9. Chapter Aria
M usic is blasting throughout my apartment as Sophia and I get ready for the club when the doorbell rings.
“That’s probably Isabella! I gave her guest access!” I shout at Sophia as I walk to open the door.
“Making another margarita. Got it!” she says, running from the room to the kitchen.
Opening the door, I hug Isa and let her in. Me and Isabella haven’t been friends for a long time, but I’ve noticed that she can be a bit shy at times, so tonight I'm determined to bring her out of her shell, and anyone around Sophia tends to do just that.
Sophia comes to the door with three margaritas in hand, shoving one into Isabella’s hands and says, “Hi. So lovely to meet you! Here! Start drinking. You have some catching up to do.”
“Okay,” Isabella says, unsure.
I laugh. “Sophia, be a little less intense. Jeez.”
“Well, let’s get ready,” Sophia says, then looks Isabella up and down. “Girl, we’re putting some more makeup on you. I swear, with that beautiful face, you’ll look like a model.”
We keep drinking and start putting makeup on, Sophia going a little too heavy with Isabella’s eyeshadow, claiming that her eyes are the size of a Bratz doll and she needs to take advantage of it. Honestly, my favorite part when I do go out is getting ready, not the actual going out part. But Sophia will literally drag me by the hair if I change my mind. And honestly? I’m in serious need of letting loose for once.
Working with Damian is stressful as it is, but that’s not even the problem—I can easily handle him, even when he thinks he’s getting a rise out of me, I just play into his games. Okay, that’s half a lie. Sometimes he does get the best of me and gets under my skin, but it’s kind of our thing now. One I look forward to more than I’d ever care to admit. The problem is the feelings he stirs when I’m near him. That man sure has a talent for making me have not-work-appropriate thoughts of things I would die for him to do to me .
Going out, meeting a nice handsome stranger, and dancing with my friends is the cure for these stupid feelings—wrong wording—let’s call it desire, that sounds way better. I would love nothing more than to give into the temptation. Take a bite of that forbidden apple, savor the taste well. That absolutely cannot happen. He’s my boss—my very annoying boss—I’ll just have to keep reminding myself everyday, if that’s what it takes.
I opt for a red sleeveless mini dress that accentuates my curves, paired with chunky white heels. Hair down, embracing its natural curls, and lips adorned with my signature red color, I gaze at my reflection, attempting to hype myself up. My natural hair makes me uncomfortable, but today I'm determined to break out of my comfort zone. Confidence is my goal, embracing my natural self, even with my mother's voice echoing in the back of my head.
That hair is a mess, Aria, fix it.
You look like a bird's nest.
No boy is ever going to ask you to the dance if you keep wearing your hair like that.
Why did you have to get your father’s hair?
I shake my head, trying to get the useless thoughts out of my head and instead, chase the burning sensation down my throat with a shot of tequila. For one single night, I want to forget about my problems. Forget about the fact that I’ll never become an artist. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I don’t like my job—but it’s not what I really want to do. I’d love nothing more than to release my endless collections and actually become someone doing something that I love. My passion. Maybe even have my own studio where I can teach kids how to paint. Explore new things. Learn new ways to express my art.
A humorless laugh escapes me, one I chase with another shot of tequila. Me? Become an artist? Please. I can barely show Sophia my paintings before feeling embarrassed. My mother made sure to shame me enough times that I started to believe no one would appreciate what inspires me. What makes me happy.
“Okay, girls, are we ready?” Sophia asks. “Let’s take a selfie in the mirror before we leave.” Sophia grabs her phone and has us pose in front of the mirror.
This is nice. This is exactly what I needed.
I muster the realest smile I can for the picture, swallowing my feelings down. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. Tired of wondering. For once, I want to take charge of what I truly want.
But I’m not ready. I don’t think I ever will be.
“Pass me that picture; I want to post it on Instagram,” I mention as we’re walking out of the apartment.
Sophia nods, immersed in her phone, probably already editing the picture to have it publish-ready. Sophia is very into appearances. Working around the world of journalism, you kind of have to be. People keep a close eye on you when your job is to do the same to others. Vicious cycle and all.
As we’re walking to the car, I ask, “Hey, how’s the article about the art heist going?”
Sophia shrugs. “I’ve found a few contacts from Rome, tried to do some interviews, but nothing crazy. Since the investigation is still taking place, they are being very cryptic about it.”
“It was a very expensive, rare painting. I’m surprised you were even able to find people to interview.”
“I spammed their emails, called nonstop. You know, the norm.”
I shake my head with a laugh as we get inside the Uber. While I know this is not what she wants to do with her life, she’s still an extremely good journalist, so I don’t doubt she’ll be able to make this story shine.
Sophia sends me the picture, and I post it with a simple ‘night out with my girls’ quote. I barely use Instagram, so as I’m going through the notifications, I notice Damian followed me.
I frown.
Damian doesn’t follow anyone except for his business accounts. Weird . It was probably a mistake.
When we arrive at the club, it's extremely packed, which is expected since it’s opening night. Leave it up to Sophia to flirt with the bouncer, letting us in right away as people look at us like they want to skin us alive .
“How did you even do that?” Isabella asks Sophia, gaping at her, impressed.
Sophia flips her hair dramatically, then says, “I have my ways.”
I roll my eyes. “Sophia is a shameless flirt. Men go head over heels for her.”
“I can’t believe you’re single,” Isabella points out.
“I have terrible taste in men,” she says, as I say at the same time, “She has terrible taste in men.” We look at each other and throw our heads back with a laugh.
“But regardless, I prefer to be single. I have more freedom, ya know? Let the playboys get played by me,” Sophia says with an exaggerated wink.
I know my best friend pretty well, and even though she does enjoy the one-night stands, she is also a hopeless romantic. I know it must get lonely. She just doesn’t voice it.
Entering the place, it's total chaos, packed with so many people, making it a bit of a challenge to move without bumping into someone. The club has two floors, and it's lit up with rainbow neon lights that are blinking all over. Downstairs, you've got two bars on opposite sides, and in the middle, a dance floor with a bunch of small tables scattered around. Upstairs, it's like a big circle around the dance floor, making that VIP section pretty spacious.
We arrive at the bar closest to the VIP stairs entrance to get some tequila shots. I’m sure Sophia has this calculated, hoping to meet some random guy from VIP and snag us a spot. I welcome the liquid courage for fun, especially if I'm going to be dancing with anyone.
“1, 2, 3, shot, shot, shot!” Sophia yells while Isabella and I take a shot at the same time.
Isabella grimaces, then decides to chase it with a soda. Me? I embrace the burning feeling. It’s half of the fun. Helps me forget about a certain set of emerald green eyes and killer smile. Feeling all light and a bit buzzed, Sophia grabs both Isabella and me, dragging us to the dance floor. Suddenly, my favorite jam, ‘ Who's That Chick? ’ by David Guetta and Rihanna pulses through the club, and it's like an instant energy boost. I let the music guide me, swaying my hips to the beat. Isabella joins me, and we're both dancing, jumping, and laughing, totally feeling the buzz.
Sophia is cornered by a guy quickly—as per usual—and the dance floor becomes their flirting playground. A couple of songs later, she returns to us, bringing back the energy from her flirt-fest.
“Jack has a VIP table and two other friends,” Sophia yells over the music, wiggling her eyebrows.
I look over her shoulder who I assume is Jack, and he’s your typical preppy guy. I can only imagine what the other two guys look like.
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head.
Sophia ignores my complaint and drags us both with her to the stairs. We enter the VIP section, and the area is filled with sizable tables and a less crowded bar. The guy Sophia met leads us to a table where two of his friends are chatting and drinking. One of them, with his tanned skin, dark blond hair, and a lazy smile, catches my attention. He notices and responds with a flirtatious smile.
Guess I’m dancing with a stranger tonight, nice.
Exactly what I need to get the he-shall-not-be-named guy off my mind.
Sophia notices the lingering eye contact and decides to play matchmaker. “Didn't you say you were a little tired from all the dancing? Sit right here; this is their table. Me and Isa will be at the bar with the guys.” She winks at me, then grabs Isa’s hand, while the other two guys follow after them.
I laugh. “Sorry. My best friend loves to play matchmaker sometimes. I don't have to sit here; I'm fine,” I say, starting to walk to the bar.
The handsome stranger briefly grabs my hand to stop me, and when I don’t feel the same charge of electricity I get every time Damian touches me, the disappointment hits me out of nowhere.
He drops it, grabbing his beer back and taking a sip before replying, “That's fine. I don't mind her playing matchmaker; you're beautiful.” He winks. “Do you want to dance?”
I hesitate for a moment, before replying, “Sure. I'm Aria, by the way,” as we walk downstairs to the dance floor.
“I'm Theo.” He smiles at me, and another wave of disappointment hits me when his smile doesn’t hit the same as Damian’s.
Why can’t I stop thinking about him? I’m so pathetic.
“Beautiful name for a beautiful redhead,” he says, grabbing one of my curls with his finger and playing with it.
His game is a bit lame, but he has good looks so I don't mind. It’s not like I’m looking for the future father of my children at a club. Just some innocent dancing and flirting will do.
Hitting the dance floor, the beats of ‘ Woman ’ by Doja Cat kick in, setting the scene. Theo snags me by the hips, our bodies colliding in rhythm. Closing my eyes, I let the music take over, enjoying the dance with this stranger. Turning my back to him, we sway closer, feeling the vibe in sync, bodies moving together. His hands wander over my stomach, and while I'm cool with some dancing closeness, one of his hands decides to venture south. I quickly grab it, trying to keep things in check. While I agreed to dance with him, I didn’t sign up to get groped in the middle of a club. Despite my attempt to signal some boundaries, he doesn’t take the hint and keeps traveling his hand until it’s close to my inner thigh.
“I need to find my friends. They're probably wondering where I am,” I say, using it as an excuse to put some distance between us.
Despite that, he turns me around, grabbing my hips and pulling me back into the dance, his hands freely roaming, this time reaching for my ass.
“Please, let me go,” I plead, my voice shaky.
“Come on. We're just dancing,” he dismissively replies, licking his lips while leering at my chest. My attempts to break free become useless, making me increasingly uncomfortable.
“Fucking let me go,” I assert, pushing him with all my strength, causing him to stumble.
He retaliates by grabbing my wrist. “You fucking bitch. You're the one who looked my way first; why are you acting so innocent now?” he retorts, tightening his grip, causing pain.
“You're hurting me! Let go!” I yell back, desperate to break free from the escalating situation.
Out of nowhere, someone grabs my hips from behind, gently pulling me backward and stepping in between me and the guy.
“She told you to let her go.”
The touch is strangely familiar, igniting a burning and thrilling sensation I've experienced before. The unmistakable scent of cedarwood, a fragrance that's lingered in my mind for the past month, invades my space. My breath catches as the clean aroma intoxicates me, leaving me slightly dizzy. The lingering sensation on my hips, where his hands were just moments ago, still burns in the best way possible.
“Yeah? And who the fuck are you?” Theo questions, pushing him.
“I'm the guy who's going to break your fucking teeth if you don't get the fuck out of my face.”
“Mind your business, dude. I'm just here trying to get some pussy. She was asking for—” Theo can't finish the sentence because the man delivers a solid punch. Theo crumples to the floor, crying out, with his nose bleeding profusely.
In the dimly lit club, with only the pulsating beat of music and neon lights flickering, the man stands tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair. While it’s hard to recognize the face once he turns around, I don’t need to. Because I can recognize that silhouette anywhere.
It’s Damian’s.