The hotel suite looked like a dressing room exploded.
Heels. Lingerie. Jewelry boxes. Gowns half-zipped, silk and satin pooled on the floor. Luca had gone all out, calling in a local stylist, six racks of designer gowns, and two makeup artists for their final night in Barcelona.
They were invited to a private gala hosted by Sergio Calderón—Spain's most scandalously brilliant designer. A man who once sent a runway model down in only body paint and diamonds. Luca was in heaven.
"I want drama," he declared. "I want Eliana to walk in and ruin someone's relationship just by existing."
Eliana laughed, zipping up another dress. "This is my fifth one."
"And we will try fifteen if we must," Luca called from the other room. "You are my final look. My closer. My muse."
She slipped into a deep burgundy number—strapless, hugging every curve. Beautiful. Just not her.
She studied herself in the mirror, hands on her hips. Something was missing.
Then—
The door creaked.
She turned.
And he walked in.
Nicky.
In casual slacks, a crisp white shirt still unbuttoned, holding a hanger with a black silk number. His hair was pushed back, a few strands loose, lips glossed. Effortless. Pretty. Familiar.
And utterly unaware of what he was doing to her.
"No," he said, already shaking his head. "That dress is lying to your body."
She froze. "Excuse me?"
He set the hanger down, moving toward her with that same quiet ease, eyes scanning her like she was another canvas. "It's suffocating your waist and hiding your legs. You need lift, you need line, you need breath."
She blinked, throat tight.
He wasn't looking at her like a man would. Not with hunger or lust.
Just critique.
She'd seen him do this before. With Renee. With Luca. With Valeria.
He'd barge into rooms mid-change, pull dresses off hangers, unzip gowns, critique from every angle. They didn't care. They were used to it.
She wasn't.
But she couldn't make it weird. She didn't want to be that girl. The one who made it awkward. The one who exposed the ache in her chest every time he got close.
So she exhaled. Turned away.
And pulled the zipper down.
The dress slipped.
She stepped out, left in just her bra and underwear—lacey, pale, soft against her flushed skin.
Nicky said nothing.
Just wandered toward the rack, flipping through dresses, utterly casual.
And she stood there.
Half-naked.
Heart pounding.
Trying not to feel everything.
Her fingers were trembling slightly as she reached for the next dress. A deep emerald gown with an open back and high slit.
She pulled it up, slipping it over her hips, careful not to make a sound.
Nicky finally turned back, sipping from a bottle of sparkling water.
He tilted his head.
"Better," he said, walking over. "But…"
His fingers gently tugged the fabric near her ribs. "You need this pulled tighter."
She could feel the heat of his knuckles against her bare skin.
Her breath caught.
He stepped behind her, eyes focused, fingers tugging the fabric at her waist, adjusting, smoothing. His touch was light, efficient, nonchalant.
Her skin burned.
"Step into the heels," he murmured, nodding at the pair on the floor. "Gold. Thin strap."
She did.
Wobbled.
He steadied her by the waist, smiling slightly. "There she is."
He stepped back, arms crossed.
Now he was glowing.
His shirt now buttoned, tucked neatly. Slim-fit, pressed perfectly. A thin gold chain peeked from under the collar. His pants hugged his hips just right. There was a casual, sensual elegance to him tonight—like he belonged in champagne ads and sin.
"You look gorgeous," he said.
And meant it.
Genuinely. Kindly.
Platonically.
And it killed her.
She smiled anyway.
"Thanks," she murmured.
Nicky grinned, unaware of the wreckage behind her ribs. "Now let's go make some men cry."
And just like that—
He turned. Left.
And Eliana stood there, chest rising and falling, fingers still curled around the fabric he had touched.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Knowing better.
And still burning.
The hallway buzzed with last-minute chaos—heels clicking, zippers tugging, cologne clouding the air. Eliana stepped out of her suite, emerald dress hugging her like a second skin, cheeks flushed, lips glossed. She needed to breathe.
But Renee was already waiting.
Leaning against the wall in a plunging bronze gown, skin glowing, eyes sharp.
"Eliana."
The tone stopped her cold.
She smiled too quickly. "Hey, I was just gonna grab—"
"Come here."
"I really need to—"
"Now."
Renee's voice was velvet-wrapped steel. Not angry. Not cruel. But firm. A line being drawn.
Eliana followed.
They ducked into an unused room—low lights, soft music spilling from the suite next door. The moment the door clicked shut, Renee turned.
"I saw it."
Eliana blinked. "Saw what?"
"Don't play."
"I'm not—"
"You think we don't notice the way you look at him?" Renee crossed her arms. "The way your breath disappears when he walks in? The way you stood there, half-naked, like he just painted you with his eyes?"
Her cheeks went red.
"Renee—"
"No. Stop. That look? That look doesn't belong to you. Not with him."
Eliana's throat tightened. "I didn't— It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?" Renee demanded, stepping closer. "You think he's gonna change? You think that someday he'll wake up and see you as more than his safe space?"
"I know what he is," Eliana snapped, too fast, too loud.
Renee blinked once. Slowly.
Then softer, "Do you?"
The silence swelled between them.
Eliana turned away, staring at the far wall. "I'm not in love with him."
"No. But you're falling."
"I'm not," she whispered.
"Then why are your hands shaking?"
Eliana clenched her fists.
"I just—he makes me feel… seen."
"Of course he does. That's who Nicky is. He sees people. Holds them. Makes them feel like stars." Renee stepped closer again. "But he doesn't want you, El. Not like that. He can't."
"I know."
"Do you?" Her voice was gentle now. "Because I've been there. I've had that ache. Wanting someone who loved me but couldn't desire me. You think you can handle it, but it eats you up from the inside."
Eliana swallowed hard.
"I'm not stupid," she said quietly.
"I know you're not." Renee's eyes softened. "But you're hurting. And I don't want you to let that hurt turn into something that breaks you."
Eliana nodded once, quickly. "Can we just… forget this?"
Renee tilted her head. "You're going to ride in the same car as him and pretend nothing happened?"
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"No." Her voice cracked. "But I'll do it anyway."