She woke up warm.
Too warm.
Her head throbbed. Her mouth tasted like regret and peach vodka. Her limbs were tangled in soft sheets, one knee half-exposed, her dress bunched around her thighs.
The room was dim, the curtains pulled shut. Light leaked through at the edges like an accusation.
And then—her hand moved.
Against skin.
Bare skin.
A man's chest.
Solid. Smooth. Warm.
Eliana's eyes snapped open.
She screamed before she sees the face.
Just a sharp, broken, panicked sound that split her dry throat in two.
The body next to her shifted, groaning, pulling the blanket over their head like it might save them.
"Shut up," a familiar voice rasped. "My brain is leaking."
She froze.
Nicky.
It was Nicky.
In her bed.
Eliana stared in horror at the shape next to her. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, one leg bent, hair a mess. Lips dry. Eyes closed. And very much alive.
"Oh my God," she whispered, lifting the blanket. Her own dress was still on. Wrinkled. Twisted. But on.
He rolled toward her slightly, arm slung over his stomach, brows furrowed. "Jesus, why are you screaming?"
"I woke up next to you, Nicky."
"Yeah?" His eyes cracked open. "And?"
She gestured at him wildly. "You're shirtless."
He looked down at himself, then groaned. "It's hot. And I was dying. I probably peeled it off at some point in the night."
Her heart was galloping.
He rubbed his eyes and muttered, "We didn't have sex, if that's what you're panicking about."
"I wasn't—!"
He raised an eyebrow.
She deflated instantly. "Okay, I was panicking. But it wasn't like that."
Nicky grunted and flopped onto his back again. "Everything hurts. The walls are vibrating. I think my soul is dehydrated."
Eliana sat up slowly, pressing her hands to her temples. Her hair was a rat's nest. Her lipstick smeared. Her body ached in places she didn't understand.
She looked around the room.
Two bottles of water. Someone's shoe. A phone tangled in chargers. A sparkly jacket on the lamp.
"Where is everyone?" she asked.
"Luca's in Sergio's bed. Renee and Valeria texted something about a villa and twins. Elias is either dead or reborn as furniture."
She let out a breathless laugh. "God."
They sat in silence for a while, letting the hangover hum in the background like static.
Then—
Memories.
Not clear. Not sharp. But flashes.
His hands on her hips.
His breath at her neck.
That tight, dirty dance. Her body pressed against his. The feel of him hard behind her.
She swallowed hard.
He looked over at her, squinting. "You okay?"
"I think someone slipped something in our drinks."
Nicky nodded, slow and dry. "Yeah. Pretty sure I watched two people have sex on the stairs."
"I danced with you."
"I remember."
Her voice went tight. "Like... danced."
He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "You were good."
She blinked. "That's it?"
He smirked slightly. "What do you want me to say? That you grinded on me like we were trying to start a fire? I was there."
Her face flushed deep.
"I didn't mean to," she muttered.
"You don't need to explain." His voice was low, quieter now. "Nothing happened. Just dancing. Wild night. Heat of the moment."
"Right," she whispered, biting her lip.
"But if it makes you feel better," he added, "you weren't the only one who went feral. I made out with a guy in a mask for ten full minutes and never even saw his face."
She snorted.
Then sighed.
The silence stretched again, but it felt softer now. Warmer.
They were okay.
But she wasn't.
Not really.
Because she remembered the way her body reacted. The way she let herself hope, just for a second. And even though nothing had happened… something inside her had shifted.
And she wasn't sure how to shift it back.
Back in the city, life hit like a slap of espresso and deadlines.
There were shoots. There were fittings. There were models with god complexes and clients who changed their minds mid-runway. Luca was fully possessed by his next collection idea—"chic emotional breakdown"—and Eliana barely had time to breathe.
Which, honestly, was perfect.
It kept her too busy to think about Nicky's hands.
About that dance.
About the phantom pressure of his body against hers.
Instead, she was back to mornings of oat milk lattes and power walks in heels, her phone buzzing nonstop, emails flying like confetti.
And Liam?
Liam was charming again.
Flirty texts. Coffee runs. A wink here, a compliment there. Nothing serious. Nothing reckless. But enough.
Enough to distract her.
They ran into each other in the breakroom again, reaching for the same muffin.
"You always go for the blueberry," he said, leaning closer.
"Because it's the best one."
He grinned. "Debatable."
"Are you flirting with me or just trying to steal my breakfast?"
"Why not both?"
Eliana laughed, snatching the muffin and bumping his hip on the way out. "Try harder, Paris boy."
Luca caught her smirking ten minutes later and raised a perfectly arched brow. "You look like someone who's getting kissed in her dreams."
Eliana rolled her eyes. "Liam's just... something to smile at."
"Mmm," Luca drawled, tapping a nail against his tablet. "He's not as pretty as Nicky, though."
She nearly dropped her clipboard.
"Not the same," she muttered.
"No," Luca agreed, glancing at her. "It's not."
The week was chaos after they went back home. She is busy . Deliveries. Cancellations. Three interviews. A whole day lost to fabric hunting.
By Friday, Luca announced a need for relaxation but everyone in the group were exhausted to go out, so the group gathered at Luca's loft—wine, snacks, music, and chaos.
She hesitated in joining cause maybe she needs to distance herself from him but Renee had insisted so she went.
Eliana was curled on the couch beside Valeria, legs tucked under her, a glass of red in one hand.
Nicky arrived late, hair wet, wearing soft black joggers and a designer hoodie that probably cost more than her rent. He slid onto the floor near her, stretching like a cat.
"Sorry," he said. "Dinner with my aunt."
"Which one?" Renee asked, pouring him wine.
"The scary one with the penthouse in Milan."
"Oh, that one," Elias snorted. "Did she ask why you're still slumming it with us peasants?"
Eliana blinked. "Wait, what?"
Renee laughed. "Oh, sweet girl. You didn't know?"
"Didn't know what?"
Valeria looked over with a sly smile. "That our dear Nicholas Devereaux is old money, baby. Like—European summer homes and generational wealth old money."
"What?" Eliana said again, louder.
Everyone was already grinning.
Luca cackled. "Oh, she really didn't know."
Eliana stared at Nicky. "Wait. You're... rich?"
He shrugged, swirling his wine. "I mean, yeah. A little."
"A little?"
"He owns like three buildings downtown," Renee added helpfully. "And a vineyard. I think there's a yacht somewhere, but I can't confirm."
"I don't even have a car," Eliana muttered, staring at him like he'd grown horns.
"I don't like to talk about it," Nicky said casually, sipping his wine. "People get weird."
"You're friends with a count," Elias added. "He calls him Nicolette."
Eliana blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Nicky murmured, laying his head on her lap suddenly.
She tensed—just for a second—before instinct kicked in and her fingers found his hair.
He sighed. "Don't start treating me different, okay?"
"I—how could I not? You're basically Gossip Girl."
"That's a slur," he whispered. "Take it back."
The room burst into laughter again.
But Eliana just sat there, stunned, her fingers carding through Nicky's hair, heart doing that thing again. That dangerous flutter.
Because now?
Now he wasn't just beautiful and untouchable.
Now he was untouchable on another level.
And she was in deeper than she thought.