Page 114 of Guarded

“Ari. I would never.”

“I want you, Nero. I want all of you. Your brokenness, your stubbornness, I want your fucking heart.” The long pink nail on her index finger jabs into my chest.

“Ari. I told you. I can’t offer that to anyone. I don’t know how to.”

“I know. That’s why I need to stop offering you pieces of mine.”

She disappears into the elevator, but her touch lingers over my heart. Pride washes over me at her ability to stand up for herself, but then an uglier emotion surfaces—one I’m too familiar with.Abandonment.

Chapter 33

Ariella

Avoiding Nero is more complicated than I thought. Taking a vow of silence when you need constant verbal stimulation was more torture for me than for him.

He attempted a few times to talk to me. Knocking on my door when I’d locked it behind me, following me to the gym and asking if we could talk. He even played on my love for gifts, bringing me iced oatmeal cookies and bouquets of pink carnations.

I almost broke after that. Surely, saying thank you wouldn’t violate my vow to silence.

The goal was to redirect my emotions. It had been a week, though, and instead of thinking about him less, I only started to think of him more. Even now, as he stands a few feet behind me, I feel his gaze on my back.

“And what do you do for a living, Miss Reyes?” I smile politely at the elderly man, forgetting his name.

Jim or Claus? I can’t keep up with all Preston’s invitees.

“I’m currently working in the finance department of my family’s hotel.” I expain.

“Ahh, that’s great. Preston needs someone to help him budget!” The man teases.

“Well, I’m more than happy to look over your portfolio.” I tease Preston, and he lets out a small chuckle.

His arms tighten on my waist as the two men continue with playful banter before Preston excuses us.

His fingers dig into my arm as he pulls me to a dark place at the side of the staircase. I’m forced forward before he releases me. His face is flushed red. The glass of champagne in my hand threatens to spill as the liquid tilts with his firm grip yanking on me. Using his free hand, he taps my lips with two fingers.

“Calladita te vez más bonita.”

A pretty woman is a quiet woman.

It was a phrase I heard a lot growing up.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask confused.

“Oh, send me your portfolio.” He mocks in a high tone. “Don’t you ever make me look weak again, you understand?”

His nostrils flare as he stares down at me. I nod my head even though my teeth grind against each other.

When he leaves me in the shadows, I take a few breaths to calm myself. The urge to drive my fist into the wall has never been greater.

I’d seen my brother Axel do this a thousand times and always thought it was a display of pure masculine stupidity. Who was Preston Cuevas to demand such a thing from me?

Realizing I’m not alone, I look up to find Nero’s dark expression watching me. Staring back, I bring the champagne up to my lips and chug.

Fuck men.

Opting to avoid another misperceived conversation, I wander through the mansion—a vision of grandeur. Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings adorned with shimmering lights.

An array of fine art reminds me of my soon-to-be husband’s wealth and taste. My fingers graze a painting of a woman drapedin a rebozo carrying a basket of blankets. I laugh when I think about it. He wants me to be like the pictures on these walls—beautiful and quiet.

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