Chapter 21
SAMMIE
I’m fast learning that there are clubs, and then there are Monaco clubs – and what better place to learn such a lesson than Velours.
The building itself sits right on the waterfront – which already makes it infinitely cooler than any club we have back home – all smoked glass and golden lighting, with a queue of beautiful people standing outside – each one of them looking so gorgeous they look curated, like they’re ornamental.
A velvet rope curves around the entrance, naturally, reminding everyone what side of it they belong on – until someone tells them otherwise.
We follow Nico, past the crowd, where he greets one of the doormen with a pat on the back.
‘We’re on the guest list,’ he tells me.
My eyes widen, but I try to keep just how impressed I am in check.
‘Oh my goodness, the guest list,’ Mum says.
‘All the times we’ve been to Monte Carlo – you’ve never got me on the guest list,’ Hank complains.
‘You’re on it tonight, aren’t you?’ Nico says with a laugh.
As we head inside, Nico grins. He looks annoyingly good tonight – honestly, the less he annoys me, the more I fancy him.
He’s wearing smart trousers – not shorts, which is usually what you’ll find him in – and a crisp white shirt with two or three buttons undone.
It is flirtatiously low, like a trap for thirsty women.
It’s hard to resist peeking in there. Of course, I know what he’s got going on under there, and it’s definitely worth a look.
For better or worse, Nico and I practically downed a couple of Hugo Spritzes before we left, and I can feel them surging through my veins.
I’m not drunk-drunk. Just pleasantly tipsy, enough to make me all easy-breezy, to help me worry less about executing our diabolical plan – essentially, to give our parents a bad time.
‘Well,’ Hank says slowly, looking around as we walk through the entrance. ‘I suddenly feel over and underdressed.’
Mum loops her arm through his immediately.
‘You look handsome.’
He visibly brightens for a second. Then frowns again.
‘It’s a bit loud in here, isn’t it?’
Nico laughs.
‘What?’ Hank says. ‘It is.’
‘I know,’ Nico replies. ‘It’s not that. It’s just… this is the entrance, there are no speakers in here. This is the main room…’
Nico opens the door and the volume of the music hits us like a tidal wave. It almost takes my poor mum off her feet.
I can feel the bass churning the contents of my stomach, like when you shake a bottle of champagne.
I feel like I’m going to pop, and the flashing lights are a real attack on the senses.
It’s a really cool place though, with lit-up dance floors and mirrored walls.
Upstairs balconies curve around the main room, filled with people leaning over railings, sipping cocktails that probably cost a small fortune.
Everything in the room smells rich – whatever fancy smell they’re diffusing, the clientele, the drinks. Like most clubs, it still seems like a great place to make bad choices, I just feel like those bad choices need to be a little fancier here.
There’s a DJ in the middle of the room, his decks wrapped around him. Above him, there’s a huge disco ball shaped like a light bulb, pinging off the disco lights in all directions.
Someone greets Nico, shaking his hand, before leading us towards a booth tucked into one of the raised VIP sections overlooking the dance floor.
Everything is velvet, the lighting is much lower, and the seating area looks more like a big bed.
It is almost aggressively sexy – and still so loud.
It’s perfect, for what we’re planning – and, yes, I realise how bad that sounds, but you know what I mean.
The first thing we’re going to do is get our parents drunk.
They both like a drink, and Nico says the drinks are good here, so it’s not giving them anything they don’t want.
But what would be a win for us is if they drink too much, maybe they embarrass themselves a little, regret everything tomorrow, have a hangover so bad they hold both Nico and me solely responsible – to the point where they suggest maybe Nico and I go somewhere else, somewhere more our scene, leaving them on the yacht to enjoy theirs.
‘Shots?’ Nico suggests immediately once we sit down.
‘Absolutely,’ I agree.
Mum laughs.
‘You two are dangerous together,’ she points out. ‘I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had shots.’
‘All the more reason to let your hair down tonight,’ I suggest.
Within twenty minutes the table is covered in cocktails. Within forty, we’ve somehow progressed to drinking games… although, oddly, it’s Nico and me who wind up drinking the most.
‘I went to the shop and I bought…’ Nico starts, slurring his words ever so slightly. ‘A cake, a pair of blue shoes, a T-shirt that says “Hank is a legend”, a Bee Gees album, apples, a book about bees… er… chalk… er… a piece… No – Super Mario’s hat, a piece of pie, a…’
I laugh. Nico thought he was so smart, picking a memory drinking game, but not only are our parents much better at it than us, but the more we mess up, the more we have to drink, the more we mess up…
‘Ah shit,’ Nico says, grabbing a drink, knocking it back.
‘Sammie, your turn,’ Hank practically screams over the music.
You’ve got to hand it to Mum and Hank, they’re being good sports, playing along. Mum does keep flinching at the loud music though, and neither of them is drinking all that much.
‘I went to the shop and I bought…’
Oh, shit, what was the first one? I can’t even remember the first thing – and I’m pretty sure I went first, so it’s my one I’m forgetting.
‘Is it the shlue blues?’ I check. I pause for a second. Did I say that right? I did, didn’t I? I don’t know why, it just felt funny in my mouth.
Nico makes a noise like a buzzer.
‘Wrong!’
I pick up one of the shlue blots – the blue shots – and knock it back. Do you know, I couldn’t even tell you what they taste like. Just… blue.
Hank and Mum are mostly sipping cocktails, slowly, while smiling at each other across the table like an advert for romantic getaways. It’s me and Nico who are getting sloppy, pounding blue shots, hoping they’ll follow our lead. It’s not really working, but we’re having a blast nonetheless.
I swear, the music gets louder as the night goes on, the club filling with more and more beautiful people. At one point Mum actually dances with Hank, near the booth, while Nico and I watch in stunned silence.
‘Well, that’s kind of adorable,’ Nico leans into me to shout.
‘Hmm,’ I reply. ‘Do you think they’re up to something?’
‘You think?’
‘They’re whispering,’ I point out. ‘Well, they’re probably shouting, but they’ve got a… conspi… sonpira… consira… a sus vibe.’
Honestly, my words feel like they need chewing at this point.
‘Yeah, I think you’re right – in fact, are they… They’re sneaking off!’
I look and they are, they’re subtly but surely dancing away, edging off…
‘We need to follow them,’ I say.
‘Yeah, but let’s wait, so they don’t realise, because they think they’re so smart but we’re smarter.’
We are. Not that I feel it right now.
CAKE! That was my one. I should have started with cake. But the game is over now.
Mum and Hank disappear through a side corridor, where the VIP loos are. I nipped there earlier; they’re individual rooms, for any gender. Still, a bit weird that they’re going together.
The corridor at the back of the club is quieter, lined with dim gold wall lights and velvet seating areas where people can take a minute where there’s slightly less noise. We move carefully past one doorway after another until we finally spot them near the back.
They’re standing close together, just talking. Mum’s laughing softly while Hank says something against her hair.
‘Do you think they’re plotting something?’ I ask Nico.
‘Hmm.’ He looks puzzled. ‘Maybe they’re just talking?’
‘Don’t let them see you,’ I tell him. ‘They’ll know we’re up to something, if they see us tailing them.’
‘I play a lot of video games, where you have to follow people…’
‘Like a stalker?’ I blurt.
‘No, like a cop or whatever,’ he corrects me. ‘Why would I want to play a game where I’m a stalker?’
‘Why would you want to play a game where you’re a cop?’ I reply. ‘That T-shirt you let me wear, the zombies one, I want to try that one.’
‘You do?’ he says.
I nod – not fast, I don’t think, but it makes me dizzy.
‘I’ll play with you,’ he tells me. ‘On the console, on the yacht…’
I don’t know if we’re talking louder, flapping our arms around, or what, but Hank looks over in our direction suddenly, like a jump scare, like the head of the evil doll moving on its own.
‘Shit,’ I blurt, shoving Nico into the open toilet behind him. I step in with him, quickly closing the door behind us. Then I lock it, just in case they come and check, but I think we got away with that one.
‘Did they see us?’ Nico asks.
‘I don’t think so,’ I reply.
It’s much quieter in here, maybe the quietest place in the whole club, but the music still rumbles through the walls. I can just about hear people out there, having a good time, but in here it’s just me and Nico, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like anything out there matters.
I lean back against the sink, laughing quietly under my breath, adrenaline and alcohol surging around my body. I can’t believe we’re hiding in a toilet.
Nico’s still standing close – well, it’s tiny in here. There’s barely a foot of space between us.
Wow, he really is close. The kind of close where I can smell his aftershave, despite the fancy air freshener, and the blue alcohol on my breath. It’s him that is intoxicating me.
It’s hard to say when is the right time to head back out there. Maybe Mum and Hank are still there; maybe they’re still looking this way.
We probably should head out, but neither of us moves a muscle. We just stare at each other.
My breathing feels much quicker, like my chest is rising and falling dramatically. Then again, Nico looks the same, like he’s gulping down the air, like he can’t get enough of it.
Or maybe there’s something else he wants…
I notice his eyes drop to my lips, then my eyes, then my body, then my eyes again.
Is he checking me out, or is this just wishful thinking on my part?
Because all I can think about is ripping open his shirt, sending his buttons flying in all directions, kissing my way down his body – but I have drunk a lot of… blue.
The music outside dulls slightly around the edges while my whole body becomes painfully aware of how little space there actually is between us.
‘Sammie,’ he says softly.
I know, he’s only saying my name, but it triggers the butterflies in my stomach.
‘Yeah?’ I reply.
I look into his eyes, his sexy dark eyes, in that wildly handsome face. Would it really be that bad, if I just…
Before I can overthink whether or not this is a monumental mistake, because I can’t carry out my usual risk assessment, I go in for the kill – for the kiss.
Technically, I think I made the first move, but it’s like Nico was waiting for me.
His lips meet mine, and this is chemistry.
Forget volatile reactions. This is fusion, too much heat, too much pressure, two people colliding hard enough to become something else entirely and, oh boy, I can’t believe I’m thinking in science metaphors in a club bathroom, in Monte Carlo, while a sexy man is rolling my dress up over my hips.
I unbutton his shirt while we kiss. Nico picks me up in one swift movement. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as he thrusts his body weight towards me, pinning me to the wall.
On the one hand, I can’t believe we’re doing this. On the other hand, it feels like it was inevitable, like this was always going to happen from the second we met.
I’m half laughing against his mouth as I run my hands up his back, and he kisses me harder, like he’s been trying not to do this for days. Maybe he has. Maybe I have too.
His mouth moves to my neck briefly and I genuinely forget my own name.
‘Mmm,’ I groan.
This is so…
There’s a loud bang on the door, probably just someone checking to see if this room is free, but it pours ice-cold water on our little moment.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this, should we?’ I whisper.
‘No,’ he replies.
His forehead rests briefly against mine as we catch our breath.
‘Shall we…’
‘Back to the yacht?’ he suggests.
‘You read my mind,’ I tell him.
I know, we’re drunk, we’re in a complicated situation, we shouldn’t be doing this.
I know that. But the alcohol and the chemistry have hijacked my senses; they know what I want better than I do.
There’s no turning back.
Plus, we’re only pretending anyway. Right…?