Chapter 2
C H A P T E R2
Reminders of You
Ella
The Present
M y gaze was fixed on the grandfather clock in the dining room. I was waiting for it to strike 10:00 p.m. so I could plan my escape from this party.
Currently, the Cordova household was buzzing with guests as my parents hosted their annual fall soirée with all their close associates. I was born and bred in Montardor, which was as beautiful as it was corrupted. Living within the high society of this city, I was well-accustomed to its key players—the rich, depraved men and their bored trophy wives.
We Cordovas weren’t criminals per se, but we did socialize with the kind of people who were. As a result, we found ourselves in these circles.
I swirled my glass of pinot noir and took a tentative sip while the chatter rose in decibels. Butlers walked around the perimeter of the room, offering more wine and flirting with the socialites.
Across the candlelit dining table, I met Julia Remington’s eyes, which were soft and kind as she sat in front of me. My body tensed up, but I forced myself to return her smile. It was awkward in nature, despite my best efforts.
Vance Remington sat next to his wife. Tall, muscular, dark hair, ice blue eyes, beautiful jawline, and in his mid-forties, he looked like an older version of my ex-boyfriend. From the looks and down to his mobster demeanor.
A pang of yearning travelled through my chest when I saw him reach for his wife’s hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss. The way he gazed at her with quiet adoration reminded me of the way his son used to stare at me.
Before he fucking ruined us.
I’d seen Cade’s adoptive parents multiple times since our breakup. It didn’t get easier with time. Especially when I remembered how I once thought the Remingtons would be my future in-laws.
Truly, I’d loved them like my own family.
Noting my pensive state, my papá , sitting to my right at the head of the table, said with a prickly undertone, “What’s on your mind, mija ?”
Francisco Cordova was nothing if not perceptive. Outward appearances meant everything to my family. My little brother Emilio and I were expected to conduct ourselves in a manner that brought honour to our name. For me, that meant playing the role of the classic good girl daughter in front of the world.
He didn’t like that I sat aloof, not participating in the conversation or giving a single shit about the latest gossip. Really, I was just here to eat and then quickly take my leave.
After all, I had big plans for tonight.
“Oh, I’m just wondering what’s for dessert,” I replied peachily.
Tres Leches cake, my favourite, but I already knew that.
Papá picked up on my lie and his eyes narrowed. “How’s school going?”
“Great.” I swirled my glass and gulped the wine in an unladylike fashion. “Loving my classes.”
Surprisingly, I was actually enjoying university. I was a freshman at Vesta University’s business school, double majoring in management and marketing. My true calling was art, but papá demanded that I take over the family business. An idea that I found abhorrent when I was a kid, even though it was my birthright as the firstborn.
Now I looked forward to inheriting my legacy and being the first female figurehead in our business.
Women were the future leaders of tomorrow.
And I was ecstatic at all the ways I could transform our company and elevate it to a whole new level with my ideas and leadership.
“You’re an intelligent girl, Ella, with a good head on your shoulders.” Papá cut through his steak and cast me a pointed look. “I’m assuming you’re acing all your assignments and exams.”
I didn’t know why, but the ‘ good head on my shoulders ’ felt a bit barb-like. A compliment and an insult. While I’d always worked hard in my academic life, I’d been known to make some bad decisions in my personal one. At least, that’s what my parents believed.
“Mhm. You know me. I’m a smart cookie.” I rarely used sarcasm because I was raised to respect my elders, but I was on edge tonight and a bit irritated. “I get it from you, papá .”
He shot me a timely glare.
I didn’t back down either.
He ran his tongue over his teeth then nodded slowly, as if telling me two could play this game. “Tell me, mija , have you seen Josh around campus? He’s attending Vesta University, too, yes?”
The temperature on our end of the dining table chilled.
My smile was wiped off my face.
Vance’s and Julia’s heads swivelled our way at the mention of their son.
My mamá sat next to me and she too perked up at the mention of Josh, abandoning her conversation with the young socialite to her left.
The fingers holding the stem of my wine glass clenched. I almost shattered it under my strength. By a miracle, I held it together, counting to five in my mind as I breathed through my nose.
Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco.
I could not believe he’d thrown Josh in my face right now.
My papá and Vance were long-time friends. I knew Josh since we were babies. He was a great guy—funny, charming, respectful, and cute. My parents adored him and wanted me to date him since the dawn of time. It would be a great way to merge our families, yet Josh and I had never seen each other that way. Ever.
He was in love with Layla.
And me?
I’d fallen in love with Cade Killian Remington three years ago.
My parents hated that I dated the adoptive son who was nothing short of bad news.
After our messy breakup, they basically said, ‘I told you so,’ with haughty voices.
“No, I haven’t seen Josh around,” I whispered, my voice frail despite the fire burning under my skin.
Mamá put a comforting hand on my shoulder, inching papá a frown. And for a second, I saw guilt flash across his face when he realized he’d hit a nerve.
I’d needed weeks to glue my broken pieces once I broke up with Cade. Our separation took a physical toll on me. My parents were first-hand witnesses to it. I was a shell of a girl after the whole thing happened. Even now, I barely felt healed.
“Ella—” Papá started with an apologetic tone.
Frustrated, I threw my napkin on my plate like a white flag, signalling the end of dinner for me. Scraping my chair back, I got up and ignored the guests’ curious looks. “Excuse me, but I think I’ll retire for the night. I’ve had a long day and I’m exhausted.”
“Dessert will be served soon, mija ,” mamá said in an attempt to keep me at the table.
“No, thank you.” I adjusted the silk skirt of my rust-coloured gown and grabbed my wine glass. “Hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Nobody bothered to stop me afterwards.
I was an adult who could make my own decisions.
Even if they weren’t always the best ones.
Head held high and shoulders squared back, I sauntered out of the dining room with all the grace of a young princesa . My invisible crown in place, my heels clicking against the marble flooring, and a cloud of fury looming above me.
Once I entered the empty hallway, the fast beats of my heart were magnified and my left hand’s fingers flexed before forming into a clenched fist.
I had the irresistible urge to hit something.
The only thing in my vicinity was a crystal vase resting on a demilune table. A recent purchase made by papá during his last trip to France.
On my way past it, I slammed the antique item onto the floor in retaliation.
Crystal bits shattered everywhere. The sound was so loud and jarring, it caused the party in the dining room to fall silent for a minute.
I smirked and walked away.
I used to believe heartbreak pain was ephemeral.
Never had I anticipated it to feel like a residual pulse that expanded through your system. Akin to a plant growing vines and wrapping itself around your heart, squeezing in steady intervals to remind you of its presence. Letting you know that it was here to stay unless you built the courage to rip it out of its roots.
It had been so many weeks that I no longer remembered where my hurt began and where it ended.
My bedroom was on the second story, a slow journey from the dining hall on the ground floor. Before I reached the grand staircase, a piano melody resonated in the foyer.
My parents liked to hire a professional pianist for events like these. I followed the sound until I found an old gentleman playing Céline Dion’s ballad, “The Power of Love”, on a Yamaha.
It felt extremely ironic to be hearing this song when my heart was in shambles, having been wrecked by the very sentiment of love itself.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the music.
Or maybe it was the reminder of him .
But suddenly, a fresh tear trekked down my face.
I used to love this song. Now I couldn’t hear it without wanting to burst into tears.
Pivoting on my heels, I climbed the grand staircase in my six-inch stilettos, sipping my wine as the train of my gown trailed up the steps.
I needed fresh air, a pint of ice cream, and reruns of old ’90s sitcoms.
The minute I landed on the second floor, a soft breeze drifted into the atmosphere.
I walked towards the open French doors that led to a limestone balcony.
The moonlit night fueled my melancholy.
As did the sight of the orange begonias cascading around the balustrade in abundance. With a scent I adored, they were my favourites. In the warmer months, a pair of hummingbirds often drank from the nectar whenever Cade and I stood together on the balcony, watching the scenery, whispering sweet nothings, sharing soft kisses.
After downing the remainder of my wine, I rested the glass on the stone banister. Then I closed my eyes, letting the fall wind nip at my skin and rustle the strands of my black hair.
I recently cut it straight and shoulder length, wanting a change from my usual long, wavy mane. That’s what girls were supposed to do after a life-altering event, right? Chop their hair and start all over again? Unfortunately, it hadn’t done anything to make me feel better.
If I could curse Cade Killian Remington to hell, I would.
I’d always been a strong, independent girl. One blow to the heart and I was reduced to a weak, pathetic version of myself. I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who moped over her lost love—especially when he hadn’t handled my heart with the care he promised.
Perhaps what gutted me the most was I lost more than a boyfriend that one fateful night three months ago. I lost my best friend, my soulmate, and an important piece of me.
My favourite person in the entire world became my biggest lesson.
Time heals all wounds, as the saying went, and I had faith that eventually I too would be fine. I would fully heal, I would move on, and I would find love again.
I firmly believed that the universe threw your way only what it knew you could handle. Every obstacle was meant to strengthen and help you grow into a better version of yourself.
The strongest ones were those who’d sipped the wine of pain and not regurgitated any of it.
I hoped I’d proven my strength to the universe and that it would finally give me a reprieve.
Lost in my reverie, I startled when my cell phone blared in the quiet, dark night.
It was my best friend, Callie Mackowski, calling. I quickly answered and brought it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl!” Callie exclaimed. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“What?” I cleared my throat to rid myself of the thick quality in my voice.
“Hello? Did you forget? It’s Initiation Night.”
Ah, yes. My so-called big plans for tonight. I’d received the invitation for Initiation Night over a month ago and RSVPed as soon as possible.
The wheels in my mind were just churning a little slower than usual after my moment of weakness.
“No, I didn’t forget.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I just need to change and I’m ready in twenty. Will you come pick me up?”
“I’m already on my way, babe.”
“Thanks, Cal. See you soon.”
We hung up and then I got ready at record speed.
When I’d been in high school, Initiation Night at St. Victoria was something I looked forward to every single year in October.
And I knew a night of debauchery would be the perfect distraction from the chaos brimming in my life.