After we finished eating, I took a few more pictures with fans and signed autographs the best I could without fucking up my arm too much.
By the time we finally left the restaurant, all I could think about was getting back to the house so I could show Sianni the room.
Peter should’ve been finished with everything by now.
The ride back to the house was quieter than before. Sianni had one hand on the steering wheel while music played low through the speakers. Every now and then, I caught myself looking over at her while she focused on the road ahead.
“You’re thinking hard as hell over there,” I said.
“I’m literally just driving.”
“Mhm.”
She cut her eyes at me before shaking her head. “You always think somebody is thinking about something.”
“’Cause you usually are.”
That made her laugh softly under her breath before she turned the music up a little.
I leaned back in the passenger seat, but my hand still rested on her thigh most of the ride home. Every now and then, my thumb rubbed against her skin absentmindedly while I stared out the window, thinking about the room.
As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I got out first, then walked around to her side again.
“Kyrie, you do know I can open my own door, right?” she asked while stepping out of the car.
“Nawl.” I grabbed her hand once her feet touched the ground. “Not today.”
She laughed quietly as she let me lead her inside the house.
The second we walked through the front door, I turned toward her.
“Aye, shawty. Come here.”
“Where we going?” she asked, looking at me confused while I pulled her toward the hallway.
“Quit asking questions.”
“You talking about quit asking questions, and I don’t know what the hell going on.”
I smirked before leading her upstairs toward the room. Soon as we got to the door, I stepped behind her.
“Aight, close yo’ eyes.”
“Kyrie—”
“Close ’em.”
She fussed a little under her breath but eventually covered her eyes anyway while I opened the door and guided her inside carefully.
“Can I open them now?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
The second Sianni opened her eyes, she froze. The whole room had been transformed for her.
Soft cream walls mixed with warm nude tones. Gold accents. Floating shelves lined with sketchbooks, paint supplies, charcoal pencils, markers, and canvases in different sizes. A huge art desk sat near the window with one of those expensive-ass drawing tablets hooked up beside a brand-new laptop.
Peter had even added LED lighting around the ceiling, along with a little sitting area near the corner with a cream couch, fluffy pillows, and a small bookshelf filled with art and fashion design books.
