Chapter 37 Nicole #2
I think about all the eyes that used to follow me, boosting my ego but making me keep every hair in place.
“Well, it’s kind of exhausting. You always have to look perfect, because someone might snap a photo of you in a bad pose.
Smile at people you can’t stand just because they have influence.
Show up at events even when you’re dead tired, just because it’s important to be seen. ”
Daria pouts, mulling it over. “What’s the point of all that?”
I glance again at the VIP section, where a bunch of famous playmates are popping open a bottle of champagne. Their VIP status barely matches their collective brain cell count but their sugar daddies’ bank accounts more than make up for it.
“It makes you feel special. Like you’re part of that tiny percentage above everyone else…And then you either die unexpectedly, or the Black Joker shows up and wrecks your life in a way that no money, no power, nothing can fix.”
Flashes of Gaetano race through my mind—him kneeling before me in the cave, me kneeling before him in the castle. A raw ache tightens my chest.
“Shhh!” Daria lifts a finger in front of my face. “Tonight is not for that. Didn’t you say you wanted to dance? Come on, I love this song!”
The bass thumps and lights flicker across the empty dance floor. Daria jumps off her stool and pulls on my hand. I shake my head. “No one’s dancing…”
“Even better. We’ll be the first!” She begins to move with awkward, strange steps—left, right, clapping above her head, laughing loudly. “Come on!” she calls over her shoulder. “Otherwise, I’ll dance all weird and embarrass you.”
I sigh and sip the last of my cocktail. Ice cubes rattle as I set the glass on the bar. “You’re already dancing weird.”
She just winks and keeps going, her sway somewhere between a folk dance and poorly learned hip-hop. I stand, smooth out the hem of my dress, and follow her. The bass vibrates through my chest, nudging me forward.
Slowly, I fall into a rhythm. Daria continues her silly moves, spinning in circles, bouncing on her toes, waving her arms around as if she’s calling down the rain. I’m just about to tell her I’m heading back to my seat when a stranger walks onto the dance floor.
He joins Daria and begins dancing exactly like her—same odd moves, same flailing arms. He’s tall, with dark hair and a little stubble. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he spins in perfect sync with Daria. He even claps on beat, as if I didn’t already have enough reasons to turn bright red.
“Look at him!” Daria exclaims. “I thought I was the only crazy one!”
He grins widely and keeps going.
When the song shifts into a new tempo, more people gather around us.
The air thickens with sweat, perfume, vape smoke, and alcohol.
Daria and the stranger perform another strange move—lifting their arms to the sides as they spin—which makes me laugh.
Releasing my inhibitions, I join in and sway to my own groove.
For the first time in years, I’m dancing in the middle of a crowd, soaking up its energy. Arms swinging freely, head tilted back, feet planted firmly in sneakers. For these few moments, I cease to belong to the past, to desperation, to the curse I carry inside me. It’s just me and the music.
Daria laughs, and I mirror her joy without thinking. The burden I’ve carried for weeks slides off, inch by inch, with each step. I’m not focused on surviving, I’m simply dancing as if no one’s watching.
And for a moment, that’s enough. The rhythm carries me, softening the darkness in my chest, and I almost believe I’m free. Then I spin around, following Daria, and my eyes land on the VIP section. The shadowed wall. The very spot where I first saw Gaetano.
The music keeps playing, but something deep within me shuts down. I scan the darkened corners, searching for any sign of someone lurking in the shadows…
I can’t believe that, after everything, a part of me still longs to see him! The realization sends a flash of intense anger through me—at my own weakness.
The desire to dance evaporates, and I slip back into my seat. My empty glass waits on the bar like a quiet reproach. I raise a hand to get the bartender’s attention, but he’s busy shaking cocktails at the other end and doesn’t even look my way. Of course not.
I lower my gaze down the bar and—
Branimir’s sitting a few seats away, sipping a beer and chatting with another guy.
I never responded to his last messages.
For a moment, I just stand there, unsure of what to do. Should I pretend I didn’t see him, or walk right up and say something? I’m not even sure I want to show myself in this state: despondent, raw, stripped down.
Branimir…he’s not part of my social circle. He never judged me, always listened without trying to correct or advise me. Didn’t try to dominate me.
I never really had the chance to get to know him, but right now, he feels like a lifeline in a world that’s falling apart around me. Or maybe it’s just guilt eating at me, knowing he almost ended up in the hospital after our last encounter, even though he was the one who felt guilty about his car.
I take a step toward him.
He’s turned away from me and doesn’t see me coming.
“Hey,” I say, loud enough to be heard. He glances over his shoulder, his focus sweeping over me and dismissing me quickly. My mouth opens in surprise. “Branimir!”
His shoulders twitch as if my shout startled him. He spins around fully this time, eyes widening, moving his gaze from my face to my dress and then back to my face. “Nicole! Shit, I didn’t recognize you…”
Unease flickers across his expression. I smile, leaving the ball in his court.
He nods toward the man next to him—blond, lean, with pleasant features. “This is Sava, a friend.” Sava lifts a hand in greeting. “And this is Nicole. We…” Branimir hesitates, his eyes darting from me to Sava, then back again.
“We’re friends.” I wink and turn to Sava. “Hope I’m not intruding.”
Sava chuckles. “Not at all. Want to join us?”
“If I’m not being a nuisance…” I reply, feigning concern.
Branimir is already moving the chairs to create space. I glance over my shoulder. Daria is fully immersed on the dance floor. She’ll be fine without me.
I slide into the seat between them. Branimir gets me another cocktail, and conversation flows. Sava, who’s a cardiologist, discusses his patients, Branimir shares details about a recent case at work, and we talk about a few gossip items from reality TV. The alcohol warms me, relaxing me.
A few minutes later, Sava heads to the bathroom. Branimir edges closer to me, his cologne giving me a brief wave of nausea. His eyes stay on my face before drifting down to the dress. “You didn’t pick up my calls all week. I thought the thing with the car scared you off.”
Images of how I spent last week flood my mind. It’s not the memory of the car accident that burns across my skin, but everything that happened with Gaetano afterward. I shove it down angrily. “You think a car would scare me? I just had stuff going on at home.”
He gives me a once-over again, then nods. “Yeah… I figured.”
“What do you mean?” I ask with a smile, though a pang of wariness rises in me. Could rumors be spreading about me running away?
Branimir raises his hands in front of his chest, still holding the bottle in one of them.
“I’m no expert, but a close friend of mine says that when a woman gives up her heels and makeup, something’s definitely gone wrong in her life.
” He takes a gulp of his beer. “The Baron’s piling on the pressure? ”
I shrug. “Maybe I just decided I wanted to be comfortable?”
He laughs. “You? I’m pretty sure the Little Baroness would rather die than trade style for comfort.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. “Well, as you can see, I’m dressed comfortably and still breathing.” I gesture to my dress.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”
“So, you liked the Baroness better, huh?” I ask with a thin smile.
A spark flickers behind his expression. “Don’t get me wrong, sweetie. It’s just… the Little Baroness is sexy. Like the women in magazines. Gorgeous, untouchable. I wasn’t lying when I said that night I first saw you”—he nods toward the VIP section—“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off me. And tonight, he didn’t even recognize me.
He leans in closer, gaze lingering on my mouth. “What do you say we go somewhere? Just the two of us?”
My pulse drums in my ears. Of course. Branimir liked the Baroness, the mask I wore to hide my fears. Not me. No wonder he hung on my every word. He wasn’t really listening. He was just fantasizing about finally getting to bang the Little Baroness.
Every muscle in my body pulls taut, but I force another fake smile. “Just need to use the bathroom.”
Placing my cocktail on the bar, I navigate the crowded dance floor to reach Daria. As soon as she sees my face, she stops dancing.
“Can we go?” I ask, pressing my lips together as the sting rises again. A few minutes later, we grab our bags and head out.
Riding back in the taxi, I keep seeing Branimir’s gaze sweeping over me as if I were just a shadow. A dark feeling tears through my chest, adding to the pain already inside me.
I can’t believe I’ve existed for years without realizing there are only two types of people around me. Those who hate me and those who love the idea of me. Come to think of it, they’re probably one and the same.