“Okay.” I lean forward to speak to the driver. “Change of plans.”
The driver nods. “Maurice just phoned to tell me.”
I lean back against the seat, my heart breaking again—for Slayer.
CHAPTER 49
BIX
“Good luck,” the chauffeur says, taking my suitcase from the trunk of the limousine when we arrive in Nimes.
As I thank him, Milo comes rushing out, taking the suitcase from my hands.“Mr. S and I have been counting the seconds until you arrived,” he says.
“It’s a full house. People have flown in from all over Europe and beyond to hear the debut of Slayer’s new album.”
I stop short when I see the amphitheater of Nîmes looming before me. “Oh my God. It looks like the pictures I’ve seen of the amphitheater in Rome.”
He nods. “Yes, but smaller. It only holds fifteen-thousand people. Just think, gladiators fought to the death here while Roman citizens cheered.”
Milo takes my hand, and we pass through the grand entrance of the arena.
“And now the seats are filled with Slayer’s fans,” I say, looking at 34 tiers of people sitting on the hard stone seats surrounding the simple stage in the middle.
“Come. I’ll take you to him.”
Milo leads me through a series of rough-hewn stone tunnels on the ground floor.
After a few moments, we reach a weathered wooden door beneath a cold stone arch. “He’s inside,” Milo whispers. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
The door opens with a slight squeak. Despite its battered doorway, the interior of the room is beautifully decorated with modern conveniences.
Thank God for air conditioning.
I peek inside and find Slayer sitting with his back to me, quietly strumming his guitar.
He doesn’t turn around, but I know he must’ve heard the door open.
I walk toward him, stopping just behind his chair.
“You came,” he says.
“Yes,” I say, stepping around the chair to face him. “I heard about Mrs. Tyson’s passing. I’m so sorry, Slayer.”
He stands and pulls me into his arms. After a moment he brushes my hair back and looks into my eyes, then hugs me again.
It feels warm and wonderful to be in his arms, inhaling his heady scent of spice and musk.
Slayer doesn’t say anything for a long while. “I’m so sorry for my rant yesterday. I lost control. Your music career is your own. It has nothing to do with me.”
I look at him, gauging his dark eyes for sincerity. “Okay,” I finally say.
"Thank you. I know you’re under a lot of pressure. But Slayer, before I say anything else, I need to know where I stand with you. I saw the headlines in that Italian paper. It said you and Valentina are engaged."
"Never believe the Italian press," he scoffs. "I thought you knew me better than that, Bix."
"The last time I saw you at the party last night, you were with Valentina."
He can only nod.
