandparents in the Italian way, a remain of how they raised her, I believe. Not to mention that she only talks like that when I'm near, because she used the English terms when my mom was here. Maybe she didn't know how she would react, although mom would probably find it adorable.

Nevertheless, out of all that happened, what shocked me the most was the tattoos. Yes. Her tattoos. I had absolutely no idea she had any, since every single time I saw her in all of those 4 years, she was all covered up, except for her neck, hands, and head.

Her curves too. Were very much hidden in all of her baggy clothes. And let me tell you, she has absolutely no fashion sense. I'll definitely have to give her wardrobe a makeover before we leave to my family's private island.

She has all the moon phases vertically on her back right over her spine, a tattoo that appears slightly at the bottom corner of her gym top and that goes up to her breasts, a rose on her left rib, a detailed and charming Eastern dragon that goes from her left shoulder and serpentines around her entire arm with the end of it's tail going a little up in her wrist, and some small ones in her right arm. I wouldn't doubt that she has more, and they all make her… sexy. Yes, I think that's the word.

It gives her a different air from the one she normally has, while all covered up. I'm glad my mom is a lover of tattoos, or she might have complained about them, which would be unpleasant. And well, she also has some small ones around here and there, and so does all of my siblings.

I do too. And I felt her eyes devouring me, but as she didn't say a word about them, I didn't either.

There's a angel on the top of my back with it's wings spread right on top, a snake biting it's own tail that serpentines around my neck like a necklace, two deer horns each on one of the sharp sides of my collarbones, the number 1 big on the right side of my lower back, a thunder spreading from my upper left shoulder to my wrist, a handful of small ones on around my right arm, and a wolf on the back of my right lower leg. Yes, I'm quite the lover of tattoos.

I'm actually the one who draw all them, and gave it to the tattoo artist, which is one of my mom's friends from college.

I wonder who had the pleasure of tattooing the one that goes up to her cleavage, and what that tattoo could be. Although I'll keep that to myself, since she would definitely kill me if I asked about it. Maybe I'll get to see if she uses a bikini at anytime in the island.

But I should definitely avoid having dirty thoughts about my nemesis, because we'll be staying alone for two weeks, having to sleep in the same room and act like a couple. We can't let things get awkward. Meaning those thoughts are prohibited.

As my eyes traveled through her back again, when she turned around to fry the eggs, I clenched my jaw, letting my eyes draw the curves of her body just for now.

"But why would she resent you?" I broke the silence. "And do you call your siblings all by their middle names, or just the youngest?"

She didn't turned to answer, "We all call each other like that." So they call her what? Emmanuelle? Em? Manu? Elle? Manuelle? Emma? There are lots of nicknames to such a long name. "They all prefer the Italian names," she rolled her shoulders, and put the fried eggs on the plate, than began to fry more two. "And like I said, Amalia was too close to me at the time, she looked up to me more than to our other two sisters, so she felt betrayed when I went to college in another country, sooner than everyone else, and only came back to visit."

"But is she still hang up on that?" Because blaming her sister for prioritizing her future, just because you wanted her near you for the sake of it, sounds toxic to me. Especially when 12 years passed since that happened.

Sigh, "Yes. And it's not only her. She's the one who always try to make me feel worse, but Paolo, the second younger and middle brother of the last triplets, also blames me. The two who works with our nonnas. Even when they always spend two holidays every year at my expense, they have to make me feel bad for it."

"They are 26 and still doing that?" I gasped.

"Yeah," she muttered and seasoned the eggs, than began to fry some slices of bacon. "I don't blame them. But it gets bothersome."

Suddenly sTraNgeRs by Bring Me the Horizon began to play loudly, startling both of us. It's been more than a year since she put this song as her ringtone for when people call her, and it's been six years since that's my favorite song. Which is quite amusing, because she has no idea I like that song, since I listen to it using my headphones or air pods.

"Caralho, that startled me," she cursed and picked her phone, and her face turned into a grimace right away. "Merda." Her eyes met mine, "My mom is video calling me."

Well, that's not news. Her mother calls her all the time and she always listen to it on the speaker, so loud that I can even hear it from my apartment. Really annoying. And she dares to say that I am the loud one.

"Pick it up!" I exclaimed when it kept ranging.

She gulped and turned off the flame, then sat down in front of me, and by her body I could tell she was anxious. "Good morning, mamãe."

"Meu amor, it's late at night here, you always forgets the time zones. Alessandro, your sister picked up, come here!" Oh, is her 8th brother there too? "Manu, querida, you look… messy." So, they call her Many, short for Emmanuelle. "What were you doing? Are you just in a gym bra? Isn't winter in New Zealand now?"

She blushed, "Yes, mamãe, it's winter, but my apartment is very warm, don't worry. And yes, it's a gym bra. Regarding what I'm doing, I'm just… cooking some things."

"Hm. Are you eating well, querida? Your cheekbones look sharper than usual, Manu. You better be eating at least three times a day. Let's not get back to the state you were in years ago!" What does her mom mean by that?

Thays moved on the chair, uncomfortable, "I won't, mamãe. And I'm eating. Don't worry. How is everything there? Nonnas? Papai? My siblings?"

"Manu!" A male voice exclaimed out of nowhere. "Meu Deus, I miss you so much, Manu. But why are you looking like that? Your hair looks like a bird's nest!"

I burst out when he said that, and she glared at me, and I quickly covered my lips, trying to hold my uncontrollable laughter. "My hair is fine."

"Who's with you?" They asked together.

"That's a male laugh. I can tell the difference!" Her mom exclaimed. "Meu santo Deus, Manu, did you sleep with someone? Now it makes sense. You definitely looks like someone who just had sex. Is that why you are cooking? Who is it? Show him to me! Boy, come here, I want to see your face."

"Mamãe!" She yelled mortified.