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foggyfanfic · 6 months

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How Mariano Got Betrothed to the Wrong Madrigal

Oneshot Preview: Thankfully, Isabela was his best friend, and knew him well enough to read the answer on his face, “So why are you going along with this?”

“With…?”

“With this! With our abuelas setting us up?”

Now, nobody had ever accused Mariano of being an intellectual. In fact, he was frequently accused of the exact opposite. Which was fine, kinda hurtful, but he couldn’t be too upset about being called stupid.

Not after this marvelous mess up.

It started on the first day of school, he just happened to be the same age as the two oldest Madrigal kids, and was thus sat at the same table as them. Isabela was fun, but she hogged all of the brightest crayons, except for red.

Red belonged to Dolores.

Dolores was patient, even at the young age of six. It seemed like it didn’t matter how many times he needed help, she always gave it. The three of them played together everyday at recess, Dolores would be the princess, he would be the shining knight, and Isabela took great delight in being the plant breathing dragon.

Then they grew up. Not instantly, of course, little by little.

The first sign of their impending adulthood was when Isabela came to school in a brand new dress and said, “Abuela says I want to be the princess sometimes.”

“Oh, ok,” Mariano agreed, because he knew how important it was to listen to your abuela.

Dolores being the dragon was kind of fun anyways, because she didn’t have plant powers so they had to wrestle for the princess. Unfortunately, Isabela got bored with that game a little while after that and they had to find a new one.

Time marched on, and slowly by slowly, Isabela started wearing more dresses she wasn’t allowed to get dirty. Both Mariano and Dolores missed playing with her, even if she did hog the brightest crayons.

However.

If Mariano could go back in time, he would not have mentioned to his abuela that he missed playing with Isabela.

When they were nine, going on ten, both Isabela and Dolores were promised visions from their Tío for their birthdays. Isabela was all smiles the day after she got her vision. Dolores avoided him for a week after she got hers.

When they were eleven, Mariano realized that his favorite games to play with Dolores all involved wrestling. And really weird, he didn’t mind losing to her when they wrestled. Dolores would huff and pout at him if he tried to wrestle with her when she wore her favorite red skirt, and although he didn’t like to make her upset, he thought she was cute when she pouted.

At thirteen he realized why he liked wrestling with Dolores. His parents raised him to be a gentleman, so he stopped.

At fifteen, he started planning their wedding. It would be wonderful, he would read her a poem for his vows, and she would speak hers so quietly it would sound like a secret just for him. Isabela would make a bouquet of deep red roses for Dolores, and he would pluck one out to put in her hair.

She always looked so beautiful in red.

At sixteen, Romero asked Dolores out, she said yes.

To Mariano’s great relief they only went on two dates. However, he couldn’t ignore what it meant that Dolores had agreed to date Romero in the first place. She didn’t see him the same way he saw her.

Nobody ever accused Mariano of being an intellectual, but he liked to think he was raised right. When a woman demonstrates that she doesn’t have feelings for you, you respect that.

He tried just being her friend, but it seemed as they grew, she just became more and more beautiful. Eventually, he realized if he wanted to get over her, he would need space. Mariano spent a month torturing himself, trying to think of a different way to move on, but then she giggled at a joke her little brother made and it felt like somebody had wrenched his heart out of his chest to give to her.

So, at seventeen, he began hanging out with the other boys his age instead of Dolores. He still spoke to her at parties, and if he happened to run into her at the market, and of course, when their abuelas decided their families should have dinner together.

And he still loved her.

No matter how much time passed, Mariano still loved Dolores more than he could ever say. He tried writing poems about his feelings, but the words paled in comparison, so he gave up and wrote poems about other things.

When he was twenty he noticed Isabela dancing in the square, spreading flowers around. Dolores was just behind her, smiling quietly. Isabela made Dolores a red and orange flower crown and Mariano couldn’t hold back a sigh at how beautiful she was.

“She’s quite graceful, isn’t she?” his abuela asked, seemingly appearing out of thin air by his shoulder.

“Oh, uh, sí. She is,” he glanced nervously between his abuela and Dolores, who stood with her usual poise.

“And quite beautiful.”

“Sí,” Mariano gulped, did she know?

“I remember you two used to play together everyday at school.”

“Sí,” Mariano said, failing to keep all of his longing out of his voice.

“How long have you had these feelings for her?”

He stuttered and babbled for a little, but she just watched him with a knowing grin, so he gave in and admitted, “Since we were children, but she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Oh? Are you sure?”

“Sí.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Uh.”

“Mariano, mijo, you can not know a woman’s true feelings unless you ask her.”

He blinked at his abuela for a little, then turned to look past Isabela at Dolores. She was very quiet, and usually very good at keeping secrets. Was it wishful thinking driving him to listen to his abuela? Or did he have a chance?

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said.

“Of course I am, now go ask her.”

Mariano nodded, and started to walk away, before he remembered himself. Dutifully, he turned back to press a kiss to his abuela’s cheek, and thank her for her council. When he turned around, Dolores was gone.

He frowned, slowly approaching Isabela as he searched the crowd for a flash of red. She noticed him and waved, he waved back then pushed through the crowd so he could speak to her.

“Where’d Dolores go?”

Isabela paused in her dancing to look over at where Dolores had been standing, finger halfway raised to point. She deflated a little when she noticed her cousin was gone.

“I don’t know,” she frowned a little, then looked quickly at her audience and with a magnanimous smile rained flowers down on them.

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” he said, recognizing the flower confetti as the finale it was.

“No, I wanted to do some shopping with her,” Isabela waved at people as she broke through the crowd, gifting a few of the children with extra flowers, “she’s so good at picking things Abuela likes.”

“Oh, great, then we can look for her together,” he smiled, “been a while since we spent any time together.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” she huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head, “When was the last time? New years?”

“Sí, sí, sounds right,” he eyed Dolores’ favorite fruit stand as they passed it, “how’ve you been?”

“Oh, wonderful,” she was also looking at the stand, then turned to peek into the book shop, “I recently learned how to do a new trick on my vines.”

“Oh?” Mariano asked with genuine interest, he remembered how much Isabela enjoyed her acrobatics, “I would love to see it!”

Isabela flashed him a warm smile, then glanced down at her fluttery lavender dress, “You should come by Casita for lunch tomorrow, I can show it to you then.”

It had been forever since he’d gone to Casita for lunch, and he suddenly realized how much he’d missed the sentient house. He had spent many an afternoon playing hide and seek there, but recently he’d only been when he was accompanying his abuela and had to be on his best behavior. Plus, it meant that even if he couldn’t find Dolores today, he could talk to her tomorrow.

“I would love that!”

“Great. I’ll let everybody know.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon looking for Dolores, and when they didn’t find her, he helped Isabela pick out some cloth for a new dress.

“I definitely want something purple,” Isabela said, looking over the bolts of fabric, “Abuela says it compliments my skin tone the best.”

Mariano, used to helping his Mamá with her shopping, hummed thoughtfully and reached for a deep purple linen. Isabela looked at it, and her eyes got all bright, a smile twitched at her lips.

Then she stood up just a little straighter, folded her hands over themselves and said, “It’s lovely, but I prefer pastels.”

Mariano felt his brow wrinkle, because it had looked like Isabela had been really excited about it for a second, but then again, he could be wrong. It had certainly happened before.

He helped her select a different bolt of purple. A pastel purple. The shopkeeper offered her a steep discount in exchange for fresh flowers to fill all of her vases.

Isabela obliged with the same perfect smile she used to use when she was playing the princess.

They parted ways not long after, Mariano reported to his abuela that he would be having lunch at Casita the next day and she’d cheered. He did not realize until later the misunderstanding that had taken place, and by then, it wouldn’t matter.

Dolores didn’t make an appearance at lunch the next day, but Mirabel did.

He watched Isabela and Mirabel snipe at each other, even as they planned what embroidery Mirabel would put on Isabela’s new dress.

“That’s too many colors,” Isabela said.

Mirabel rolled her eyes, “You know, you used to like colors, back when you weren’t boring.”

“I’m not boring, I’m an adult, with a little something called responsibilities,” Isabela hissed.

Mirabel rolled her eyes even harder.

Mariano chuckled, accidentally drawing both their attention. Isabela sat up straight, primly folding her hands in her lap, but Mirabel pushed the sketchbook towards him. Coincidentally, although he didn’t think much of it at the time, Señora Alma walked into the kitchen at that exact moment.

“What do you think, Mariano?” Mirabel asked, voice friendly, but sharp eyes pointed at Isabela.

“Oh, uh,” he might not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but even he knew a trap when he saw one, “I think Isabela looks perfectly lovely in everything.”

He did not notice Señora Alma turning to examine him.

Mirabel gave him an unamused look, not fooled by his hedging, “Great. But what design do you like best?”

Mariano gulped and looked down at the sketch book, then he said, “Oh! How about the one with the little avocado? It’s like that character you and Dolores made up when we were in school, remember?”

“Doctor Avocado?” Isabela blinked into the middle distance, a slow smile growing across her face, she chuckled quietly, “I’m surprised you remember that, it’s been years since I thought about any of that stuff.”

Mariano shrugged a little sheepishly, then admitted, “I still have the drawings you made.”

And here’s where Mariano truly messed up, because personally he felt everything up to this point wasn’t really his fault. Technically, what Mariano meant to say was “I have the drawings you guys made”, which involved using the plural form of “you”; however, his mind was on Dolores and Dolores only, so without thinking he used the singular, familiar, form of “you”. It was a small detail, and even though he heard his own mistake, he didn’t think it important enough to correct it, but it’s one of those mistakes that snowballed into a really big problem. Like when he assumed the dog could be trusted not to jump on the kitchen counter while Mariano ran to the bathroom really quick.

Because what Señora Alma apparently heard was “My dearest Isabela, I have treasured that most fine art of an avocado with a medical practice for all these years simply because it was crafted by your perfect hand.”

Isabela did not end up picking the design with the little avocado, instead she went with a much more understated design. One with little pastel flowers that gracefully tumbled down her pastel skirts. Mariano finished lunch with the two sisters, then lingered in the courtyard with Isabela, hoping Dolores would make an appearance. He finally left in defeat when the sun rested on the tops of the mountains.

Fortunately (at least he thought it was fortunate) Señora Alma started inviting him and his abuela over for dinner more often.

Unfortunately (and he was correct about this being unfortunate) Dolores was always seated at the opposite end of the table from him, and barely looked at him whenever he was around.

Once again, Mariano sat himself down, and forced himself to accept that Dolores just wasn’t interested in him that way. Despite what his abuela had said.

At least he was rekindling his friendship with Isabela. They had a lot in common, both were the eldest grandchildren and carried the weight of their abuelas’ expectations. He had missed her, to a certain extent, and it was nice talking to somebody who understood what it was like to stand in front of a mirror and practice saying “Sí Abuela” in just the right tone of voice. His male friends had apparently never done that, and had in fact teased him for being vain when he’d asked. They hadn’t understood that it wasn’t about vanity, he didn’t need to look good for the sake of aesthetics, he needed to be neat and well groomed in order to set the proper example for his younger siblings and cousins. Isabela understood that, better than anyone else.

One day, his abuela asked him to take Isabela to the market, to get her help picking out gifts for the young girls in the family. Isabela had agreed, but had walked a little slower than usual, and kept getting distracted.

“Is something wrong?” he eventually asked, when he finally realized she was frowning and sighing a lot more than usual.

“I-. Well, I don’t know,” Isabela glanced at him, then at the market as it passed by around them, “Mariano, how do you feel about me?”

“What do you mean? You’re my best friend,” he had answered, because by that point she was.

“That’s it?”

“Uh, sí? Why? Has somebody-.”

“Do you… have feelings for me?”

Mariano’s eyebrows almost jumped off his face, he should have said “No” and would have said “No” but he was a bit busy gaping at her. It had never occurred to him that Isabela was somebody he even could have feelings for.

The silence dragged on without him denying his feelings out loud, forcing anyone who might overhear the exchange to draw her own pessimistic conclusions. The silence dragged on so long, in fact, that if any eavesdropping pessimists had decided she didn’t want to overhear confirmation of what she thought was destined to happen, then that eavesdropping pessimist had plenty of time to escape to the soundproofed portion of her room. Another thing he didn’t realize was a mistake until much later.

Thankfully, Isabela was his best friend, and knew him well enough to read the answer on his face, “So why are you going along with this?”

“With…?”

“With this! With our abuelas setting us up?”

He gaped at her a little more.

She frowned at him.

Silence stretched between them once more.

“Mariano, you do realize that’s what’s been happening? Don’t you?”

He could only shake his head.

She groaned, “What did you think was happening?!”

“I- I don’t know, I just thought… we’re friends,” he shrugged, “that’s-. Aren’t we friends?”

Isabela softened, she smiled a little, “Sí, we’re friends.”

“Bien, that’s uh, that’s good,” he frowned down at his shoes, then looked back up at her and asked, “they’ve been trying to set us up?”

“Sí, for months now, my abuela is starting to hint at marriage,” Isabela said. They had slowed to a standstill as he had processed what she was saying, but now she started walking again. She held her chin high, with all proper poise, and looked straight ahead with a contemplative look on her face.

“Oh,” he walked beside her, feeling comparatively clumsy and oafish, even as his steps passed smoothly over the cobbled road.

“I… am going to go along with it,” Isabela said, quietly, “there’s no other man in the village I think I could-. You’re my best friend, if I’m not going to fall in love, I might as well marry you.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“What do you think?”

“About marrying each other?”

“Sí.”

“I uh-,” he hesitated, then quietly admitted, “I’ve been in love with one girl my entire life, I can’t imagine being with anyone else, but- but- she doesn’t-.”

He couldn’t continue, it always broke his heart a little to admit that Dolores didn’t love him back, but now, here, when talking about marriage, when seriously thinking about his future, saying it out loud was unbearable. He found himself sniffling a little, his bottom lip trembling.

Isabela put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her, and suddenly, he could see a path he’d never considered before. A path in which he married Isabela, moved into Casita, spent his life with his best friend, just down the hall from the woman he loved. He would have kids with Isabela, and raise them with her, and see Dolores every day for the rest of his life. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it would be cruel to marry somebody who was in love with him, knowing he could never give them his heart. And it would be good for his family, to be so connected to the Madrigals.

And it would mean he would always be close to the love of his life.

“If I can’t be with her,” he said, slowly, “th-then I can’t imagine anyone better than my best friend.”

Isabela nodded, giving him a small smile. It wasn’t one of the ones she’d practiced, it didn’t match his own practiced grin. It was quiet, and warm, and reassured him that he could be happy with her.

Months continued to pass them by, and Mariano found himself thinking more and more of this life spent with his best friend. They would make an excellent team, him and Isabela, and they would have wonderful kids, kids Mariano would get to spend plenty of time with. In most households, the men were expected to go out and work, but not in la familia Madrigal. When you married a Madrigal, it became your job to stay home and take care of the kids so that the Madrigals could share their blessings with the village. He’d once thought he’d be raising Dolores’ children, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would be just as happy raising Isabela’s kids. The more Mariano thought about his life to come, the more he realized how much he wanted to be a father.

He started spending more time with his youngest cousins, eager to practice for his oncoming life as the primary parent.

There were nights, of course, where Mariano had guilty fantasies in which Dolores would fall in love with him a little later in life, and Isabela would give him permission to be with her. These fantasies sometimes featured him saving Dolores from her horrible husband, or comforting her when her husband died in a very tragic and painful accident. But nobody needed to know about those nights, or those fantasies.

He focused on the thought of his future kids, and tried to ignore all else.

Mariano picked out the ring, he drafted up lists of baby names, he planned what he would say in his proposal with Isabela, and he tried not to think too hard about how close he would be to Dolores once he had moved into Casita.

And then his and Isabela’s plans all fell apart the night of the proposal.

In the scant hours between that disastrous dinner and Casita falling apart, all Mariano could think about was how embarrassing the evening had been for him, and the fact that Dolores had seen the whole thing. He wondered if the miracle had been trying to tell him and Isabela something, if it had been trying to discourage the match.

Then, when he found out that it had nothing to do with him, he felt horrible for being so self pitying while his best friend and the love of his life were dealing with such a crisis.

Mariano was the first to grab a shovel, and rallied the other villagers to do the same. He figured he would worry about his love life later, when Casita was done being built. He thought that neither Isabela nor Dolores had the energy or time to think about him. He thought he would never be a Madrigal, and he would just have to accept that.

Nobody ever accused Mariano of being an intellectual. In fact, they often accused him of the exact opposite, and after hearing Dolores’ side of the story, he couldn’t blame them.

“You’ve had this since we were ten?” he asked, for the fifth time. He was holding an old vision tablet, the magic long since faded from it. In it, he was on his knees, holding a ring out to Isabela as she sat primly at her dinner table.

“Sí, and I’ve looked at it almost every night since,” she shook her head ruefully, “trying to force myself to get over you.”

He stared at her, “Are you sure you don’t want to get married right now?”

Dolores giggled quietly, “I’m sure. I seem to remember you had all these plans for your wedding.”

“Our wedding,” he corrected, “it was always-. I thought you didn’t return my feelings, but I was never able to picture another bride. Not really.”

She smiled down at her lap. They were sitting side by side on a couch in the newly finished first floor of the new Casita. He was vaguely aware of the rest of her family milling around, of her father keeping a close on them, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her face.

“You knew? When we were ten? That you love me?” he eventually asked.

“I’ve known since I got my gift.”

Mariano blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears as a smile took over his face. He leaned over and kissed her check, only to jump back when Señor Félix loudly cleared his throat. Mariano flashed him a sheepish smile, but didn’t want to spend too long not looking at Dolores.

“I-I was a little bit slow,” he admitted, “I didn’t figure it out until we were thirteen.”

“But that was when you started to pull away?” she asked.

“Pull-? Oh! No! No, no, no,” he grabbed her hand, “I was trying to be respectful. I… enjoyed being close to you in a way that uh, I figured I should get permission for before I uh, well, indulged. If that uh, if you get what I'm… getting at.”

“Oh,” Dolores giggled again, “I see.”

“If you’ve loved me all this time, why did you date Romero?”

“My Pá said that’s the best way to get over someone,” she shrugged.

Mariano couldn’t help it, he turned to look at Señor Félix with his hurt and betrayal clear on his face. Señor Félix looked startled, and actually took a step back. For a brief second Mariano was reminded of Camilo, as Señor Félix held his hands up in a questioning shrug and seemed to silently ask, “What did I do?”

“Amor,” Dolores gently pulled Mariano’s face back towards her, “it’s not his fault, I asked him for that advice.”

Mariano still couldn’t help but pout a little, “He could have told you to ask me how I felt before giving up on me.”

“Sí, and I could have asked him for advice on getting your attention,” she shrugged, “I thought this was just another case of people ignoring me in favor of Isabela.”

“I would never,” he breathed, “Dolores, she is my best friend, but you! You’re the sun in my sky, the song every bird sings, the passion too great for words to capture. You’re steady ground in an earthquake, a shelter in a storm, and the burst of laughter that cures a bad day. How could anyone not see your kindness? Your poise? Isabela is all the bright colors in a meadow, but you’re the red in my veins. I have warmth in my heart to share with others, because you keep it beating.”

Dolores was so often quiet, so often silent, but this was the first time Mariano had ever seen her struck dumb. Her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes shined with love.

Mariano knew he wasn’t an intellectual, but he liked to think he was raised right, so even though he wanted to hold her tight and kiss her, pour all the passion and longing he’d stored up into her, he didn’t. Instead he squeezed her hand, then brought it to his lips, so he could leave a gentle kiss on her fingertips.

Dolores gaped at him for another second, then with her free hand she took the old vision out of his lap and threw it like a frisbee across the room.

It hit the ground and shattered.

“So,” she said, “marriage?”

“Sí! I’ll bring my wedding journal tomorrow and you can tell me what ring design you like best,” he said, launching into an explanation of everything he’d planned.

Nobody ever accused Mariano of being a genius, but he’d stumbled his way to marrying the love of his life. So, he figured he was smart enough.

#mariano guzman #isabela madrigal #dolores madrigal #senora guzman #Encanto #Foggy writes #look! I managed to write something that isn't about Bruno!#yay me!

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