“This always part of the costume?” she asks.
I look down as her fingers brush the silver edge. The stone catches a flash of the fading light—a pulse of violet.
“Bought it in Paris,” I say. “At some weird, dusty bookshop that smelled like cloves and old paper. The owner said it dates back to the seventeenth century and once belonged to a vampire. Or an alchemist. Either sounded fine to me."
She laughs softly. “So...protection?”
“Something like that.”
She lets it fall back against my skin.
That's all. No judgment. No digging. Just Bix, blowing all my circuits.
And maybe...resetting them.
“I’m looking forward to you meeting my best friend, Rafe," I say after a short silence. "He’ll be joining us tonight at the party.”
She nods. “You’ve known each other a long time, right?”
“Forever. The performer you know as Slayer wouldn’t exist without him.”
Now I’m saying more than I meant to. But there’s no stopping now.
“Rafe’s the one person who lets me be…whatever version of myself I need to be that day. He doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t try to manage me, doesn’t need me to perform.”
She’s quiet, listening.
“He’s arriving late because his mom’s dying.”
There it is, naked and awful. I feel my breath hitch in my chest just from saying it out loud.
Bix’s eyes soften. “How terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Mrs. Tyson was more of a parent to me than my actual parents. You know how some people feed you canned soup when you’re sick and others make you homemade chicken broth and check you every hour for a fever?”
Bix nods. “That was my Grandmother Lola for me and Hilary.” Her phone buzzes. After glancing it, she groans.
“That was Milo. He sent me a photo of the dress he wants me to wear tonight, and he’s warning me to start getting ready now.”
“Better snap to it,” I tease. “Clearly you need all the extra beauty time you can get.”
CHAPTER 39
SLAYER
As evening falls, I shower and dress quickly while Bix finishes getting ready for the party. While I wait, I step out onto the terrace and look down at the pool, now illuminated electric blue under the velvet night sky.
Instead of the sunbeds, workers have now set up small round dinner tables at the pool’s periphery, with glowing candles and sparkling silverware.
Couples lean close, Champagne flutes catching the light. They all look happy and incredibly in love—at least from this distance, the cynic in me observes.
In my twenty years in the industry, I’ve seen more than a few perfect couples fall apart under the spotlight.
But for me, tonight is different. Tonight, I’m not just contemplating someone else’s happiness.
I'm contemplating my own. And allowing myself to think that Bix may be part of my future.
I turn as I hear the French doors open, and Bix joins me on the terrace.
