Page 103 of Guarded

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

Roaming 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 hungabove 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.