"I know we've talked about this a thousand times but... do you want to talk about it?" Damiano asks, his back leaning against the wall and cigarette smoke escaping through his lips, which form an 'o'.

Victoria glances at him, but even the boy isn't able to tell what she's trying to tell him with that. Her gaze has been empty of meaning for months now, and when there is something behind those striking blue eyes it is sadness, nostalgia or regret. Nothing is the same as it used to be, and although it's Victoria who experiences it in her own flesh, the rest of the boys notice it too. She plays the bass, but not with the same passion as before; she moves around the stage, but you don't see her wanting to be there as much. One night Thomas even offers to take some time away from the music, in case it would help to get her back in the mood, but the girl is adamantly opposed.

To take away her music would be to take away the only thing that gives her the will to live, and she couldn't bear that. Away from Max things are not the same, but she still has the escape that music gives her. True, she doesn't seem to do it as intensely as she used to, but taking away the bass would be too much. So Thomas just holds up his hands in defence, saying he's just trying to help, and even though Victoria knows this, she just sends him a guttural grunt. None of the three ever bring up the subject again.

"There's nothing to talk about," Victoria replies at last. "I dumped her, didn't I? Well, that's that."

"Just because you left her doesn't mean you don't regret it. We both know very well that it was the worst decision you've ever had to make in your life, but that's it, Victoria. You have to accept that she's gone. We all have to," Damiano mumbles the last sentence.

"That's easier said than done. Even after all this time it's impossible for me to look anywhere and not remember her, what she'd say, whether she'd like it or not."

"Fuck, Victoria. But it was you who blocked her on WhatsApp, who dumped her after telling the most important people in her life and after proving to you that she was willing to tell Simon just to make you happy. In all this time I haven't seen you try to send her a message, ask her how she's doing, if she's really happy there, tell her how sorry you are, how sorry you are that you sent it all to hell."

The Italian clenches her jaw, suddenly feeling attacked by the one who is supposed to have her back the most. "Fuck you, Damiano. You don't know how incredibly difficult it is for me to have to move on after having felt so much in a matter of a month. Nothing would change if I suddenly spoke to her, popped back into her life. Well, maybe it would, maybe I would make it as bad for her as I did," Victoria lets out a cold, wry laugh and sniffs the tobacco smell again. "Besides, she looks like a different person over there. Have you seen her hair? The people she hangs out with? Everything has changed in two months. I hardly recognise her."

Damiano literally bites his tongue so as not to tell her everything he knows. He knows that to bring up this topic of conversation with Victoria is to open a drawer of memories, good and not so good, and that it consists of constantly avoiding certain facts. "What I do know is that she would have stayed here with us if she could have. You know as well as I do that she didn't want to go to the United States. What she wanted was to devote herself to music, like you and me."

"Well fuck, she could have fooled me," Victoria laughs again. "She's in her element, huh? Surprise birthday parties, interviews, events with her little friends. She's at home, Damiano. She must not even remember us."

"You should be the first to know that everything that comes out on the networks isn't true. Look, if you're jealous because she's living the life she wanted with you, but without you, just say so. But don't blame her for you two not working out, because she was just as fucked up as you are, Victoria."

"What do you know, huh?" The Italian is tired, tired of her friend having to meddle in her life, of lecturing her. Then she stands still, her eyes widening a little more. "Have you spoken to her? Don't even think about lying to me, Damiano. You have spoken to her, haven't you?"

"Once," Damiano admits, ducking his head. When he lifts it, his dark eyes meet a Victoria he hasn't seen in days: destroyed. "She spoke to me a few days after you left her, when she was already in Los Angeles. She seemed confused and stunned by what had happened, because between that, the trip and the change overall, Max didn't know what was going on in her life. She asked me about you because she couldn't do it herself, so I told her the truth: that you were having a terrible time. She asked me to try to reason with you, but there was no way to make you see reason, so that's where it ended," Damiano sniffles and runs his hands over his face. "I guess she also felt it would be a bit violent to talk about you behind your back, so we didn't talk again. On Instagram we still have some contact, but nothing more. First and foremost I'm your friend, Vic, and I'm here for you, and I'm going to stick up for you always."

Victoria clenches her jaw and fists again, so much so that she digs her nails and rings into her palm, and it hurts, but not as much as Max. Her vision begins to blur, and she's afraid she's losing control of the situation because she hates Damiano seeing her cry. "So, why are you telling me this now?"

Damiano throws the cigarette on the ground and explodes. "Because I want to see some reaction from you, Vic! Fuck, that's bullshit. Admit you're still in love with her."

"Of course I'm still in love with her! Do you think I'm ever going to forget it? Sending her that message is the worst thing I've ever done in my life, and now I'm the one who has to bear the consequences. I've lost her, Damiano, and it hurts to watch her live the life she's always wanted while I rot here because of my mistakes."

"So, what would you rather, huh? Stand idly by without even trying to win her back? I'm sure she misses you very much too, Vic. You have to decide if you want to try again and put your heart into it, or decide if it's time to move on. But you have to do it now, you can't be wandering around the villa like a soul in pain. We need you back no matter what, Vic."

"Damiano...," the girl sobs, her chest and shoulders heaving from the tears already flowing down her cheeks. The boy pulls her to him, stroking her hair gently, as Victoria cries into his jacket. "I love her so much."

"Guys!" Thomas' voice calls to them from the living room, alerting them. Luckily for Victoria, the blond doesn't come out, so he doesn't catch her crying. "Come on in, you have to come see this."

In the last two months everything has become strange. She is surrounded by luxury, by champagne glasses, by shiny and expensive dresses, by the most luxurious restaurants in town, by the best of company. Max is among the elite and one of the most recognisable people in Hollywood, being seen in the streets and supermarkets near her home, always stopping with a smile when she is recognised in the street and trying to be friendly despite the behaviour of some people. So much so that her new publicist, Sylvia, calls to congratulate her on one occasion. Her stats keep up and even go up, mentioning her in different articles as one of the youngest celebrities with her feet on the ground, but Max doesn't see any merit in that, so she just smiles and is grateful that things with her publicists are going better.

And, although she has it all, she doesn't seem to be completely happy about it. This is all fine, she often thinks, but it's not my house. She tries hard to try to be content with everything she has, because she knows that anyone would kill to be her right now, but Max is a simple person, who sometimes likes to keep a low profile, and now, with the album being prepared and attending events every week, it's impossible to do that.

With a sigh, she looks down at her glass of bubbling cava, the views of the city glinting through the drink, and takes a sip. Gucci has launched an exclusive New Year's Eve event, and inexplicably she has been invited. She knows she's one of the fashionable people thanks to Simon's publicity for her, but she's not yet aware of just how much of an industry influencer she is at twenty-three. There is security everywhere, chefs, waiters coming to them with refilled glasses every so often, and she still doesn't know what she has done to deserve this.

She watches people from the terrace eating, drinking, dancing and having a good time. There is a DJ at the end of the room who plays current songs to dance to, and older ones to sing along to, and she seems to be having success. However, Max leaves because she needs some air, overwhelmed by the amount of people who seem to be interested in her life and, at the same time, needing an excuse to escape the room when the DJ plays Beggin'.

"Don't you dance?" A grave voice behind her asks, and when she turns around, Max has to fight to stay calm.

"I'm not a big fan of this song," Max admits, taking another sip. The boy nods and stands at the metal bar next to her. "And you, don't you dance?"

"I'm not very good at dancing. But I might make an effort if you'd dance with me to the next song."

Max smiles, completely captivated by the boy's accent. It reminds her so much of home that she momentarily forgets how homesick she feels. "And what if I don't like the next song either?"

"You're kidding, right? Everybody likes it. I know because I picked it," Max sends him a 'really?' look and the boy nods, putting his scarf back in place, swaying in the wind. "We should welcome 2022 by dancing to this song. No matter how hard a moment, a day, or even a whole year, it'll all be okay in the end," the boy suddenly becomes serious and promises, and something in his eyes makes you see the sincerity of his words, so Max nods.

She takes the cup and enters the flat with the boy, who pushes his way through the crowd. Max can't see Anya, Ana or Ariana anywhere, so she shrugs and figures they'll be talking to other people, so she welcomes the boy's company.

"With the next song we'll welcome 2022! It's been a special request, so we hope you like it and it gives you a good mood to dance the night away. Here we go, Up all night!" The DJ announces, blowing some smoke into the room, and the crowd can't stop screaming.

Max laughs at the irony of the situation. She turns to look at the boy, who already has a smile on his lips and spreads his arms to show that, indeed, everyone likes that song. She recognises Niall and Louis' voices throughout, as Harry in front of her moves with strange movements, and Max imitates him, not letting her head cloud over the fact that she's dancing with one of her idols. The people around them don't look at them, but go their own way, dancing with each other and even shouting out the words to the song, and that makes Max and Harry, who also know it perfectly, happy.

"It's been a pleasure sharing this song with you, Max. I hope the next few months are good to you. I'm Harry, by the way," the boy holds out his hand, and Max looks at him, wide-eyed.

"You're kidding, right? I know who you are," she says, smiling, but takes his hand anyway.

"Now you know," Harry grins, and with a nod, disappears into the crowd.

"No fucking way," behind her back, Anya slurs, noticeably drunk, but Max can't blame her. The night is young, she's younger, and the year is ending. She wraps her arms around her waist to restore the balance the blonde loses, keeping her glass from falling. "You just danced with Harry Styles. I bet he smells like a God."

Max laughs, because only Anya makes those comments, which become funnier when she's drunk. "He does, but it's a secret you have to keep, 'kay?"

The actress nods quickly, taking another swig from her drink and trying to regain her balance on her heels. "We have to look for someone to be your New Year's kiss. I would totally be fine with it, but I promised my boyfriend I would be his, so now I have to wait to see him. But don't you worry, with that face of yours we won't have any problem."

"Anya, shut up," Max mumbles through her teeth, aware that with the music around no one will hear her, but being cautious all the same. "I don't want any kisses, we're old enough to fool around, oi?"

But the actress doesn't even listen to her, but drags her back across the room. The girl's behaviour is extremely childish, but all around her, Max realises, everyone is acting the same. Alcohol runs through their veins, the music is good and they're surrounded by friends, so who cares what they're doing? Anya laughs from time to time, especially when she bumps into someone, and instead of scolding her they laugh with her.

Anya jumps when she spots Lauren talking to two other girls. She looks stunning in a red dress that perfectly hugs her curves and matches her red lipstick. Anya catches Lauren's eye, who turns and smiles broadly at them, and Max's breath catches in her throat as she waves, but Anya doesn't notice.

"How drunk are you?" Anya asks, not pronouncing the words too well but sober enough to ask that question.

Lauren laughs, a glass in her hand. "Not as drunk as you, certainly," she then turns to Max. "Do you get to play caretaker?"

"It just seems like, one way or another, she always finds me along the way," Max shrugs, tapping Anya's back, and Lauren smiles knowingly.

"Look, Lauren, isn't it New Year's tradition to kiss each other? Well, Max says she doesn't want to. You tell her she's a goody two-shoes, she'll be tired of hearing it from me by now."

Anya leans dramatically against one of the shelves, but her momentary dizziness doesn't stop her from continuing to drink from whatever is in her glass. Lauren looks at Max, and the latter can almost notice the sadness in Lauren's green orbs, who purses her lips in guilt, to which Max sighs. The Miami girl is far from knowing that Max is 'goody two-shoes' as Anya puts it, but rather that when she came to America she was head over heels in love with Victoria, and the fact that Max hasn't rebuilt her life with everything she has available can only indicate one thing to Lauren: Max still has the Italian on her mind.

"Well, not everyone believes in that tradition —you believe in it, what's it changed you to do it year after year?"

"Well, look, Queen's Gambit has come out, I've shot a film, I've been nominated for—"

"Okay, okay, we get it," Max interrupts her, holding her hands to her temples, feigning annoyance.

The image of Victoria still occasionally dances in her head, there's no point in denying it. She still remembers the trace of her fingers on her hips, the softness of her caresses, her lips on any part of her body, and she shudders at times. She remembers her smile, the intensity of her look and her melodious laugh, and even though it's been more than two months since she's had an image of it all physically, her stomach still turns when she remembers her or when she sees pictures.

But she has to move on. Victoria is gone, and if in two months she hasn't reflected that she wants her back, it's too late. Their lives are separate and Max has to do nothing but accept that what is gone is not coming back. She tries, again and again, and promises herself to try harder, but nothing will erase the image of the Italian woman from her mind if it's not herself. So she sighs regretfully and turns to Anya, who runs her fingertip over the glass, as if trying to make a sound.

"All right, come on. A kiss is a kiss, right? If it's worked so well for you, maybe that's what it takes for me to have a good year," Anya gives another little jump of joy, grabbing her by the shoulders, as if glad to have broken down the walls in Max's heart, who rolls her eyes but takes refuge in her embrace.

"It'll be fun! Besides, you'll be able to say you kissed a celebrity!"

"She's already famous, Anya," Lauren reminds her, giving her a playful slap. "Maybe it's the other person who says they're lucky to kiss her."

Max turns around, suddenly a little stifled, a blush on her cheeks giving her away. She has never given any thought to the idea that she is famous, but numbers are numbers. She defines herself as simple, and in her mind, celebrities are anything but simple. "You're right," Anya admits. "Come on, requirements. Man or woman?", Max chokes on the gulp of drink she takes, but Anya doesn't even seem to notice, because she continues. "Tall or short? Famous or very famous? Blonde or—"

"I can do it," Lauren interrupts her, and Anya shuts up instantly. "Clearly Max is doing it to follow your tradition, and if it's with someone she knows it'll be less violent. Unless you already have a person in mind," Lauren raises her eyebrows playfully, and Max feels a little self-conscious again.

"Thanks for saving my arse," Max mumbles near Lauren, who nods.

"Come on, then, awarded to the highest bidder. In exactly 54 seconds the clock will strike twelve, so you know. You'll see how lucky you'll get. I'll just sit here, these heels are killing me and I think I've had too many drinks to carry on," Anya complains, taking a seat.

Max is stunned when she sees that people actually take the tradition seriously. Many look around for their partners, friends or industry strangers, just to lock lips and seal the end of that year and welcome another. Sometimes the Englishwoman is surprised by the people and traditions of this country.

"It's just a kiss, don't be nervous," Lauren reminds her in a whisper.

"It's not... just a kiss," Max frowns slightly. "You know. Two months ago, I..."

"I get the message, Max."

"But I can do that just fine. It's time for me to move on, and I'm really better now. It'll pass," Max assures her with a small smile.

"I'm sure you can do it. You're very strong," the timer ticks down to 10, and Max swallows. "Just so you know, you have to promise me you won't think about anyone else, huh?"

"Oh, shut up."

Lauren gives her one last look that Max doesn't know how to interpret before covering her mouth with hers. Around them, people are silent for a broken moment, but they start shouting again when a huge 2022 comes up on the television. The Englishwoman doesn't notice, however, too engrossed in how Lauren's lips feel on hers, now resting a hand on the back of her neck to tilt her head.

"Alright, get a room, but don't leave me here to hold the candle," Anya laughs at her own joke, and the two brunettes part moments later. "Well, feel anything different yet?"

Max just stammers, so Lauren smiles slightly. "We'll see how the luck thing goes. Good kiss, I'll be here next year if you want to do it again," the girl says goodbye to the other two, Anya still sprawled on the couch and Max feeling stranger than ever.

"Where did you say they serve the shots?"