Page 63 of Guarded

Ariella

Can you come by the hotel this weekend? I need a mani/pedi.

I send the message, grab a pack of oatmeal cookies from my bag, and make my way to my private office. By private office I mean the handicap stall of the staff’s bathroom. I sit on the toilet seat to pee but stay longer because my body is exhausted.

Before you start acting like a Judge Judy, need I remind you how many times you’ve taken your Kindle into the bathroom to get some peace and quiet while you read? Ehherm, thank you.

Anyways I’m sitting down on the toilet, eating my oatmeal cookies while I check my Instagram. My last post was one of me and my Grandpa at his birthday. “La Consentida de Welo” was my caption, and there are already over 100,000 likes.

Scrolling through the comments, I see my regular supporters, the online fitness baddies hyping me up, and the typical perverts there with their keyboard cat calls. They, too, were regular commenters, so I ignore it, but what I can’t ignore is the new demographic of people commenting.

Jimenalatejana69: Very consentida. Very Jackie Kenedy. Very Future Mrs. Cuevas.

Tomalinda_de_la_vega: Consentida my ass. VOTE MESSINA FOR GOVENOR. PRESTON CUEVAS IS A PIG!

User10004875675687: Our governor can do better than that.

xolilbabyox: This can’t be the girl stealing my man.

There is an insane amount of comments ranging from everything and anything. Women who appear to be in my future husband’s fan club, and others hating on me because they hate him. Then there were the real weird people asking me to adopt them? I’m not sure how all these people found my socials. Before I can thoroughly investigate what the hell is going on, I get a message from Alfonso.

Alfonso

You know the price.

I scoff. Of course, everything with him comes down to one transaction. I slide my foot out of the Croc, remove my sock, and free my left leg from my sweatpants. Lifting my leg, and setting my barefoot on the stall door. I snapping a few different picture of my pink gelled toenails.

I send the best photo to Alfonso in which he immediately agrees to come over Sunday. I’m in the middle of cleaning myself and getting my sock and Crooc back on when I hear the bathroom door open. I pull my feet up to the stall doors, fearing they might recognize my pink Crocs- an anxious reaction since kindergarten.

Like someone would say “Get out the fucking handicap stall you inconsiderate bitch.” I almost wish that had been the scenario because what I hear instead is not very nice.

“Did you see the Princess at the party? ‘Help me. I can’t drink a flute of champagne without needing some man to save me.” I hear the first voice say before the two stalls next to me shut.

“That’s Ariella Reyes for you. She loves to throw herself to every guy who blinks in her direction.” I hear the other voice say.

“I’m pretty sure she has Nero wrapped around her finger. He doesn’t even come to the club anymore.” My heart drops.

Shawny. The first voice has to be Shawny. I look through the door’s cracks to see who else is in here, but I can’t make out the image.

“Look at this! I told her to clean this bathroom!” I recognize Alma’s sharp voice.

“Well, we can’t all be rich and entitled.”

Entitled? Ma’am, I am taking pictures of my feet right now.

“You should have seen her this morning, covered in hickies.” Alma adds.

“I’m sure they were from Nero. Or Efren.” Shawny says, and I freeze.

Well, Nero, yes, but Efren? Why would I be doing anything with Efren?

“They’ll fuck her, get bored and find someone who can do it right.” Shawny snickers.Ouch.

I don’t know what I did to either of them that they would hate me this much. Okay, Shawny, I get it. She obviously wanted Nero, but the feeling was a one-way. At least, I hope it was. But Alma? She and Efren didn’t even know each other.

“Oh my god! Did you see the video Tonio made of her?” Alma says, her voice fading behind the door.

I slowly let my feet fall to the ground and pull up my pants. There’s only one Tonio I could think of, and that wasTonio has Teaon YouTube.

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