Page 14 of The Gilded Survivor

Desperation was at the heart of this. He was not an Artista, and he did not live with us in Maestra Cecelia’s Theater. All he had was his mother, and he so desperately wanted what he had given to me: security and comfort.

“Can you take it, Carmen?” The look on his face was conflicted. He didn’t want to give in, but he had no choice.

My scowl turned scathing. It was the look he gave everyone when he needed a favor. All of the others around me looked anywhere but at me. They also had convenient excuses, no doubt. “No.”

The corner of my old friend’s dark plum mouth curled up. “I heard he was very taken with you last night. He’d be grateful to see you again.”

I gritted my teeth. Now he was making fun of me. Antonio Castillas had humiliated me and made me feel small, and the bastard Fercho had witnessed it all.

“Shut your mouth,” I said.

The three of them stared at me, each of their expressions a mix of disbelief and amusement.

It was Dan’s friend who answered. “Le gustas.”

Oh god. I scowled, and Fernando laughed. I most certainly did not like him. My mind returned to the night before. What an absolute idiot I was. I didn’t need to be teased like this. “No, I do not like him,” I snapped, finally regaining my composure. “And I am not a gossiping little rat.”

After shoving the cuff link into my pocket, I grabbed my tea and stacked two breakfasts in my arms before pushing through the door. I was furious that he had even asked me, but… if I didn’t help him, then who would? Once I had been in need of saving.

“So you’ll take it then?” Fernando called.

I didn’t dignify that comment with an answer before storming up the stairs.

A strange melting pot of emotions bubbled inside of me. I was feeling used, angry, afraid, and something else I hated. Despite myself, my fragile heart fluttered in my chest. I shouldn’t be excited to see Antonio again. It was foolish. The man was unkind, even if he was beautiful. But it would give me the opportunity to apologize for my comment about him regifting his tickets.

I opened mine and Magda’s door, unsurprised to find my best friend still asleep, and I set our food on the dresser. I turned around, glimpsing myself in the mirror and paused.

My curls fell around my head in sleep-mussed waves and my cheeks had a crimson blush spreading across them like scarlet roses in the middle of spring.

I needed help. There was no way anyone would ever let me into the Grand Hotel looking like this. I was plain, and I was an Artista. I had no connections, knew no one that would help me on that side of town. My name was on posters, but not my likeness. No one would pick me out of the crowd.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my frazzled senses.

Turning on my heel, I marched out of my room and straight to Maestra Cecelia’s. Fernando was one of her Trabajadores, after all. She knew how to navigate the world much better than me. Two soft knocks on her dark brown door later, and it was swinging open.

The tall woman’s curls were wrapped in a silk scarf with a blue and red pattern. She didn’t look like she had just woken up, despite her black robe, but she still squinted at me.

“¿Qué pasó?” she asked.

I looked both ways down the hallway before reaching into my pocket and withdrawing the gold cuff link. My fingers unwrapped slowly.

Her eyes widened, and she opened her door all the way before pulling me inside with her. She must’ve recognized it too. No one else in this building owned anything gold. As soon as the door was closed, she asked, “Did Señor Castillas leave that behind? Where did you find it?”

I bit my lip, my palms sweating. “Fernando found it.” I hesitated. “He was planning on selling it.”

Maestra Cecelia threw her hands up, her robe falling open enough to reveal her cotton night dress. “Hijo de su—” She stopped, and opened her door wider. “Get in here.”

As soon as the door had safely shut us in together, Cecelia continued. “Fernando knows that I have been trying to get them to fix the hole in the back room for a year. This could get us shut down! He could be thrown in jail with Lázaro, and then who would take care of his mom? Doesn’t he think about anyone but himself?” She let out a long breath, still pacing back and forth. “No, he doesn’t. And one of us has to clean up his mess.”

To be fair, he did think about others. And I knew he thought that this would help his Ma. However, it wasn’t the time to clarify that.

Cecelia walked to the back of her tidy room, and opened a cupboard. Looking around her space, I struggled to take in all the eclectic details of her life. There were jewels, and clothes, and books old enough to be from the Second Age. There had been times when she had casually mentioned a wild life, lived long before she became a teacher, but I realized how little I knew.

She withdrew a small stack of papers, and turned around.

I took a deep breath. “Maestra, I know where Antonio Castillas Morales is staying. I’m going to take this to him but I need your help.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I said the words, like I could protect myself from the weight of them.

She stopped, dropped her arms, and stared at me through narrowed eyes. “Why you?”

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