Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

29. Ariella

Chapter 29

Ariella

List of things Preston Cuevas has done to piss me off.

Showed up two hours late.

Brought his mother, who had the audacity to call Guapo a rat.

Conversating with him about anything leads to him one-upping you about his own accomplishments.

Wore a wool sweater. I don’t know why that pisses me off, but it does. Like, really, this is Houston. Only asshats and demons can tolerate a sweater in this humidity.

He’s not Nero. Nero was not invited because my family thought it was unnecessary with the security of the estate.

R oaming my gaze over the filled Terrace, I take in the beauty of the landscaping. Dark Cala Lillies filled the outer edges of the courtyard, and stringed lights hung above us. Thalia hadn’t lived here long, but that didn’t stop her from making this her home.

Her sizeable black mansion is on my uncle Patricio’s large estate, where my grandfather, her brother Adrian, and Patricio also live. She planned to live here for half the year and then join her husband in Mexico for the remaining half.

Thalia was the emblem of dark aesthetics. Her home was filled with a haunted charm that made me smile at every detail. Elegant, black-clad waitstaff glided through the tables, bearing trays of finely crafted tequila cocktails and delicate hors d’oeuvres. The mariachi band played in the background, and it felt like a Consuelo party.

Antes muerta que sencilla.

Death before simplicity. The family motto.

Tonight, we were celebrating Luca, Lucia, and me. Our family ran rampant with Geminis. For the first time, I’m not sitting at the children’s table, and it actually sucks. I’d take talks of farts and boogers over listening to the shit that came out of Paola Cuevas’s mouth. I look across to see Genesis’s siblings, but no sign of her.

On the dance floor, Cooper dances with Preston’s brother, Lionel. He’s much more lively than Preston as far as personality goes. This was Copper’s first Consuelo event, and she was soaking up every minute.

To the left of her, I see the betrayal of my broke mini bestie. Lucia has officially found her new favorite person, and it’s not me. She looks up at her dad as he spins her around on the dance floor, and my heart melts at the way she looks up at him. Seeing her with Silas makes me miss my dad. This was the first year we weren’t celebrating our birthdays together in California.

Preston answers emails on his phone while I respectfully deny the few men stupid enough to ask me to dance with my fiancé sitting off to my side. If he notices, he doesn’t care. I shouldn’t want him to be possessive of me. Jealousy isn’t healthy, right?

Tell that to the part of me obsessively checking my phone to see if Nero messages me.

A sigh escapes me, and I pet Guapo, who lies peacefully in my lap. Preston removes his eyes from his phone and looks at me. It’s the first time he’s looked at me all night, and I don’t hate the way his eyes light up. The man was charming, even in the wool sweater. Reaching a handout, he pets Guapo.

“Where will he be going when we get married?” Preston asks.

My eyes jump from Guapo to Preston’s serious expression.

“Our home will be the envy of every Houston socialite. Surely you understand how having a dog like this would put off the image we’re trying to project.”

A dog like what?

I look around to see if I’m hearing what he’s saying right.

“I’m sure mom can find a home in one of her many dog rescue charities.” He says, pointing at the wicked witch sitting across from us.

She’s as drunk, and I can’t help wanting to join her. Preston rolls up the sleeves of his sweater and tugs at the collar. Taking a big drink of water, I watch as sweat beads on his forehead.

“It’s really hot.”

No shit pendejo its Texas.

Repressing the worry creeping up my throat, threatening to come up and out my eyes, I make it through the dinner. The party is loud, and yet inside, it felt so quiet.

Preston didn’t know my history or how Guapo has been a comfort through some of my loneliest moments. Taking him to a dog shelter at his old age would be to kill him. And for what? So, Preston Cuevas can impress socialites? At what point would he reject me or our future children for not presenting the image he needed for the world?

I robotically move through the night’s itinerary, helping the twins open their presents, cutting the cake, and taking countless pictures with Preston to fulfill his “perfect couple” quota.

At some point, bile would stop rising in my throat every time he touched me. Right?

Juan, the older man Thalia refers to as Lord Farquaad dances with a girl a foot taller than him. As crazy as it sounds, I’m envious. I’d rather be dancing with Lord Farquaad than Lord Fuck Face.

Following Preston’s lead, I let him push me around the dance floor. He unsuccessfully turns us, and we crash into another couple. I recognize the young girl as Rosie Macias, Silas’s little sister.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I reach out a hand to help her up.

She pulls herself up, and her eyes widen in horror. When I turn to see what’s frightened her, I catch Preston looking at her with the same horrified expression.

The tension is brief, but I catch it all the same. Rosie takes off back into the house.

“Do you know her?” I ask Lord Fuck Face.

“Never met her.” He shrugs.

I capture his expression so I can retain it for later. This could be what hubby dearest looks like when he lies.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

Excusing myself from the dance floor, I begin my quest to track down Rosie. Something doesn’t make sense. I’m almost to the large guest bathroom on the bottom floor, but instead of finding Rosie inside, Alma steps out.

“Ari.” She gasps

“Excuse me,” I say, moving past her to find Rosalinda.

“Hey, can we talk?” Alma asks from behind me.

When I turn to hear what she has to say, I see Genesis making her way from the courtyard. When she sees us, her scowl locks on Alma.

She pushes Alma into the wall and screams in her face.

No, really, she just screams, and it’s scary as hell.

“Leave my friend the fuck alone!” she threatens.

“I just wanted to talk to her.” Alma stammers.

“You and your ugly little friend want to call her prissy? She’s not prissy. She’s always, always putting everyone before herself. So, think about that the next time you talk shit so publicly about her.”

“Gen. Let’s go,” I say, grabbing her arm, but she’s not done.

She yanks her arm from mine, then pulls a switchblade from her elegant updo. I didn’t realize a crowd was forming until I heard them gasp.

“Next time you fuck with my friend, it will be the last time you do anything,” Genesis says, holding the point of the blade to Alma’s chest.

Almas’s eyes widen in terror. I grab Genesis again just as Efren places himself in front of an emotionally distraught Alma.

“Back the fuck up.” He warns.

I pull a laughing Gen into the bathroom and lock the door.

“Gen, what are you doing?” I can smell the alcohol on her breath now that it’s just the two of us. She doesn’t stop laughing, even as her hand shakes around the knife. Methodically, I remove the switchblade from her hand and put it in my purse.

“Are you okay?”

It’s not the question I want to ask, but I can’t just blurt out, “Are you still taking your meds?” because that is the worst thing you can ask someone who needs meds and is in a state like this. I’ve never seen her this way.

Falling to her butt, Genesis sits on the floor. Her manic laughter was now full-blown tears.

“Gen. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” I plead.

She doesn’t answer, and our time is cut short.

“Abre la pinche puerta.” a voice sounds behind the door.

“Ya Pa!” Gen screams before pulling herself up.

She opens the door, and Conejo grabs her.

I’m left standing there trying to process how the hell my night went from that strange tension between Rosie and Preston to my best friend attempting to murder someone because of me. I really should apply for reality television.

Preston, Lionel, and Paola are walking toward me when I return to the courtyard. Paola is holding a box of food in her hand.

“We got an early morning tomorrow,” Preston explains. Adios.

Bye, see you never.

I wish.

Pressing a quick peck on my cheek, he exits in the limo, waiting at the end of the lot.

On my now empty table is a brand-new bottle of Don Julio, a large cardboard cutout of Pedro Pascual and Thalia waiting for me with a wicked smile.