Chapter 11 11
POV Katherine
It wasn’t what I’d imagined.
Lucía hadn’t mentioned neon lights, deafening music, or waiting lines surrounded by young people—and girls who, if they bent over, showed their whole asses. But there we were, standing in front of a place with a line of twenty-somethings eager to move to the rhythm of pounding bass, all dressed as if this night were the only one that mattered. The sign simply said Nova, minimalist white letters on a black background.
“A nightclub?” I asked, unable to hide my discomfort.
“A bar with a dance floor,” Lucía corrected, though it was clearly a gentler way of saying crowded club full of people.
“I don’t usually go to places like this…”
“Exactly why you should,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Relax. We’re just going to have a drink and laugh a little. You’re not married to sadness, you know?”
I stayed silent.
“By the way, where’s Andrew?”
“Business trip.”
“Well, perfect! A girls’ night—that’s exactly what we need.”
She was right.
I’d spent too much time hiding. I decided to push myself a little more.
Inside, the air was thick, mirrored by lights and heat. The place was packed. Blue and red flashes swept across faces and bodies like tongues of electric fire. Lucía greeted a couple of acquaintances, took my hand, and led me to a tall table with black-velvet stools.
Seeing the girls felt good—familiar faces, kind ones, not the four walls already eager to throw me out of the house. And here I was, trying not to feel uncomfortable, trying to pick up my life again, not quite knowing where I’d left it.
Still strange—but nothing alcohol couldn’t fix.
We ordered cocktails. I was cautious.
But the first went down easily.
So did the second.
Soon, I’d lost count.
Fuck. I wasn’t a drinker—precisely because I didn’t know how to be one. Especially with cocktails, because I let myself get fooled by how good they tasted and drank them like juice.
A song I didn’t know pulsed through my ribs; I felt it in my ankles, in my chest. I liked it—but I didn’t admit it. Marta offered me her hand when she heard another, even more danceable one.
“Come on, Katherine! One song!”
“No, no… I don’t know how to dance to this.”
“Just move! Look, we all do it badly!”
I laughed. I refused. But Lucía gave me a gentle push, and I ended up among them—on a dance floor full of strangers moving as if there were no rules. At first, I felt ridiculous. Then, I simply let my body do what it wanted.
In the end, I enjoyed it more than I expected. No one cared how anyone else danced; no one watched who moved better or worse, who looked foolish. It was just us—a few women chasing fun. And we were doing it.
We returned to the table laughing, breathless after a wild dance. I sat down, flushed. Someone ordered another round.
I was hot. The dress clung to my back. My cheeks burned. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the blend of stares and bodies all around. My friends talked about a bartender, a DJ, whether Italians kissed better than the French. I just nodded, smiling. The kind of senseless chatter I’d forgotten—funny, absurd, and oddly comforting.
I went to the bar for water, but instead ordered another cocktail. Cold. Sweet. Deceptive.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe losing myself was exactly what I needed.
I looked around, trying to spot the girls—but something else caught my eye.
A silhouette. A profile.
I froze at the idea that it might be him.
It couldn’t be.
Elliot.
His image was already unmistakable to me—I’d been with him since nine in the morning, through lunch and part of the afternoon. How could I not recognize him?
But no… it didn’t make sense. This wasn’t his kind of place. Too loud. Too public. Too vulgar for someone like him.
Wait… I didn’t even know him personally—how could I know what kind of place was right for him?
I blinked. Stepped a little closer. The figure turned and… no. It wasn’t him.
At least, I thought it wasn’t.
Shit.
Why the hell was I seeing Elliot’s face everywhere?