And just like that, the moment is broken. He retreats to the bar, putting distance between us.
“Sterling wants us at lunch. One sharp.” His voice is all business now. “Wear something?—”
“Let me guess. Expensive? Sophisticated? Upper East Side princess?”
“Seductive is good enough. Even a bikini with something thrown over it is fine. It’s at the Caroline, a swanky beach restaurant.”
“Fine by me.”
He pauses at the doorway.
“And Bix? That topless sunbathing you were contemplating from the terrace? Definitely your call, but just know that every paparazzo in the Mediterranean has a telephoto lens trained on this hotel.”
My face flames. “How did you?—”
“You’re an open book.” With that parting shot, he disappears into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sink onto the sofa, equal parts mortified and intrigued. This weekend is going to be even more complicated than I thought.
CHAPTER 25
BIX
There’s plenty of time before lunch, and I’m eager to leave the Dark Prince to his brooding, so after a few minutes I exit the suite and make my way down to reception.
“Maurice, hi,” I say once I reach the concierge desk. “I’d like to see the village. Is it far?”
“Just five minutes, mademoiselle.” He offers a warm smile. “Take the steps leading down from the pool, and you’ll be there in no time. The Friday market is quite charming.”
“Thanks. I could use some fresh air.”
Two minutes later, I pass the coconut-scented sunbathers lounging around the pool.
A few pair of sunglasses discreetly flip up as I walk by. Are they wondering who I am? Do they recognize me as Slayer’s latest conquest?
Conquest. The very word makes my cheeks warm. I think back to that first night when Slayer shared such passionate kisses...and how much I wanted to be his conquest.
The sound of my name wakes me from my daydreaming.
“Ms. Bismark, the village is just that way,” the handsome guard in black is saying as he opens a security gate for me.
“How did you know who I was?”
“It is my job to know every guest here,” he explains with a professional smile. “You will find the gate that leads to the village near the bottom step. Enjoy your day, mademoiselle.”
“You too.”
I love this gorgeous hotel where everyone knows my name and anticipates my every wish. I could grow used to this life, even if it’s built on pretense.
Once I’m out of the hotel grounds, I follow the winding path toward the village square, Place des Lices.
It’s small and quaint, surrounded by cafés where older men play pétanque in the dappled shade. The lazy clinking of metal balls against each other creates a soothing soundtrack.
Walking past the square, the delicious smell of ripe fruit and fresh bread leads me to the Friday market.
Vendors call out in rapid French, selling everything from local honey to handmade pottery. Tourists and locals alike meander the stalls, sampling olives and cheeses.
I’m examining a table of vibrant scarves when I hear music floating through the air—not recorded tracks, but live instruments.
