I swallow hard. I’ll have to cancel on my friends, which I know won’t make them happy. I consider what I could possibly say to make bailing on them okay as I step onto the bus and find a seat. Then, opening up a group text, I write,So sorry, but something’s come up. I won’t be able to go clubbing with you tomorrow night.I follow it with a teary emoji.
Whitney responds almost immediately, setting my anxiety at ease.No worries, girl. Hopefully, it works out next time.
Paige’s eye roll emoji is far less forgiving.Can’t say I’m surprised,is all she writes.
I bite my lip to fight my tears and slide my phone back into my bag. Then I rest my head back against the bus seat. At least I’ll get to spend some time with Clara tonight. But I feel my relationship with Paige slipping through my fingers like sand. By the time Nicolo’s done with me, I sense there will be nothing left of our friendship to salvage.
* * *
Standingoutside my apartment complex promptly at five, I wait uncomfortably in my exceedingly flashy form-fitting dress and strappy silver heels. I hug my knee-length coat tighter around me to hide the low cut of the neckline, grateful I have some form of covering so my aunt wouldn’t ask questions about my attire. The only thing good I can say about my outfit is that Clara told me it makes me look like a mermaid. She said it with such awe in her voice, I could only take it as a compliment, but I can’t help feeling my entire body is on display.
The dress hugs every inch of me, leaving little to the imagination. The low cut combined with the shelf bra Nicolo bought me showcase my cleavage far more than I’m comfortable with. I left my hair down in long waves in order to cover my chest as best I can, much like the animated characters do in the Little Mermaid. I wonder if that might not have contributed to Clara’s observation.
My jaw drops as a sleek black Maserati rolls up to the curb in front of me.
Nicolo rolls down his window and jerks his head toward the passenger seat. “Get in,” he says by way of greeting.
Fighting to remain steady on my four-inch heels, I obey, walking around the front of the car and opening the door. It’s a challenge to slide into the low-riding soft leather-upholstered seat without flashing Nicolo in the short dress. As I settle in and buckle my seat belt, I catch sight of Nicolo’s expression as he watches me, and I wonder if that might not have been the point of the dress-car combination. Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I wonder if he’s already gotten a good peek at my lingerie.
“Ready?” Mild amusement tinges Nicolo’s tone, and his lips curl in a devilish smile.
“Yes,” I murmur, turning my attention to the road in front of us to avoid his gaze.
The sports car leaves the curb–and my stomach along with it–like a rocket, pressing me back against the seat. I white-knuckle the door and squeeze my knees together as I fight the urge to squeal at the unexpected speed. The car handles more like a plane than a car as it glides over the road. Nicolo seems more than capable with the vehicle as he shifts gears seamlessly, weaving around traffic and rolling through yellow lights at a speed that makes the hair raise on the back of my neck.
I don’t even have time to process where we’re going, I’m so terrified of what we might hit at this rate, and before I know it, we pull to a stop in front of Danza. I can’t seem to get my grip to relax from the door handle as my heart races, trying to catch up with the fact that we’ve arrived at our destination. My heart hammers as I realize Paige and Whitney–all my friends–are going to see me here with Nicolo after I told them I couldn’t go out with them.
“Danza?” I breathe, anxiety constricting my chest. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”
“No,” Nicolo says flatly. “And take off that fucking coat. I didn’t buy you nice clothes just to watch you hide in your grandma’s coat. People should know what you have to offer me.”
Embarrassment flames in my cheeks, and I open my mouth to object as he opens his door and exits the car with ease. The door snaps shut before I can think of anything to say, and reluctantly, I slip the coat over my shoulders to leave it in the car. The air trapped in my lungs escapes me in a burst as Nicolo opens my door and holds out his hand to help me from the car.
From the glint of mischief in his eyes, I suspect he enjoys my discomfort immensely, but he stands like a gentleman as he grips my fingers and supports my weight. I straighten my sapphire-colored dress as soon as I’m out of the car, hoping no one else caught a peek beneath the hem, and glance toward the line of club-goers waiting to be admitted inside. Struck by the realization that I used to be one of those people watching Nicolo pull up in his sleek car and toss his keys to the valet makes me uncomfortable. I don’t belong on his arm, but when he offers me his elbow, I take it and follow him toward the club’s entrance.
As my eyes move along the growing line of people, they catch on a familiar face. Paige’s eyes burn with resentment, and her lips twist into a sneer that tells me what I’m doing is unforgivable. I ditched them to let them stand in line after I told them I couldn’t make it. Guilt constricts my chest, and I drop my gaze as I follow Nicolo toward the doors into the dark club.
“Nicolo?” I murmur tentatively as my guilt puts my stomach in knots. “Could you… maybe bring my friends in as well?”
Nicolo pauses, amusement dancing around his lips as he glances back toward the line of waiting club goers. “Fine.”
Gesturing to the doorman, he has me point out my friends, and I wave Paige, Whitney, Logan, and the twins toward the door. Judgment burns on their faces, condemning me even as Nicolo tells the doorman that they’re to receive a private table and complimentary bottle service tonight as well.
Only Whitney’s face remains soft and compassionate like she somehow understands the discomfort I feel. “Thank you,” she says gratefully, giving my arm a gentle squeeze as she meets Nicolo’s eyes.
“Not that this makes up for Fin,” Logan spits under his breath as they follow us through the doors into the club.
Throbbing music greets us inside, along with Nicolo’s bodyguards, who I met on our shopping day. We part ways with my friends, who are shown to a private table near the dance floor. Nicolo’s guards remain as stoic as ever as they follow us up the stairs to the Marchettis’ VIP section. With the golden lights making my dress shimmer and the glass stairs and railing giving us little cover, I feel as though I’m on display as Nicolo guides me to the white leather couches and coffee table that furnish our area.
I’m shocked by how soft the couch’s leather is as I sink onto it, but from this vantage point, as I look down on the dance floor below, I feel entirely too exposed. It would take nothing for someone to look up and see me, for my friends to observe what I chose to do instead of dancing with them.
Crossing my ankles and keeping my knees pressed together, I sit up straight as I observe the club from this new angle. Nicolo settles in beside me, his arm falling around my waist, so his hand rests lightly on the side of my hip. Tingles ripple through my body at the simple yet intensely intimate touch. Fighting to ignore the way it makes my stomach flutter, I turn my attention to the view of the club.
Like royalty on high, I can see everything from here, the well-lit bar, the packed dance floor, and the private alcoves where couples talk and make out. I observe the female dancer trapped in her glass cube, which sits at eye level to me from this spot. Her nipples are taped with squares of neon pink that barely cover her breasts, and her matching neon cheeky panties sit so far up her ass they could almost be painted on. Still, as she twists and spins in time with the music, I’m mesmerized by her athletic ability once more.
“What do you want to drink?” Nicolo asks close to my ear, drawing my attention from the dancer.
I turn to meet his eyes, parting my lips to say I don’t need a drink, then think better of it. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I say instead.