Luca's penthouse looked like it had been kissed by the gods.
The skyline outside was smeared in deep purple and gold, like someone took a brush and dragged light across the windows. Inside, the mood was slower. Softer. The kind of calm that only settles after chaos.
Fashion Week was over, but the energy still buzzed through the walls.
Eliana curled up at the edge of the velvet sectional, Luca's laptop balanced on her thighs, the Fashion Week livestream playing the final runway replays. The sounds of heels, applause, and flickering camera shutters filled the space.
Next to her, Renee was already half-asleep with one heel off, one leg up, mascara smudged like it was art. She hadn't even been in Paris, but jetlag had no mercy for girls who flew first-class after launching a new lip line.
"Jetlag's real," Renee muttered without opening her eyes. "Don't let the rich people lie to you."
"Especially when you drink on the plane," Valeria added from the chaise lounge, wrapped in a silk robe that probably cost more than Eliana's monthly salary. "And yes, it was champagne. No regrets. But also, I might die."
"Paris to New York always feels like time folding in on itself," Nicky said from the window seat, his voice barely above a hum. He was staring out at the city like it owed him something. "One second I'm in bed, the next I'm blinking under fluorescent JFK lighting wondering if I dreamt it all."
"You did," Eliana said, smiling.
Nicky didn't smile back, but his eyes flicked toward her—just for a second. It was enough to make her chest twist.
"I don't know why I came," Elias groaned, flopping onto the couch like he belonged there, because he did. "I literally have a club opening this week. I should be home making sure no one sets anything on fire."
"You flew to New York for Luca," Eliana reminded him.
"I flew for the drama," Elias corrected. "And possibly for the breakfast. Luca's private chef does these poached eggs that make me forget my name."
Luca, of course, was nowhere to be seen.
He had swept through the penthouse earlier like a hurricane of cologne and ego, yelling about a last-minute invitation to an afterparty with someone named Céline's stylist's cousin. He changed outfits three times before deciding on black mesh and diamonds, kissed Valeria on the cheek, and disappeared.
None of them had wanted to go with him. Not even Elias.
"Too tired," Renee had said.
"Too jetlagged," Valeria murmured.
"Too sober," Elias pouted.
And Nicky? He just didn't say anything.
Now, they were all sprawled across Luca's ridiculously perfect living room watching a replay of his show online—on Eliana's laptop of all things—while the real afterparty lit up some rooftop in the city.
Eliana leaned back against the cushions, pressing the spacebar to pause on Luca's final bow. The crowd had screamed. The cameras had flashed like lightning. He had looked... unstoppable.
"I know he drives us insane," she said softly, "but he really did it."
Valeria raised her champagne glass. "To Luca."
The others murmured in agreement, raising glasses, bottles, and in Elias's case, a box of cookies.
By the time midnight whispered across the room, the show had played twice. Renee was asleep on Eliana's shoulder. Elias was snoring, facedown into a throw pillow. Valeria had started answering emails from her marketing team in one hand while sipping tea in the other.
Nicky was still by the window. Still quiet. Still watching.
Eliana thought about going over to him. Thought about saying something. But instead, she just watched him in the reflection of the glass—his stillness, his elegance. Like he belonged in that golden city more than any of them.
Outside, the city pulsed on.
Inside, their little group folded into comfort, chaos set aside for one quiet night.
The city below buzzed like static.
Eliana wrapped her cardigan tighter around her shoulders as the wind teased the hem of her silk pajama shorts. The rooftop of Luca's penthouse was far too elegant to feel this lonely—string lights, potted palms, a fire pit that no one knew how to turn on. And a view that could make anyone feel small.
She didn't expect anyone else to be up here. She just needed air. But of course—
Nicky was already there.
He was leaned against the glass railing, his profile outlined in soft gold from the lights. Still in his black sweater, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in his forearms. A half-smoked cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers, unlit.
He turned slightly when he heard her.
"Eliana."
She blinked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," he said. Voice low. Gentle. "You can stay."
She walked over slowly, nervous for no reason except that it was him.
"I thought you'd be asleep."
He shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."
She stood beside him, not too close, not too far. Just enough to feel the quiet.
They didn't speak for a moment. Just the sound of wind and some distant honking, and the occasional memory slamming against her ribcage.
The club.
His hand on her waist.
The van ride to the beach.
Had he really been asleep?
Nicky broke the silence first. "So... we're pretending the club didn't happen?"
Her breath caught.
He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
"I was drunk," he added. "You were drunk. It was nothing."
"Right," she said softly. "Nothing."
He finally looked at her. "We should go back to being friends."
The words landed like a stone dropped in a still lake.
"Yeah," she forced a smile. "Of course. Friends."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
She looked out at the lights, blinking too fast.
"I didn't mean to make things weird," she said.
"You didn't," he said too quickly. Then, softer, "I did."
She wanted to ask. About the van ride. About why he touched her like that if it didn't mean anything. About why he looked at her now like she was still something.
But she didn't.
Instead, she said, "You know... that night, at dinner, when I saw you... across the table with Liam—"
He didn't move. But his fingers twitched.
"I thought maybe we'd talk after that dinner at Valeria's," she went on. "But we didn't. So... this is me, I guess. Trying."
He was quiet for so long she thought maybe she said too much.
Then he sighed.
"I saw you, too."
Her heart did something stupid at that.
He looked at her again. "You smiled at him. Like he was something good."
"He was just being nice."
Nicky looked away. "Yeah. He's good at that."
Eliana wrapped her arms around herself. She hated how raw she felt. How much she still wanted him, even now, even with all his edges and silences.
"I'm not trying to ruin anything," she said quietly. "I just... don't want to lose what we had. Whatever it was."
Nicky dropped the cigarette into a nearby glass tray. His voice, when it came, was softer than she expected.
"You're not gonna lose me, El."
She smiled, small and bitter. "Feels like I already did."
He looked like he wanted to say something. Like he almost would.
But he didn't.
Just stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave her a nod. "Goodnight, Eliana."
And then he walked away.
Leaving her on the rooftop, heart caught in her throat, wondering how long she could keep pretending that being just friends didn't hurt like hell.