10. Ariella
Chapter 10
Ariella
Before I am forced to marry or die
(whichever comes first) bucket list.
Fill an entire class up. I had been almost there on Sunday. Short, manageable goals for the win!
Read a book. Like the whole thing. Not like The Alchemist or Art of War. Just something simple and entertaining.
Go to the fair and eat a funnel cake. Okay, before you judge me, I know I could eat a funnel cake anywhere, but it just seems weird. Like eating candy corn at Easter. Funnel Cakes and County fairs went together. I had never actually been to a county fair since my parents would never allow it. Public places were dangerous, my mother said. Genesis would tell me about it, though, and the way she described the funnel cakes as the best carbs to ever exist made me curious.
Go Skinny Dipping.
Kiss a stranger.
Meet Pedro Pascual.
Get over my fear of heights. I should do this before I go to the fair if I want to get on the Ferris Wheel.
Figure out how to use that orange vibrator Thalia got me. And soon, because the shower head is not doing the job anymore.
Lose my virginity.
Fall in love.
I cross out the last one. Love wasn’t in the cards for me. Number nine would also be tricky. After what happened on Sunday, it was another reminder that life wasn’t guaranteed.
Things between Nero and I got a little too weird. I’m still unsure why I opened my big fucking mouth and confessed my whole life story to him.
I could have at least left out the virginity piece. I look back down at my list. It wasn’t in any particular order. Just a list I feel like I can accomplish in the next year.
Hopefully, I still had a year to prepare before Axel pushed me onto someone. The thought of losing my virginity to someone other than the man my family was trying to choose for me made me anxious. Not like bad, locked in a dark room crying anxious but excited anxious.
In a perfect world like the one my parents created for me, I would save it for my husband. A degrading game of power where Axel auctioned off my innocence to the highest bidder. The union would only benefit him and my father. What about me? What about what I want?
Listen, if my v-card were like an infinity stone, that would make my husband more powerful, then I would leave the man powerless. I enjoyed fantasizing about what my husband would do when he found out I wasn’t actually a virgin. Maybe he’d give me back to my family.
They can tell, right? God, I hope he can tell because I can’t wait to see the look on his face. I’d laugh right at it. Like, sorry mijo, the stone’s been given to another papa. You are the weakest link. Bye, see you never.
It was a gross standard for women to be held so low in inequality. At one point, my mother convinced me that belonging to a man would be my greatest joy, but the whole idea made me sick. I didn’t want to be claimed and then tossed aside.
I wanted to be loved. Like real genuine, ‘can’t eat, can’t sleep, all I do is think of you’ love.
And that's where my dilemma comes in. I may have developed a crush on Nero. Unexpectedly, after Sunday, all these emotions started to submerge. At first, I thought maybe this was a Stockholm synopsis or whatever it’s called.
He obviously didn’t kidnap me. That would be kind of hot if he did, though.
Focus Ariella.
Get the sucia thoughts out of your head!
Anyway, the point is that it’s obviously not a Stockholm synopsis. Instead, I feel for my bodyguard because he protected me. I, the queen of delusions, am crushing over a man for doing his job.
Something happened on Sunday when we were in the security guard’s room, though. I felt it. It wasn’t just my delusions. It wasn’t just me spilling my heart out. There was something in the way Nero touched me. Right?
I need to stop being delusional and immature. Why would a man like Nero want someone like me? If Nero had a type, then I was almost certain it was nothing like me. As much as I want to be whatever he’s looking for because the way he held me felt so damn good, I know I can’t be. I’m a fucking mess of a person.
Even now, I think a person comforting me is equated to love when, in reality, the man is just being a decent human being. I was trauma dumping on the guy, and he just let me.
I didn’t regret telling Nero about what had happened to Gen and me. There was a part of me that kept that trauma buried so deep inside me that it was starting to take root and rot in my heart. It wasn’t the perfect timing, but I felt safe with him.
So much has changed at the hotel since the Italians attacked. My parents were both freaking out about me being in the crossfire of everything, so they flew in as soon as they found out.
They also had to bring Kostya Pashokov’s younger sister, Yelizaveta. She had been hiding out in California with my family until her brother could take her back to Russia.
According to Don Mario, the janitor and most trusted chismoso, Kostya, was the reason behind the entire massacre. He was meeting with Cassiel, or leatherfuck, whatever they call him.
They were sitting in a booth in the corner of Tres Coronas when the Italians attacked. Don Mario said Cas-Leatherface was in critical condition. I had forgotten that Nero and Cassiel were close. It’s the only reason I feel a morsel of concern. Nero was shaken up about the whole thing. It almost feels like he’s avoiding me because of it.
I wish I could comfort him the way he had done to me, but I couldn’t let what Cassiel did to me go. Even if he rescued Lucia, he used his heroic act to get to Genesis. He used me to get to Genesis, and the whole kidnapping situation caused all that past trauma to resurface.
On Sunday, I was hallucinating people from my past in the hotel lobby. The moment I heard shots, I panicked, and my brain convinced me that my childhood kidnapper was standing there firing shots at innocent people. I need to find Gen and talk to her about what happened. Maybe she could tell me what to do? They had locked her up when she was seeing things. Oh my god, would they make me do electric shock therapy?
“Okay, Mija, let’s check where we’re at,” Sergio says from behind me, interrupting my thoughts.
I quickly close my notebook before he can see the bucket list.
Courtesy of Adriana Consuelo Reyes, I was at the salon getting my blonde roots covered and my ends cut. I’m grateful for this because I thought I’d have to dye my hair dark for a second to make my budget work.
“Jesus, I wish I had that following me around,” Sergio says while checking the aluminum foils he’s placed in my hair.
I crumble to the seat when I see Nero walking toward the salon. He dropped me off here and told me he’d come back for me. Guapo is the first at the door to meet him.
“Move, I’m gay,” Sergio says, pushing past one of the other salon employees to get to the front desk.
“She still has about an hour. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?” Sergio asks Nero.
“I’m good. Thanks.” Nero says, making his way to the empty chair next to me.
Sergio eyes me from the front desk and winks. Red flushes my cheeks, and I try to cover the smile that wants to emerge. “Hey.” He says, looking down at his phone and typing.
I almost say, “Hey is for horses,” because nervous me always says dad jokes at the most awkward of times, but I reign the nerd in and greet him back with the same casual tone.
Trying to act normal around Nero since I was hugging him and confessing my life trauma was more complex than I had expected it to be.
“How’s Cassiel?” I ask to kill the tension.
“He still hasn’t woken up.” He looks back down at his phone again and continues typing.
Sergio returns to get me shampooed and conditioned. I’m grateful to see that the platinum blonde has returned in full force. Nero waits for Sergio to cut and blow dry my hair. I walk with confidence to the salon lobby, and Nero looks up at me and smiles.
I say bye to Sergio, and Nero places his hand on the small part of my back to lead me outside. Although, the leading me feels a lot more like pushing me at the haste speed he’s going. Nero opens the passenger door for me, ushers me in, and then fastens my seatbelt.
“Is everything okay?” I ask when he gets in the car.
“I’m gonna need to drop you off and head back to the clubhouse,” he says.
“I can just go with you,” I offer.
The clubhouse was closer to us, and it didn’t make sense why he would drop me off an hour away at the hotel just to drive back this way.
“Are you sure? It’s not a fucking country club Ariella.”
“It’s fine, I mean, unless you think I’d be unsafe there,” I ask. He looks at me, contemplating my proposal before finally deciding to save time.
“You’ll be with me. You’re always safe with me.” He replies.
__
I wasn’t sure what I imagined the clubhouse to look like in my head, but this wasn’t it. The wooden exterior of the large building looked more like a dive bar. A vomit-colored dive bar.
My inner interior designer was mortified. Who chose this color? Was it more green or yellow? I think it was somehow both at the same time. That is what made it so revolting.
There is a large front deck wrapped around the front, with rails also colored vomit green. Two men in leather vests like Nero’s sit on the front porch.
“I’ll just wait out here with Guapo,” I say when Nero parks the car by a line of bikes outside.
“No. Bring him inside with you.” He says.
He leans into me and unfastens my seatbelt. I stare down at the veins of his forearms, popping through the layers of ink. I lean back, but it does nothing to stop the feelings arising at the close proximity.
“Don’t talk to anyone when we get inside. You can sit at the bar, and Ofelia will take care of you. I’ll be out back there.”
I look at his outstretched arm, following the lines of his tribal marking tattoos to the end of his index finger. Finally, I find the large garage off to the side of the clubhouse.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, only to watch his jaw clench.
I grab Guapo and step out of the door Nero’s opened for me. The moment my pink heels hit the muddy ground, I sink in.
Nero lets out a frustrated sigh. I notice two men on the front porch watching us, so I pull away from Nero and settle back into the passenger seat.
“I can just wait in the car. It’s fine,” I murmur.
I don’t want to embarrass him or myself in front of these guys. This was not my world. Selfishly, I invited myself because I wanted to spend more time with Nero. But I don’t belong here.
“Ariella, it’s 100 degrees out. You’re not waiting in the car.”
Before I can protest, Nero bends down and scoops me into his arms. I let out a small gasp before wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“There. Problem solved.” He says with a comforting smile. One that melts my heart.
He doesn’t wait for me to make a decision. Like he knows, I was trapped in the chaos of my own insecurities.
Social media made me feel insecure when it came to human interactions. It was easy to influence people from the comfort of your home, but whenever I was out in the real world, I felt like people were judging me.
Like I had either overdressed or underdressed, and all the toxic thoughts circling in my brain would convince me I didn’t belong. I didn’t want to look like the dumb, rich girl who tripped over her heels in the mud. Not when I knew how important these people were to Nero. I want them to like me.
Nero’s long legs make quick strides until we reach the front porch, and he puts me down on my feet.
“Sheesh.” One guy says
“What’d you bring us to play with Vato?” another one says.
Nero returns to the car to grab Guapo, and I nervously stare at the men on the porch, eyeing me like dogs watching a piece of carne asada.
“She’s with me, boys. And she’s off limit.” Nero says, coming up behind me.
“Ah, you’re no fun.” The one in the cowboy hat says, jumping off the side railing and walking towards me.
He’s older. Even older than Nero, with grey in his beard and small wrinkles forming around his face. He’s unconventionally attractive, but his fit body makes up for it. The wife-beater tank top leaves little to the imagination.
“What’s your name, Darlin’? I’m Larry. Welcome to the club.” he sticks out his hand, and Nero steps between us.
“I’m not playing. Not with her. Touch her and die,” he warns.
Nero grabs my hand and leads me into the club while the men behind us let out howls.
“Ignore those fuckers. They like to play, but they won’t bother you.”
I don’t have time to relish the intimacy of Nero’s hand in mine or the tingles spreading through my entire body from his touch. Not when I see two females staring at us from behind the counter.
I recognize the younger one right away, Shawny. She works at the hotel with us as a housekeeper during the day. Judging by the scowl on her face, she must remember me, too.
“You brought the Princess,” she asks Nero in a flirtatious tone.
He ignores her and leads me to the other side of the bar, where an older woman with long grey hair and black highlights is cutting limes.
“Ofelia, I’m going out back to the garage. I have some business to handle. This is Ariella Reyes.” Her eyes shoot to mine looking me over before she nods.
I smile when her eyes meet mine. She looks over my outfit, and suddenly, I’m self-conscious again. My outfit today was a pair of black skinny jeans, a cropped hot pink tube top, and hot pink Prada heels. I pull on the bottom of the fabric like I can magically make it cover my exposed parts.
“I love your hair,” I say.
The older woman, Nero, referred to as Ofelia, looks to be in her mid-sixties. It’s not a fake compliment, even though my voice shakes slightly. Am I nervous? Hell yes. But I don’t give fake compliments.
I could only hope to gracefully wear my peppered hair as she does when I am that age. She smiles at the compliment, her eyes focused on my hand in Neros. I releae it immediately and fold my hands into each other. Fidgeting it in that nervous way I always do. Nero grabs my hand again. His grip firmer than before.
Leading me to the barstool, he lifts me and sets me into the chair. Then, he moves behind me to scoot the stool in. He leans into me and lowers his voice.
“Stop it. You look beautiful, and no one is judging you. Get out of your head.”
I straighten my spine as goosebumps spread like wildfire at his hot breath on my skin.
“Be a good girl, Ariella. Don’t talk to anyone. If you need anything, you ask Ofelia.” he whispers into my ear.
My body is on fire now. A fluttering sensation warms in the pit of my stomach.
Nero sets Guapo’s carrier on the counter and nods to Ofelia, who has been watching the whole interaction between us. Guapo barks from the carrier, so I take him out and set him on my lap. Nero disappears behind the side door.
I look back to the other end of the bar when Shawny lets out a short laugh. When our eyes meet, she rolls hers.
“Suck a guy’s dick regularly, and then he acts like you are invisible. Typical men, right?” she taunts.
The inferior thoughts that stem from my jealousy begin to rise. Suck his-. Oh god . I wouldn’t even know how to do that. Not the right way. I mean, there is a right and wrong way, right?
“Shut your mouth, Shawny, and go mop those bathrooms.” Ofelia lashes out, her eyes hard on Shawny.
Shawny huffs but follows Ofelia’s order. Ofelia bends down behind the counter and fills a small dish of water. She places it in front of Guapo.
“Thank you,” I say, and she gives me a curt smile.
“What can I get you?” she asks.
“Oh, I don’t drink.” Much. I don’t drink much .
Primarily because I’m afraid of crying in front of people. An occasional mimosa or margarita is where I draw the line. After that, I was crying over world peace and starving children.
“Soda, doll face, I meant a soda,” she says, smirking.
“Right. Um. Can I get a Dr. Pepper, please?”
Ofelia walks to the other side of the bar and fills a glass cup before placing it in front of me. I pull out a can of cat food, put the inflatable dish I keep for Guapo in my bag, and set it next to him.
“Don’t let that one get to you. She has diarrhea of the mouth and thinks we can’t all smell it.” Ofelia says before setting down my soda. I let out a small laugh, but I couldn’t help but not let Shawny get to me.
I sip on my soda while Ofelia pulls out a clipboard and goes through the different bottles on the shelves behind her. I want to ask her five million questions, but I can tell she’s busy, so I hold off.
I just need something to distract my brain from going wild with imaginary scenarios about Nero and Shawny. It pisses me off to think of them together. I don’t know why it does, but it does. Maybe because I know all we’ll ever have was this client-employee relationship he consistently reminded me of.
I pull out my phone and bring up Instagram. Since I uploaded a selfie with Sergio and my newly restored hair, I have received over a hundred notifications.
The caption: Forever Blonde.
The hype in my comments section is real. I go through and like my favorite ones.
NotThaliaConsuleo: Perrisima
CoopersWorld: She’s backkkkk
JavierGomez2304: ?A que hora vas por el pan mami?
Ofelia exits through swinging doors to the kitchen behind the bar. Guapo has decided he likes her and follows her into the office.
“Guapo!” I call out, but she waves me off.
“He’s fine. He can come back here with me,” Ofelia says.
So much for being my emotional support pet. I swear Guapo was suffering from Alzheimer’s because he seemed to forget that I should be his number one priority.
I’m left alone at the bar until Shawny returns and starts wiping down the counters. When she’s done, she places a bottle with a shot glass in front of me.
“A little Don Julio to take away the nerves?” she says, pouring tequila into the glass.
“Oh, I don’t drink,” I say, and she lets out a laugh.
“Of course you don’t.” The sarcastic tone is thick.
She lifts the glass to me and smirks before downing the shot. I go back to my phone in an attempt to ignore her, but she keeps poking.
“You know you’re not what I would expect Nero to go for.”
“You shouldn’t expect anything, considering he’s just my bodyguard,” I murmur.
“Right.” She says and pours another shot.
“I mean, all this Polly Pocket shit isn’t his type.” Her laugh is cruel, and I feel the weight of her insult in the most vulnerable parts of me.
“And you know his type?” I challenge, my nostrils flaring.
“I do. He likes everything dark. Wild and untamed. He likes tight leather, impact play, and full domination. Someone he can ruin with no commitment. Not the Barbie doll that breaks too easy.”
Her words cause my pulse to thrum. I swallow down her insult and glare at her. She smiles at my defeat, pours another shot, and pushes it in front of me.
The burning of the tequila down my throat is easier to push down than her vile truth. I knew I wasn’t Nero’s type, but the confirmation from someone else, someone who was his type, made the reality of my delusions sting. Shawny fills the glass again, and I down it. It’s the only way to distract myself from the stinging behind my eyes.