Chapter 9
Cornelia
“Another gin martini, please,” I say to the bartender. “With three olives,” I add out of routine.
I’m at West’s nightclub, Red Lips, with the whole Heptad Society.
It’s somewhere between a cabaret and a nightclub, reminds me a little of The Box, but less wild, less loud, a lot more exclusive, and bigger.
The layout is a slightly curved line, with a stage at the centre.
At one end are the bar counter and the loos, and at the other end are a few small rooms with cleaning supplies, along with the stairs that lead to the few tables upstairs and the offices, including West’s.
When you walk in, one of the first things you see is the stage, lit up like it’s daring you to go wild.
I used to spend most of my weekends here before I went away.
I know this club like the back of my hand—all the nooks and crannies, every good spot to hook up or hide. TJ and I made good use of them all.
I’ve been avoiding the London social scene since I got back, but West convinced Annabelle to get me to come out for some photo ops and promotion for the club.
Not that it needs it—the club always has a two-block line to get in.
But West says that to keep it that way, the nightclub needs to remain the place where everyone wants to be seen, including socialites (I hate the word, but technically I’m one) and celebrities alike.
In other words, he wanted pictures of me entering the club so people would think they might get a chance to get with me if they came.
I’m well aware I’m semi-pimping myself, but Annabelle asked, and to my peril, there are very few things I wouldn’t do for her.
Besides, I get to drink for free—not that I need it.
It was a fair agreement, one in which West would normally have the upper hand since, though I like to drink the expensive stuff, I’m not a big drinker (or I like to think I’m not). But tonight isn’t the case.
I’m drunk. Why? Honestly, the answer is “why not?” In the last few months, my boyfriend cheated on me with my mother, and neither of them has apologised for it.
I’m back studying something I dislike, and for the first time in my entire academic career, I turned in a paper yesterday that I’m not even sure is worth a passing grade.
The good thing is, Anthony is in New York for business, so I don’t have to worry about him judging me for getting drunk tomorrow.
The boys are at our usual booth—the best one in the place.
From there, you can see almost the entire nightclub, and the music isn’t as loud, which means you can actually talk.
I hate when the music’s so deafening you can barely hear yourself think.
Annabelle wandered off to another table to talk to some guy, and I scattered when a few girls started heading our way.
I wasn’t in the mood to witness TJ flirting with them firsthand.
I went to the loo, and on my way back, I started chatting with a guy. We ended up at the bar. He eventually bored me, so I got rid of him, but I stayed put. Given it’s the fastest way to get alcohol, and here, Laurie and Lucian can’t monitor my consumption like they were doing at the table.
“Here you are,” says a voice I know all too well behind me.
“Here I am,” I reply, turning to face Nate.
He hasn’t talked much to me since I got back. I even thought he was avoiding me. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had after what happened in Paris.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” He positions himself right beside me.
“I’m not hiding,” I reply, pausing for a beat. “I’m just making friends.”
He looks around. “With whom?”
I point to the bartender. “Him.”
Nate laughs. “Cool skirt, by the way.”
I know it’s cool, plus it makes for an awesome conversation starter.
I’m wearing an Acne Studios brown leather miniskirt with a bag attached to it (so fun and perfect for not losing anything when you go out), a grey Chanel vintage tank top, YSL black heels, a few gold chains from my jeweller, and my usual Jessica McCormack.
I also have the Conch Shell ring on the middle finger of my left hand, and a pair of 0.
40-carat diamond gypsy earrings, both also from Jessica McCormack.
“Thanks, it has a bag.” I get closer to him and open the bag to show him. “I have my keys and my cards in there.”
He smiles but takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Are you drunk?”
“A little bit,” I tell him, holding my thumb and index finger close together to show a small amount.
“More like a lot,” Nate shakes his head before turning to the bartender to order me a sparkling water.
I pout. “You’re no fun.”
“You will thank me tomorrow.”
“I highly doubt it.”
He smirks. “We’ll see.”
The bartender hands him the sparkling water, and he makes me take a few sips. I make a face of disgust at him. I’ve never liked sparkling water—I find it like a soda without the good part.
“Are you having fun?” I ask him as I look around the red… everything. The walls. The lights. The booths. And the people talking and dancing.
“Not as much as you.”
True, he looks a little tipsy, but that tends to be the standard for the boys when they go out. Except for Lucian and him, which is weird.
I put the water down on the bar counter, and while doing so, I lose my balance.
Me + alcohol = bad coordination, but luckily, Nate catches me.
We both laugh as he helps me regain my balance.
Nate carefully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I look up into his brown eyes.
His hand lingers on my cheek, warm and steady, before he leans in and kisses me.
I kiss him back slowly, the taste achingly familiar.
I shouldn’t—but this is better than alcohol for forgetting your problems. For a few seconds, my mind goes quiet.
It feels so good. Then, suddenly, someone yanks him off me.
Fuck. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“What the hell are you doing?” TJ shouts at Nate, his voice cutting through the music and drawing people’s attention.
This will not end well. TJ is drunk. I don’t know how he got drunk so quickly because when I went to the bar, he was pretty sober.
“What does it look like?” Nate responds, unmoved.
TJ shoves him hard, his nostrils flaring. “Get your fucking hands,” he points at me, “away from her.”
“Or what?”
“She’s mine!” TJ growls, lunging. His fist connects with Nate’s jaw with a sharp crack.
Nate reels back, ready to hit back, but West and Lucian throw themselves between them, while Laurie and Annabelle make their way to me.
West grips TJ, trying to pull him back, and Lucian is doing the same with Nate.
I look around. Hundreds of eyes are on us. Drinks freeze mid-air. A few phones are out, recording the fight, despite the club’s rules. Fantastic.
“You’ve lost the plot, mate! She isn’t yours anymore—you lost any claim to her the moment you slept with her mother!” Nate yells, and I hear several gasps. In the shock of the moment, Lucian loses his grip on Nate, and Nate lunges, swinging a punch at TJ. “You disgust me! She deserves better!”
Quickly, Lucian regains his hold on Nate, yanking him back before the fist lands.
I—I want to cry, but I force my tears back. Of all the ways I’d imagined this coming out, this is worse than anything I imagine.
“Who, you?” TJ mocks.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Nate shoots back, his lips curling with satisfaction. He may not have landed the hit, but he’s landed another one, and it hits harder than the punch ever could.
It takes TJ a second, but he eventually understands what Nate was implying. He looks at me for the first time since the fight began, in a way he never had before. Not with love or anger or even disappointment. Just something hollow and cold. It’s not the way you want anyone to ever look at you.
Was… was this the way I looked at him when I found out he had sex with my mother?
I—I feel something wet slide down my right cheek.
Then the left one.
My hands fly to my face. I’m full-blown crying, and I didn’t even notice when it started.
I don’t know if it’s the embarrassment, the way he’s looking at me, or the large amount of alcohol I’ve ingested, but my stomach twists, and I run to the loo to throw up.
Annabelle follows me and catches up with me in the stall.
She holds my hair while I vomit what feels like everything I’ve been holding in for the past few months.