Guarded (Calavera Hotels #3)

36. Ariella

Chapter 36

Ariella

ONE MONTH LATER

The ultimate, before I am forced to marry or die (whichever comes first) bucket list.

Fill an entire class up.

Read a book. I had read through an entire Fae series Alma lent me.

Go to the fair and eat a funnel cake.

Go Skinny Dipping.

Kiss a stranger.

Meet Pedro Pascual. Close enough.

Get over my fear of heights.

Figure out how to use that orange vibrator Thalia got me.

Lose my virginity.

Fall in Love. Somehow, that was an accident.

C ompleting a list usually brings me some joy. But not this time. This list is just a constant reminder of Nero.

“Do you make lists for everything?” Nero asks

“Just the important things.”

Old memories and conversations have a way of resurfacing and scratching at the surface of my fragile heart. I already overheard my abuelito complaining to my mom about me moping around the house, listening to the “chicken nugget band.”

That’s what he called Yahritza Y Su Esencia. I didn’t care if they preferred chicken nuggets to tacos. I cared about mending my broken heart.

How could I have been so na?ve? My mind goes back and forth, trying to convince myself it was real. What we had was real.

But then I remember that he never admitted to feeling anything for me. Not once did he say he loved me. In fact, he told me multiple times that he couldn’t love me.

My heart breaks every time I remind myself that he never actually wanted to be with me. He was using me to get to Gen.

My head argues back sometimes. Bringing up his eagerness to come with me to the Cuevas Mansion and live as my lover. When I told him no, he offered to run away with me.

Why did he make it seem like he was going to save me? Maybe it was a silly delusion women like me got from watching too many Disney movies. I thought he’d show up in the end to fight for me. Shit, even Gaston was down to fight paranormal furniture to get to Belle.

I was tired of waiting for someone to save me. I crumple the list and throw it into the trash. Why torture myself with it anymore?

This list was an outline of our relationship and the time I spent with him, a time when I thought I felt safe. Over the last month, his calls have become less frequent, and text messages have become scarcer. In time, we will both forget the other exists.

“Ari, come fix the TV, mija. it’s doing that thing again.” My abuelito calls from the living room.

When I find out who gifted him a smart TV at his age, I’m going to fight them. Moving in with my grandfather was Axel’s idea when I told him Nero quit. The penthouse was flooded with too many reminders of our short-lived romance.

“Mija, it says press any key to continue. I can’t find the any key on this pinche remote. Hijo de la chingada. I just want to watch Pancho Villa.” My grandfather shouts again.

“It’s not actually a key, Abuelo. It just means press any of the buttons. It doesn’t matter. It can be any one.”

I rub my temples and grab the remote. I press a random button and hand it back to him.

“Oh. And why does it keep asking for a pinche passcode? Why do I need a passcode to watch a damn show on my Tv?”

I take a deep breath.

In the month I’ve spent here, in between crying, I worked as an IT tech for my grandfather. Thinking it would make his life easier, I set up a ton of gadgets he had received as gifts over the year, piling up in his closet- a Google Home pod, a virtual calendar, smart lights, and a Bluetooth soundbar.

Also, for some reason, I still regret I helped him set up a social media account.

‘Dios te bendiga mija’ was his favorite thing to write under all my posts, even the memes about twerking.

Another mistake I made was teaching him how to use the animated stickers feature on there. Personally, I thought it was cute, but sometimes he would think they didn’t send, and you’d end up with about forty little dogs handing out a heart in your comment section.

You could say the rest of my family was a bit annoyed with me for that more than anything. But that’s my abuelo, and imma stick beside him.

I get Pancho Villa on Netflix and add the passcode to a list I started of all his passwords. Guapo curls beside him, and fifteen minutes into the first episode, they’re both fast asleep.

Throwing on some sneakers and a hoody, I take off for my afternoon run. There’s comfort in the way my feet hit the ground, and my heart races in my chest. Cool air kisses my cheek.

The humidity has been horrible, so the rainfall over the last few days has been refreshing. I leave my headphones to listen to the sounds of nature and the thoughts dying to escape me.

I challenge myself to stop trying to escape my feelings. I had done that my whole life, playing the victim to situations that were out of my control. Even now, looking back at what happened to me as a child, there is nothing I could have done to change that.

Cruel people existed, and I was thrown into the crossfires of people like Cassiel and Lucio Biondini’s evilness. That couldn’t define me, though. It couldn’t be a vice I held on to, unable to enjoy life.

I have so much to be grateful for—my family, friends, and Guapo. I need to accept responsibility for my happiness. Sometimes, you have to accept the fact that you’ll never get the apologies you deserve.

It was my job to make myself happy, not anyone else’s. Because of this, I know I have the power to call off this wedding, but ultimately, I decided to go through with it.

I choose to honor my family over everything because my love for them is deeper than my love for myself. Preston was tolerable, and he was honest. We’d have kids, and I would put all the love I have into them, eventually into myself one day.

I run until I reach the mailbox down at the entry gate. Shuffling through bills and letters addressed to my abuelo, I find what I’ve been looking for. Ripping open the brown envelope, I find the certificate.

Ariella Reyes,

We’re writing to confirm that you have successfully passed the International Sports Sciences Association Exam as a certified Personal Trainer.

I read over the letter and look over the certificate enclosed with my name. Relief washes over me. I did it—I accomplished a goal I set for myself. With my own resources, discipline, and dedication. For the first time, I feel proud of myself.

Sprinting back up the hill, I make my way to the house. There’s this renewed feeling in me today. Hope that I wouldn’t cry. Or type out a reply to Nero and erase it a thousand times. My fingers wouldn’t fumble over his contact name and beg me to press send on the call. I’d be able to delete the photos of us on my phone.

Gasping for air, as I run faster, I use the back of the house to stop myself. Crashing into the back door and catching my breath. I hear my grandpa talking loudly on the phone.

“Well, I don’t know where she went, Adriana. Esa chamaca, she’s always doing something.”

I’d been avoiding my mother’s calls alongside Nero’s.

“That soon? Okay, I’ll let her know. Okay, Mija. Dios te bendiga,” I hear, listening in on the one-sided conversation.

My grandfather’s saddened expression meets mine when I enter through the back door. He hangs up the phone, and I wait for the bad news.

“The Cuevas Family wants to move up the wedding. There’s been some kind of ongoing case, and they think the wedding will distract the public.” He says, his sympathetic eyes searching mine.

“What kind of ongoing case?”

“Sabe Mija? Someone could have found out about what he was doing with the cartel.”

“How much sooner?” I ask.

“Two weeks.”