Two
TWO
SOPHIE
TEN YEARS AGO
“ W hat do you mean? I’m on the list!” I shout after ten minutes of trying to get into one of Barcelona’s most popular clubs. It’s not that I’m lying; according to my classmate, Valentina, I’m supposed to be on the list. She’s inside waiting for me right this second, but she’s not picking up her phone for a reason. Which is a problem.
“No hablo inglés, Senorita,” the bouncer says dismissively, his large frame looming over me.
“You just spoke English to the girls in front of me a few minutes ago, Senor ,” I retort, refusing to back down. I’m getting into this club!
“No. Hablo. Ingles.” He leans closer to punctuate every word, quite aggressive if you ask me, but I still stand my ground because I need to get in. I need to make friends. After moving here to study, the first month has sucked—big time .
People barely speak to me. It might be because I don’t speak any Spanish, but it might also be because I joined the class two weeks later than the rest. They’ve all formed their cliques, and I’m left on the outside looking in. However, this morning, Valentina—one of the more popular girls at my university—asked if I wanted to join her, Miranda, and Carmen tonight. Her invitation felt like a lifeline in the sea of isolation that has become my reality.
Valentina is sweet, and I’m desperate, so I said yes. If I get accepted by the popular girls, especially Carmen, I’ll be set for the semester. Yet, there’s a nagging doubt in my mind, wondering if this newfound acceptance is too good to be true. Why would they want to hang out with me? I shake it off. Sometimes, people can be friendly for the sake of being nice.
I ran through every store on Paseo de Gracia to find the perfect outfit. My pick for the night is a cute black miniskirt paired with a baby blue fitted, off-the-shoulder top that perfectly matches my eyes, if I say so myself. The mini skirt has just the right amount of flounce to make it fun and flirty, while the top reveals a hint of my collarbone and shoulders, adding a touch of elegance to the overall look. As an above-average tall girl, standing around 5’7 without heels, the miniskirt accentuates my long legs, exuding confidence and power with every step. But I didn’t stop at that. I completed the outfit with a pair of beautiful strappy, high-heeled sandals, elongating my legs even further.
This brings me to my current humiliating situation: attempting to converse in Spanish to gain entry into a club surrounded by the rich kids of this city, many of whom I’ll be seeing in class next Monday.
Embarrassment washes over me like a tidal wave. What if I don’t get in? That means I’ll have to turn around and walk away in front of all these people. I’ll be the laughingstock of the class, the girl who couldn’t even get past the bouncer. I’ll kiss having friends goodbye.
“Y-Yo on el list,” I stammer, using my hands to gesture toward myself and then the list. But it's futile, and my hope of entering the exclusive venue is fading even faster.
“Porfa,” I plead one last time, a hint of desperation in my voice this time. But before the bouncer can decide my fate, a tall stranger emerges from behind him, casting a long shadow on the dimly lit street.
“Ella está conmigo,” he says, his voice dark and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine.
My breath catches as I glance up at him, taken aback by his striking presence. He’s almost a head taller than the bouncer, his frame effortlessly dominating the space between us. A confident smirk tugs at his lips, but the calm intensity in his eyes holds me captive.
My pulse quickens, and I realize I’m gripping my bag a little too tightly. The bouncer hesitates, his eyes flicking between me and the stranger as if weighing whether to challenge him. Finally, he steps aside, motioning for me to enter.
Relief washes over me, but my curiosity lingers. Who is this man, and why is he helping me?
He turns around and starts walking toward the entrance, expecting me to follow, and I do. I take a quick step forward, jogging up to his side.
As we enter the bustling nightclub, the music engulfs us, and the flashing lights paint the scene with vibrant colors.
“Thank you,” I murmur to my savior, still a bit embarrassed that I had to be saved. He grins, revealing a set of pearly whites, and leans closer, his lips almost brushing my ear.
“No worries. What’s your name?”
I tilt my head to meet his gaze, and as I do, a smile spreads across my face, too. “Sophie.”
I can’t help but stare at his strikingly beautiful face. His perfectly sculpted jawline and a subtle hint of stubble give him an irresistible allure, while his plump lips wear a natural, boyish smile that leaves an indelible impression.
But what draws me in the most is the softness in his dark brown eyes. They hold a depth of emotion and kindness that feels unexpected against his rugged exterior. It’s such a captivating contrast.
He's dressed in a well-fitted black leather jacket that only deepens the enigma surrounding him. The faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne lingers in the air, drawing me in. It smells of smoky cedarwood and a hint of spice, creating an orb that envelops us both in an invisible embrace.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie. I’m Liam.”
Liam. That’s a beautiful name. It suits him. There’s a sense of strength in its simplicity, like the steady, unshakable presence he carries without effort.
“Are you here alone?” he asks, breaking the spell. His voice, now less seductive but still dripping with charisma, pulls me back to reality. I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the pulsing music and the crowd around us.
“Yeah,” I manage to reply, trying to regain my composure. “No, I mean, I'm meeting some friends. They should be around here somewhere.”
A knowing smile plays at the corner of his lips as he extends a hand. “Let's find your friends then, Sophie.”
Usually, I’d have to push myself through an ocean of people to get from point A to point B in a crowded club like this. But with Liam’s hand in mine, the crowd parts effortlessly, like the Red Sea.
Amidst the pulsating beat of reggaeton music, people halt in their tracks to acknowledge him. It’s as if they all know him–or scratch that, know of him. They’re drawn to him like moths to a flame, and I can’t help but feel slightly special. With all the admiration he seems to command, his attention remains solely on me. Naturally, each glance he throws my way gives my confidence a little boost.
“Do you know where your friends told you to meet them?” His question cuts through the noise and my thoughts.
We’re standing still at the end of the dancefloor, the pulsing music enveloping us in its rhythm. Behind him is a staircase, hinting at the exclusivity of the VIP area, where two figures guard entry with stoic determination.
“They said that they had a table in the VIP,” I manage to say, my voice wavering slightly under the weight of his intense attention.
He smiles. “Okay, great. Let’s go.”
We continue walking through the crowds toward the VIP section, and the two towering figures come into full view. Their imposing stature casts a shadow over me as they scrutinize my presence.
“?Nombre?” one of them asks, his voice gruff.
My name isn’t on the VIP list, but the girls should be. “Ah, I’m supposed to meet Valentina. Valentina Suárez.” This time, my voice is a tad more confident despite the palpable intimidation from the bouncers.
“Sophie!” a voice rings out from above, and I look up to see a beautiful woman in a tight white jumpsuit leaning over the balcony railing. It’s Valentina.
“Valentina.” I wave my hand to her, acknowledging her presence, before turning to Liam. “You don’t have to wait with me here. I don’t want to ruin your evening.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he reassures me with a smile.
I turn back to the bouncers, mustering my most confident smile. It seems to work because the one who hadn’t spoken unclasps the red velvet rope, gesturing for me to climb the glass stairs. Grateful, I offer a quick thank-you to Liam, though a part of me regrets not staying with him just a few more minutes, longing to take in the spark between us.
A spark I’ve never felt before–one that’s both thrilling and terrifying. It hums beneath my skin, a restless energy that leaves me lightheaded.
I ascend the stairs, anticipation churning within me. This is why I’m here: to meet the girls. Finally reaching the top, I spot three girls, all wearing white, sitting around a square gold table adorned with half-filled champagne glasses and gleaming bottles. Their laughter and chatter fill the air with infectious energy.
This was a good idea. This night is going to be wild. I need this.
“Hola chicas,” I say with a broad smile as I approach.
Their laughter dies out, and Valentina is now wearing an uncertain smile, contrasting with her welcoming one a minute ago, as Carmen throws daggers my way.
“?Quien la invitó?” Carmen sneers with eyes almost narrowed to slits.
Valentina looks between me and Carmen, her brows furrowed. “Y-yo lo hice,” she stammers.
The uncertainty in Valentina’s voice takes me aback. What’s happening? A knot in my stomach tightens, and confusion swirls in me. This is not the energy she had in school. I might not understand what they say, but I can certainly feel the hostile environment.
Carmen stands up, taking a few steps closer to me. Her blood-red lips curl into a wicked smile. “I don’t know who invited you, chica ,” she throws a side-eyed glance at Valentina, “but you’re not welcome.”
What does she mean?
My chest tightens, and a wave of disbelief washes over me. I throw a desperate glance at Miranda, silently pleading for her to speak up, to say something, but she avoids meeting my gaze.
“I-I don’t understand,” I say, my voice trembling with what I know will turn into tears soon.
“Of course you don’t. I don’t know what made you think you’d be welcome to hang out with us.” Her voice cuts through me like a knife, leaving me feeling exposed.
I nod, trying to hold back my emotions. I turn around and begin to leave, the echo of Miranda and Carmen’s laughter following me each step down the stairs.
Hurrying past the dance floor, I fight to keep my composure as the lump in my throat threatens to choke me. My vision blurs with unshed tears, and every step feels like I’m dragging the weight of their rejection behind me. It’s humiliating. The sting cuts deeper with each passing second, the laughter and music around me only twisting the knife. All I want is to disappear, to escape this suffocating atmosphere. I wish I could go back home—somewhere safe, somewhere I truly belong.
A strong arm reaches out as I pass the bar, halting me in my tracks. Startled, I turn to find Liam. His eyes are wide with concern as he takes in my deflated face and tear-filled eyes.
“What happened?”
I force a tight-lipped smile, shaking off the hurt. I don’t want him to see me like this. I hate crying in front of people, let alone strangers. So, I swallow my tears and try to act normal. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Seeing through my failing facade, Liam persists. “You look upset.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine?” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring its flavor, testing its truth. “Then stay a little while. I’ll help you turn that frown upside down.” His gaze softens, an unspoken plea lingering in his eyes. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t kn–” I begin, but Liam speaks again.
“Dance with me.”
I hesitate, torn between wanting to escape and relishing in the warmth of his magnetic presence. This evening is awful; maybe a dance with him can make it better.
With a small nod, I reply, “One dance.”