Third thrust.
Something dislodges.
The woman coughs violently, doubling over. A piece of shrimp lands on the floor.
She sucks in a ragged breath. Then another.
Thank God.
I keep my hands on her shoulders, steadying her as she trembles. "You're okay. Just breathe. Slow breaths."
She nods, still coughing, one hand pressed to her chest.
"Nico." Her voice comes out scratchy. Broken. "Nico."
Movement to my left.
The man steps forward from the crowd.
The woman reaches for him, and he takes her hand immediately. His other palm cups her face, tilting it up, examining her like she's something precious. Something breakable.
"Mamma." The word is soft. Italian?
The woman clutches his forearm. "I'm fine, I'm fine. This girl—" She gestures weakly toward me. "She saved me."
And then he looks at me.
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
His eyes are almost black. They sweep over me once and I feel seen in a way that makes me want to vanish.
I become suddenly, painfully aware of my cheap uniform. The sweat dampening my hairline. The champagne stain on my sleeve from when I shoved the tray aside.
Invisible. I was supposed to stay invisible.
The entire ballroom has gone quiet. Hundreds of eyes fixed on me. The server. The nobody. The woman who just made a scene at the most exclusive event in town.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
Run, some primal part of my brain screams. Run now.
But my feet won't move.
Nico's gaze holds me pinned like a butterfly under glass.
"What's your name?" His voice is low. Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you lean in to hear it.
The kind of quiet that makes you very, very afraid.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Say something. Anything. Don't just stand here like an idiot.
"Kristen." The word scrapes past my dry lips.
He doesn't smile. Doesn't thank me. Doesn't do any of the things normal people do when a stranger saves their mother's life.
He just watches.
