Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

18. Ariella

Chapter 18

Ariella

A list of things that spread fast

1. The stomach flu

2. Chisme

V omitgaddeon has hit Calavera Hotels, affecting everyone from staff to guests. Even Guapo didn’t look himself today. I arrived early to work and found Thalia and Enrique arguing about being understaffed.

When I walked in, they both looked over my outfit, Thalia with confusion and my Tio Enrique with disgust. After thirty minutes of trying to hide the hickies Nero left, I settled on wearing an oversized pink Dodgers hoodie and pulling my hair into a low ponytail to the side.

The time lost meant minimal makeup, my pink-framed glasses, and, yes, I was wearing Crocs.

“Ari, what in the hell are you- never mind. Can you work in the maid’s quarters today?” Enrique asks.

“Sure!” I say, trying my best to sound optimistic.

I wasn’t going to let vomitgeddon ruin this high I was riding. Not today. I was on cloud nine, and no one would get me down.

On the elevator ride down to the Maid’s Quarter, I read over the messages Nero sent me this morning,

Nero 7:00 AM

Morning Princess. You get some sleep?

Nero 8:00 AM

Where are you going?

Nero 8:10 AM

Why aren’t you answering me?

Nero 8:12 AM

Who are you getting ready for?

Nero 8:20 AM

If you don’t answer me I’m going over there.

I smile at the thought of him coming here to check on me. His possessiveness should probably be a red flag, but I’m color blind.

Ariella

I’m fine, calm down Valiente. I’m getting ready to go to work.

Nero

Call me when you finish work. I’m heading to the hospital to check on Cassiel.

Ariella

Okay.

Nero

Okay?

Ariella

Yes Sir.

Nero

Good Girl.

Even through text, I can hear his voice. Who knew a two-word phrase could really work a girl up? I’m so smitten with everything that it takes me a while to catch on to Alma scowling at me from behind her desk. I put my phone back into my backpack.

“Sorry,” I apologize.

It was going to be hard to stop hyper-focusing on anything but Nero today. My apology falls flat, as Alma’s entire demeanor comes off as irritation. Her eyes turn stoic when they zoom in on my neck. My ponytail has fallen to the back, so I shove it back to the front and readjust the hood on my sweatshirt.

She either really hates the Dodgers, or she really hates me.

“I’m sorry. Is everything okay?” I ask, trying to alleviate the awkward tension.

I didn’t know anything about Alma besides that she was Thalia’s friend. There was a moment when she lusted over Axel, but it’s common for women to throw themselves at my brother. Maybe she’s projecting her anger at his rejection onto me.

“It’s fine. When you finish the rooms, you’ll need to clean the staff’s bathroom. I take it you know where everything is?” Her voice is short. I smile and nod before heading to the supply closet.

All of Vicente Consuelo’s grandchildren knew how to carry their own weight at the hotel at a young age. My brothers and I were forced to spend the summers in Texas working for my grandparents. Of all the things afforded to me, the lessons in work ethic were the most valuable.

From the time I could hold a broom, I was with my grandmother, learning how to make a bed and fold neat corners.

Cleaning rooms was a different type of nostalgia for me. I take in the scent of Fabuloso, stick in my ear pods, and find a Corrido Tumbado playlist.

Stripping beds, cleaning tubs and washing linen- all while dealing drugs in my head. My body moves to the music, I dance with the vacuum, and I use the broomstick as a mic. It’s a whole ass vibe. Time goes by quickly, and it’s not until my air pods die that I realize I’ve been cleaning for five hours straight.

I had been so engrossed with cleaning that I forgot to check my phone. Nero still hasn’t said anything from this morning, but I had paragraphs from my mother. Ya, I’m not reading that book. Probably more shit on the Cuevas family. I didn’t want to think about that.

While I was offering up my virginity on a silver platter, both my parents were also sick with the stomach flu. Most of my mom’s messages during that time were just pictures of herself getting IV Drips.

Adriana Consuelo hated discomfort. It was the one reason why she wanted to shelter me from it. Something as little as a sickness made her fly over the edge. Who knows how much money she spent on all those IV drips? Ever since I had to watch my own money, I have been more annoyed to think about how easily others were wasting theirs.

Speaking of money, I need to text Alfonso and see if he can come by this weekend. I need a nail fill, and Alfonso was a one-stop shop for everything. If you need a pet groomer, he was your guy. Need your nails filled or your hair cut? He was your guy. A new car stereo system? Again, he was your guy. It was impressive all the business endeavors he was involved in.

Ariella

Can I stop by this weekend?

Wait, no, Nero will kill me if I go back there. Unsend that.

Ariella

Can you come by the hotel this weekend? I need a mani/pedi.

I send the message, grab a pack of oatmeal cookies from my bag, and make my way to my private office. By private office I mean the handicap stall of the staff’s bathroom. I sit on the toilet seat to pee but stay longer because my body is exhausted.

Before you start acting like a Judge Judy, need I remind you how many times you’ve taken your Kindle into the bathroom to get some peace and quiet while you read? Ehherm, thank you.

Anyways I’m sitting down on the toilet, eating my oatmeal cookies while I check my Instagram. My last post was one of me and my Grandpa at his birthday. “La Consentida de Welo” was my caption, and there are already over 100,000 likes.

Scrolling through the comments, I see my regular supporters, the online fitness baddies hyping me up, and the typical perverts there with their keyboard cat calls. They, too, were regular commenters, so I ignore it, but what I can’t ignore is the new demographic of people commenting.

Jimenalatejana69: Very consentida. Very Jackie Kenedy. Very Future Mrs. Cuevas.

Tomalinda_de_la_vega: Consentida my ass. VOTE MESSINA FOR GOVENOR. PRESTON CUEVAS IS A PIG!

User10004875675687: Our governor can do better than that.

xolilbabyox: This can’t be the girl stealing my man.

There is an insane amount of comments ranging from everything and anything. Women who appear to be in my future husband’s fan club, and others hating on me because they hate him. Then there were the real weird people asking me to adopt them? I’m not sure how all these people found my socials. Before I can thoroughly investigate what the hell is going on, I get a message from Alfonso.

Alfonso

You know the price.

I scoff. Of course, everything with him comes down to one transaction. I slide my foot out of the Croc, remove my sock, and free my left leg from my sweatpants. Lifting my leg, and setting my barefoot on the stall door. I snapping a few different picture of my pink gelled toenails.

I send the best photo to Alfonso in which he immediately agrees to come over Sunday. I’m in the middle of cleaning myself and getting my sock and Crooc back on when I hear the bathroom door open. I pull my feet up to the stall doors, fearing they might recognize my pink Crocs- an anxious reaction since kindergarten.

Like someone would say “Get out the fucking handicap stall you inconsiderate bitch.” I almost wish that had been the scenario because what I hear instead is not very nice.

“Did you see the Princess at the party? ‘Help me. I can’t drink a flute of champagne without needing some man to save me.” I hear the first voice say before the two stalls next to me shut.

“That’s Ariella Reyes for you. She loves to throw herself to every guy who blinks in her direction.” I hear the other voice say.

“I’m pretty sure she has Nero wrapped around her finger. He doesn’t even come to the club anymore.” My heart drops.

Shawny. The first voice has to be Shawny. I look through the door’s cracks to see who else is in here, but I can’t make out the image.

“Look at this! I told her to clean this bathroom!” I recognize Alma’s sharp voice.

“Well, we can’t all be rich and entitled.”

Entitled? Ma’am, I am taking pictures of my feet right now.

“You should have seen her this morning, covered in hickies.” Alma adds.

“I’m sure they were from Nero. Or Efren.” Shawny says, and I freeze.

Well, Nero, yes, but Efren? Why would I be doing anything with Efren?

“They’ll fuck her, get bored and find someone who can do it right.” Shawny snickers. Ouch.

I don’t know what I did to either of them that they would hate me this much. Okay, Shawny, I get it. She obviously wanted Nero, but the feeling was a one-way. At least, I hope it was. But Alma? She and Efren didn’t even know each other.

“Oh my god! Did you see the video Tonio made of her?” Alma says, her voice fading behind the door.

I slowly let my feet fall to the ground and pull up my pants. There’s only one Tonio I could think of, and that was Tonio has Tea on YouTube.

I pull up his channel and see the title of his most recent video. “Guarda Espada or Amante?” Bodyguard or Lover?

I click on the clip, and my heart stops in my chest when I see the footage of me in the hotel lobby crying after the full-blown panic attack the night of my grandfather’s party. My crying face is hideous.

Nero sweeps in and picks me up in one go. Tonio tells his viewers that Nero is my lover. Oh no. No. No. No. This can’t be good. I open the stall door just as Alma returns to grab her phone off the sink. I wipe the first tear that falls down my face and walk straight past her.

I don’t have control of the dark cloud. It comes when it comes. There are times I fight it, times when my routine and obsessive compulsion help me to avoid its presence. Other times, like right now, they build a storm so violent I can’t get out of it. I shut down completely. Nothing and everything exist all at once.

I didn’t make it back to the office like I planned. Leaving the bathroom, I immediately pulled up Tonio’s Instagram page, where he posted the teaser clips. Read all the comments, accusations, and names people call me. My feet felt heavy, my breath short, and the janitor’s closet is where I decide to take refuge.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. I remember when I saw the clouds rolling in. I came in here, slumped to the ground, and cried. How was I going to get myself out of this mess? My family would be furious if I ruined the proposal. I would disappoint my father, and Axel would only punish me in the long run. Then, my rampant thoughts go to Nero. Would they fire him? Could I convince them it was fake?

Naturally, at first, I try to drown out the thoughts. I don’t want to think. With my index and middle finger, I began to tap my brow line, then under my nose, my jawline- anywhere and everywhere I had read about in an EFT tapping article. The emotional freedom technique usually regulated me back to reality, but it wasn’t working.

“I’m okay.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Get up, Ari.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It doesn’t stop. That stupid video replays and the imaginative scenarios taunt me with the worst possible outcomes. I keep tapping, and the thoughts don’t budge. They grow in intensity. Leave me helpless, and questioning my very existence.

What was the point of any of this when nothing ever worked out for me? Would my whole life be lived for everyone but me? I was willing to do everything for my family. Willing to sacrifice my own happiness. And yet, despite what I was willing to do, some gossip column couldn’t even let me peacefully do that.

I shut my eyes, and sleep is the best chance I have at drowning everything out. When I awake, it’s to someone calling my name softly in the distance. My eyes open, and I see Thalia crouched before me.

“Flaca, what are you doing in here?”

She uses her soft voice- the mom one she uses with Lucia and Luca. Reaching out, she wipes at the fresh tears starting to descend.

“I messed up. I fucked everything up, didn’t I?” I ask her. She shakes her head and stands up.

“You didn’t do anything, but everyone is looking for you.” Her black, manicured hand reaches out to me, and I grab it. I take in a deep breath as she pulls me up to her.

“Is this about the video?” she asks and I nod.

“Adan is already on top of it. Your mom is waiting for you upstairs, though, and we need to get rid of this before you go up there.” Her eyes narrow to the hickey on my neck.

I pull my ponytail back to the front to cover it. Thalia drags me back to the maid headquarters to grab my bag and then back into the bathroom.

She finds a small tub of concealer and pressed powder in my bag and begins applying makeup to the mark.

“You need to do a better job hiding these things. Put a few spoons in the freezer when you get home and apply them to the chupete on and off.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

Thalia has kept every secret I’ve ever told her. Not that any of them were on this level before.

Part of me wants to tell her about Alma, but I don’t want to get between them. I didn’t know what I did to upset Alma so much, but I need to confront her myself. Thalia hugs me and then grabs my hand in hers.

“Back straight, head high, “ she commands, ushering me through the hallway, up the stairs, and through the office doors.

Adriana Consuelo Reyes sits on an all-black couch. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but then again, she has the best surgeon money can buy. Not a single wrinkle falls on her face.

“Tia,” Thalia says, breaking the silence and walking over to her desk.

I watch as her heels click across the floor, and I use the sound to ground myself to the present moment.

“Ariella, where were you? Come sit down, “ my mother says, patting the seat next to her on the sofa.

My mother loves me. She wants the best for me. I know that to be true, but I also know I was a doll to her. Something she dressed up, kept pretty, and disregarded for having any feelings of my own.

I had no doubt that she loved me, but Adan and I knew our place with her. Her love for Axel would always supersede anything she felt about us. She lit up differently when he walked into the room. Even now, she doesn’t look at me the way she looks at him. I take the empty spot on the couch next to her.

“Adan is clearing this up.” She says, placing her hand over mine.

“Mom, I swear—” she holds her other hand, cutting me off.

I look behind her back, where Thalia is pretending not to listen. But her expression tells me how annoyed she is.

“I explained to the Cuevas family that Nero is your bodyguard. They know this is a misconception and are willing to look past the rumors.” She stands to walk the small space, and Thalia looks back to her computer.

“Your father spoke with Nero about how the two of you must compose yourselves in public. This was not very professional. Is there something more to the pictures and gossip?” she asks, folding her arms and staring at me.

“No. I was having a panic attack.” I reply.

“A panic attack? About what Ariella? You have everything a girl could want.” She ridicules me, and I shrink at the weight of her stare.

Mental illness was a foreign concept to my parents. It was an imaginary thing that none of us were allowed to speak of. My mother was from a generation that just endured things. It caused her to push Adan and me away and cling to Axel.

Every last penny of hers went to a wardrobe, trips, and plastic surgeries. All things that, over the years, still didn’t hide the things that lurked in her mind.

I’d caught glimpses of her staring out in the void. The look so similar to mine when the dark clouds rolled in. Instead of ridiculing me, she could have prepared me for the monsters in my mind, but instead, she denies their existence.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” I say and look down.

“It can’t happen again, Ariella. Cry and humiliate yourself in the comfort of your own home if you need to, but in public, we don’t act like that.”

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. Task number one, keep my shit together in public. Okay, I can do that. I can fake all this, put on the same facade as always. I will be her perfect daughter.