**
As I slip on my dress that I have saved for tonight's Quintanilla Christmas party, I think of Oma, Sebastian's Grandmother.
I think of the palm reading she had given me close to a month ago during Thanksgiving. Everything she has said is slowly becoming factual, and I wish it weren't.
I want a sense of normality. I want to feel like I can wake up without feeling like I can't breathe. I want to live without feeling as if I need to look over my shoulder or question everyone's intentions. But that isn't my life. Not anymore. In a sense, I chose this route myself, and I need to live with it and the gradual abyss it's dragging me into. But I can't go down without a fight; I refuse to be utterly powerless. My endeavors—independent endeavors—start with finding out who put the camera in my office. I have an idea already—Alejandro. It would explain his odd behavior the last several months. Only question that remains is why he would put it in my office?
I look down at my own palm as if I can read it myself; as if the lines and triangles have shifted in my favor, but sadly, everything is ultimately the same—a reminder of my dark fate. I'm always so practical, but now that practicality has diminished as the world around me caves in the exact way Oma predicted.
I take a deep breath, staring at the accents on my cream-colored dress in the mirror, and add the finishing touches to my outfit, which include red lipstick and a quick touch up of my hair with the curling iron. Tonight, no matter what happens, I will work against my dark fate. I will prevail against whatever danger Claude has warned me about.
And it all starts with this tiny little fucking surveillance camera.
I called Skippy, one of Harrison Incorporated's (former) private investigators earlier this morning. It went straight to voicemail, in which I left an urgent message detailing the severity of my inquiry, but not too much as to give it all away over the phone. Inspecting the camera (which ended up cracking when it fell along with my owl figurine), I noticed a serial number on the bottom, printed small but not small enough as to not be decipherable. Now, as I gather my clutch purse and slip on my heels, I wait anxiously for his call back.
And like clockwork, he does.
I answer the phone quickly. "Skippy. I'm glad you returned my call."
"I'm sorry I couldn't get to it earlier, I was busy with freelance stuff. Your voicemail sounded pretty serious, though."
I exhale slowly. "Yeah, it's...it's about something I found."
"What is it?"
"A...a small camera thing," I explain. "A surveillance camera. It was wedged into my owl figurine in my office, and when it fell and broke, I found it in the eye. I noticed there is a serial number on the back, and I was wondering if you could help me figure out where this came from."
"Well, sure. I can try. Just send me a picture of the serial number."
"Thank you so much, Skippy."
"No problem."
We end our call, and I quickly send him the photo he needs before deleting it from my text and photo records. I then place the camera back into my clutch and start for the door. I say goodbye to Pedro, as if it's the last time I'll see him in a while.
Who knows.
**
Darcy and I arrive at the party together, a quarter to eight. The house is already filled with guests, music and laughter. The driveway is packed, every car checked by the security guards. Our car is let in without an issue, and the driver pulls up to the wide-open doors of the Quintanilla manor, where everyone's invitations are checked thoroughly before entry. I show the security guard my I.D., and he lets us in ahead of everyone else in line. Inside, festive holiday music is playing from a surround system as people mingle on the first-floor foyer, admiring the beautifully lit Christmas tree that stands tall above us all. Waiters glide through the crowd with champagne glasses on trays, and Salvador looks over the entire event on the balcony of the second floor, his posse close beside him. I notice the features of his aged face are a lot more serious as he scans the party with his dark eyes, but quickly, he remembers where he is, and smiles at the guests waiting to be introduced to the Colombian royalty standing before them.
My job tonight is to be an overseer—make sure everyone is mingling appropriately, that the highest of socialites are introduced to the Quintanilla family, and also make sure that the photographers snap the best angles; the goal is for connections to be made.
"I'm going to find Alejandro," I tell Darcy. She smiles before walking through the crowd to get drinks. I walk up one of the stair cases to the second floor, where it is significantly quieter and filled with the highest of the food chain—politicians, billionaires, company execs. I'm overcome with fear, wondering if Garrett was invited, then remember not seeing his name on the guest list.
That doesn't mean that someone can't be here for him.
I take some time to look for Sebastian and Claude amongst the important faces and appetizer platters, but I don't see them. I would expect them to be here before me, but then again, the two of them together is a sea of mystery. Neither of them know of my "discovery" in my cultch, and I intent to keep it secret; this is my mission.
Finally, I spot Alejandro in a corner by the hall, inconspicuous. He's with Salvador, who has the same look on his face that he did when I first walked in here—stressed. Irritated.
They're speaking in Spanish, their conversation heated. I grasp onto some of the words, keeping myself inconspicuous, too:
I feel like I can't trust you...
Tonight is not the night for mistakes. I expect you to make sure everything goes smoothly...
Don't you dare disappoint me again...
I'm on your side, uncle. I've always been on your side...
She's becoming a distraction. Remember what happened with Marcella? The same shit is going on with you and her as we speak. Stop thinking with your cock and use your brain...
My heart stops at the last phrase. Salvador is talking about me, and in a hard tone, as if I'm a problem instead of a solution. But not only is my name mentioned, but someone else's name, too—Marcella. I've never heard that name before.
They stop talking and I look away as if I haven't been listening. When they finally see me, Salvador approaches me with a smile and gives me the accustomed greeting—a hug, with a kiss on each cheek.
"Mija, you look beautiful!"
"Thank you." I force a smile out, as if I hadn't heard what he said about me.
Salvador steps aside and gestures to both Alejandro and I. "Do me a favor, both of you? Go downstairs and make sure everyone is having a good time." Salvador takes two glass of champagne whizzing by and hands one to each of us. "And make sure to taste-test the alcohol while you're at it!"
Laughing, Salvador answers a call of his name some ways away and leaves us alone. I stand before Alejandro, drinking him in like I'm meeting him for the first time. His hair is out of his face, slicked back similar to how he had it when we first meet. His shirt is black like his pants, the buttons of his top undone at the top and the sleeves rolled up. Months ago, I would see him as a godly man, but now I see him as a stranger in expensive clothing, even though we're together. But "together" to us is not defined in the conventional way.
I want to ask him about the camera, but decide against it, since Skippy hasn't called me back yet. Instead, I give him a kiss and advise, almost beg, for both of us to at least pretend like the shit in our lives is of no issue to us as we enjoy the holiday festivities. But it's hard to practice what I preach.
With champagne glasses in our hands, we descend the stairs and link our arms as we walk through the crowd. Women stare enviously at me with Alejandro on my arm, but I don't pay it any mind like I used to when women would do the same thing on previous outings with him. My mind is buzzing, waiting for something even though that "something" is unknown to me. I look around for Sebastian and Claude, but they're nowhere to be found.
"I need something stronger," Alejandro tells me, so he goes to one of the open bars and comes back with a glass of what looks like scotch or whiskey. We stand next to each other, people watching and drinking slowly. I at least get to occupy myself with my job as overseer; everyone is having a good time.
"There you are!" Darcy approaches me with two glasses of champagne. I decline, still on my first, but Alejandro happily takes one of the glasses and chugs it down, soon leaving to get another glass of alcohol. I suck in a sharp breath at his behavior, given the night is still young.
"Have you seen Sebastian?" I ask Darcy, in which she shakes her head in response.
"I haven't seen Claude either." She changes the subject when she sees the look I wear at the mention of his name. "Um t-the decorations are absolutely beautiful."
"Yeah, they're gorgeous." My voice lowers to a tone Darcy can't hear. "I just hope they show up to see them."
Soon, it's nine thirty, and the house is nearly packed, with people migrating outside to the heated patio. Guests are still arriving, but none of them have been who I'm looking for. I almost text Sebastian to ask where he is, but decide not to, as Alejandro is most likely watching my every move. I have to remain unsuspecting, especially with awaiting Skippy's verdict.
Suddenly, Salsa music starts playing through the speakers. People who are knowledgeable of the dance invite those who are not too good at it to dance, and soon, the entire floor is filled with swinging hips and drunken laughter. Salvador is still on the second floor deep in a serious conversation, but I can feel his eyes on us; on Alejandro. Alejandro downs his glass of whiskey; I'm unsure which number glass this is, but he can hold his liquor quite well.
"Do you want to dance, amor?" Alejandro asks me, occasionally looking up at the balcony.
"Y-yeah, sure." I give Darcy my purse, looking at the entrance one more time, then place my hand in his as he guides me to where everyone is dancing. He leads (as always) and I keep up the pace. Both of our minds are preoccupied; the dance is almost mechanic. I've never been a good dancer, which aids me now, because Alejandro is basically dancing for me as I just try not to fall.
I notice Alejandro looking up at the balcony again, then at the entrance of the manor. Over and over again, this happens.
"What's wrong?" I ask him when a slower, more sensual Spanish song begins to play.
"Nothing."
I wait for him to just say it. I know you fucked Sebastian. Or maybe I know you found the camera I put into your office. The suspense is making my limbs into jelly; Alejandro is practically holding my body up.
Our dance is a waltz of sorts, gliding across the floor with the other pairs, oblivious to the eyes that watch us against the sparkling Christmas ornaments.
"Maybe it's best if you leave the party a little early," he suddenly says. I almost stop moving.
"Why?" I ask. I feel I might vomit.
"Trust me." His hand pulls me closer to him so my chest is against his. We continue to dance, his cologne filling my nostrils, body heat warming me up.
"If I'm being honest, it's hard for me to do that right now," I say. Alejandro almost stops dancing, staring into my eyes. I regret the words. I regret them immediately when they come out of my mouth.
"What did you just say?" he asks, and now I know that it's too late to retreat. I go in for the kill, then. Fully armored into Oma's prophesized abyss.
"I found a camera in my office, Alejandro," I whisper. It comes out almost like a stressed exhale. "A fucking surveillance camera in my office. Did you put it there?"
"What?" he grunts out, then looks up at Salvador before bringing his lips into my ear. "Why would you think I would do something like that?"
"Hard to say," I reply, and it's then that my tongue is an unstoppable muscle, fueled by stress and fear. "First you...leave for Colombia for months without telling me why, making Sebastian keeps secrets for you, not to mention the weird way you've been acting since you got back. Then I overhear you and Salvador talking upstairs about me and some woman named 'Marcella' which only solidifies my—"
"Stop," Alejandro orders. There's a period of silence between us, in which we just continue dancing slowly to the seductive tune. The knot in my throat is tempting me to cry, but I refuse to cry. Not now. I need answers.
After about a minute, he whispers into my ear again, "I don't think you're in any position to point fingers when you've been fucking someone behind my back. If you never loved me, why didn't you just break up with me before sleeping with him?"
"I should ask you the same question!" I hiss up at him. "It's clear this shit has been one big act since the beginning, right?"
"I've always loved you, Leslie!"
"Then what are you hiding from me?!"
I was right—he knows. He's known this entire time. The façade is gone, the levee broken. Everything is flooding out. My sins are aired, but his are still hidden. Cage me, stone me, do whatever you need, but I need to know his truth before I'm hanged for mine.
The song stops and shifts into one that's faster, livelier. I break away from him and rush over to a place where I can think. He calls after me and continues to do so until he opts for grabbing my arm to stop me. I yank away from his hold, but don't turn away.
"I've already told you, Leslie. it's complicated."
"Liar. If you want me to admit it, then fine. Sebastian and I slept together in Scotland and we almost slept together a couple of weeks ago; I cheated. There, I admit it. I cheated and I'm sorry. Can we lay all the shit on the table now? Can you tell me what you've been hiding?" Tears well up in my eyes. "Please?"
"I can't. Not here."
"Then how can I believe you didn't put the cameras in my office?"
"Because I know who did," he says, lowering his voice. And for once, I see why they call him what they do—Lobo. Wolf. It's in his eyes. It's frightening. I step away from him, but he just closes the space. "You're clueless. You know nothing about what goes on behind closed doors. You put your trust in monsters. You paint yourself without blame, pointing fingers. We're all sinners here. The only difference between you and me is that it's part of who I am.
"I'm trying to protect you; you have no idea what dangers hang around you, Leslie. The only way I can protect you is by keeping you in the dark."
"Sebastian used that same line to justify the fucked up shit he's done," I whisper.
"But you believed him. Why can't you believe me?"
"Because...because..."
"Because you don't love me," he says, laughing to himself. "Love makes us blind. Ignorant."
Alejandro picks up another glass of champagne to keep an illusion going on around us both. Before he drinks, he stops and looks towards the entrance. He's there—Sebastian, with Claude and Penny at his side. But there's a woman next to Sebastian, holding onto his shirt sleeve. I immediately recognize her—the Colombian woman from his office, Julia. Her blond hair is up in an elegant bun, showing her pronounced features. Her dress is simple—all black, strapless. The air suddenly becomes very cold and lacking oxygen. The moment she walks in, I see Salvador, Paisa and a few others stop their conversations and look at her. But Salvador's face is straight from the wrath of Satan himself. His eyes are glossed, face hard like stone and skin turning pale.
"Marcella," I hear Alejandro mutter. As if Salvador's face wasn't shocked enough, Alejandro is far from shock and more towards fury. Rage. The look of death.
The glass in his possession shatters from the unrelenting grip of his hand; the glass literally breaks from Alejandro's angered hold. I've never seen anything like this. As the blood starts to surface from his palm, he pays it little mind.
Alejandro leaves me immediately after he and Salvador share one last look. Salvador leaves his spot on the balcony, too. Sebastian, having not seen me next to Alejandro amidst the crowd, starts walking Julia—Marcella—through the crowd, with Claude at his side. I'm nearly dumbfounded, standing alone as all of them disappear to places I don't know. Penny stand next to me; she's the only woman not wearing a dress, opting for a blue jumpsuit instead.
"Did Sebastian order you to keep me company for the rest of the night?" I ask, still...vacant feeling. Confused.
"You're a smart woman." Penny puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. It's just until he gets back."
"So, I need a babysitter now?"
"More like a bodyguard," she answers. Her tone isn't joking at all, so I don't press the issue. Instead, I walk around the party (with Penny following me) and keep myself from hyperventilating. I don't know where Alejandro is. I don't know where Sebastian or Claude or Marcella are, either. I'm giving myself too much time to think, but with this newfound time, I've come to these conclusions:
Marcella and Alejandro knew each other long ago, which is why Salvador spoke so lowly of her in connection to my relationship with him. Why she's such an evil omen, I'm not sure. Another puzzle piece I'm missing.
Also, I've come to the conclusion that Alejandro is probably indebted to someone, which is why he feels trapped. Indebted to whom? Yet another puzzle piece I'm missing.
My mind lands on the camera I found. Alejandro said he knows who put it in my office before telling me that I put my trust in monsters. The only monster I used to trust was Garrett, which would make sense. But how would Alejandro have known that Garrett put the camera in my office?
Once the clock strikes 10:30 and everyone is louder and drunker than they were when they arrived, I receive a phone call from Skippy. My heart, already beating against my chest, is close to bursting. What has felt like eons sitting in the darkness, I now have some glimmer of light.
"I need to take this," I yell to Penny. She nods, watching me as I retreat to a quiet corner.
"Hello?" I answer.
"I'm answering your summons once again, Milady," he says, "with information on the photo you sent me."
"Do you know where it came from? Who it belongs to?"
"I know where it came from, yes. A security company that I used to work closely with makes these cameras—top of the line. Not easy to come by. The company is called Rothschild Security."
If I were with Skippy now, I would be giving him the deepest glare. But it's as if he can sense my irritability through the phone and continues on.
"Here's the interesting part. I did some digging and found out that this model surveillance camera is actually quite rare; they don't make many of these, unless it's upon request. And the last request I can find based on their records is from sometime in June, purchased through the house account Debbie Child."
"Debbie Child?"
"Debbie Child is sort of a fake name we'd use when we would buy items that the company didn't want on the roster, back when I worked for Harrison Inc. Putting the pieces together, I think it's safe to say that this camera was purchased from someone at Harrison Incorporated."
I stay on the phone, waiting to be told that this is all a joke. I wait until Skippy says "hello," over and over again; this isn't a joke. This is real life.
I hang up, slowly walking to the crowd but feeling like the sounds are mute around me. Penny asks me what's wrong, but I can't answer her, because if Skippy's information is correct, then she must have been involved in putting the camera in my office. Who knows—what if it's more than one camera?
My hands are shaking in the fists that they're in, clenching harder when I see Sebastian walking towards us with Claude at his side. He's smiling at me; he's happy. Elated, like the world could never be against him. Like his plan for world domination has succeeded; like he feels that both of us can finally have that happy ending, even if he's a liar. A deceiver, willing to keep secrets from me despite "fixing" the mess. Alejandro was right. Have I been trusting monsters?
He approaches me, excited and anxious to tell me something. Sebastian grabs my hand, opening his mouth to confess, eyes that beautiful shade of green I love, but his mouth closes it when he sees the look on my face.
"I need to talk to you," I say to him. Flat, emotionless. Don't give anything away.
Sebastian laughs like I'm joking. I'm not joking, and I make it clear when I tell Claude, Penny and even Darcy (who still has my purse) that we all need to talk somewhere quiet.
"The library," Claude suggests. I nod and ask him to guide us all there. Claude and Sebastian share a look that isn't fear or worry, but graveness, like they know they're fucked.
When we get into the empty library study, the sounds of the party are muffled. I close the door and stand deathly still, not knowing how to start this. Darcy is at my side, expectant eyes staring at me. Everyone else is across from me, standing together like a gang who already knows how they'll approach the situation.
I pull out the small broken camera from my bag, and even the sound of their breathing stops.
**