The bass had deepened, the lights had melted into molten reds and slow flashes of gold, and Eliana was spinning with Renee, laughter spilling from her lips like she'd forgotten she could even sound like that.
Renee was a magnetic force—arms high, hips swaying, eyes closed, a goddess in glitter. And Eliana followed, her body moving freely, her worries peeled away by champagne and the way the music crawled under her skin.
They weren't alone for long.
A man stepped in. A tall one. Handsome in that I've-posed-for-GQ-but-don't-need-it kind of way. He smiled at Eliana—slow, charming—and joined their rhythm without missing a beat.
Another joined soon after. This one older. Sharper. In a fitted jacket and stubble that looked like it had its own agent.
Then a third. And suddenly they were a circle, dancing with the kind of men girls in magazines only dreamed of. They weren't pushy. They weren't sleazy. They were just... there. Watching. Moving. Smiling at Eliana like she was the whole room.
Renee leaned in, laughing, "God is real, and he's sending them in waves."
Eliana couldn't stop smiling. Her skin buzzed, her cheeks warm, her head light. She let herself go—hips swaying, arms above her head, her hair sticking to her neck in the most perfect way. She hadn't felt this good in years.
Until suddenly—he was there.
Nicky.
Cutting through the crowd like the music obeyed him.
He didn't say a word—just appeared beside them, slid a firm hand around Eliana's wrist, another at Renee's elbow, and gently but undeniably steered them both out of the circle.
"Excuse me," he said to one of the men, voice cold.
Eliana blinked, breath caught in her throat. The men looked surprised, amused—but no one argued. Nicky was the kind of pretty that came with danger.
He walked them back to their booth with a quiet intensity. Renee giggled but pouted dramatically.
"That was her chance," she whined, flopping into the seat. "You just cockblocked a possible boyfriend."
Nicky didn't answer.
Eliana sat beside him, flustered and flushed. Her heart pounded—not from dancing, but from him. From the way he touched her without hesitation. From the way his jaw clenched when that man put a hand on her waist. From the way he didn't look at her now.
She swallowed and reached for her drink, not trusting her voice.
Silence stretched between them. Around them, Valeria was dancing with two people now, Elias was pouring shots, Luca was on someone's lap telling stories like a Roman emperor.
But Eliana just sat there, next to Nicky. Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough to smell his cologne—dark, expensive, familiar. She dared a glance at him, and—
He was looking at her.
At her wrist.
At the delicate bracelet Elias had bought her earlier. The one with the tiny sapphire stones and thin gold links.
Nicky's eyes flicked up to hers. Then he reached out—took her hand in his.
Eliana's heart stuttered.
He said nothing. Just held her hand lightly in his palm, turning it slightly like he was inspecting the bracelet. But his fingers trailed—over her wrist, her knuckles, the pads of her fingers.
"You wore it," he murmured.
She nodded, too softly to be seen.
His thumb brushed the inside of her palm, slow. Absent. Like he didn't realize how much it was undoing her.
The alcohol in her blood made it all too much.
The lights, the velvet booth, the sound of her friends laughing, the closeness of his body. The way his hand dwarfed hers. The way his touch lingered.
She felt her thighs press together under the table. Her breath shallow. She knew she shouldn't feel like this. Not after he said they should just be friends. Not after everything. But God—
His fingers slipped between hers. Just barely.
And when she looked up—
His eyes were darker than before.
His lips parted just slightly.
And his ears—the tops of them—were red.
He coughed once. Looked away like he hadn't just set her on fire.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I, uh—I liked the design. The bracelet. It's... nice."
Eliana didn't trust herself to respond.