“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
Her black cocktail dress hugs her curves, accentuating her slender figure.
The strapless design radiates elegance and sophistication, its silky fabric making her stand out against the vibrant blue of the pool glimmering below.
“It’s a good thing Antoine isn’t here to reprimand you,” I say, examining the details she’s added to her outfit.
“Reprimand me?”Her eyes widen. “This is the dress he wanted me to wear. Milo confirmed it.”
“You forget that he’s dressed nearly twenty years of my dates, both real and fake. No way would he permit that odd-looking cross. Or those fake pearls.”
Bix’s fingers fly to her throat. “Keesha gave me this cross for good luck. It’s from Ethiopia. And it’s worked. So far,” she says with a small, secret smile.
“And these pearls... Well, my Lola didn’t actually give them to me. But this was part of her look. And now it’s mine.” She juts out her lower lip, resolute.
“Okay, okay. I’m not criticizing you,” I assure her. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Even with not a thing on.” I draw her close, feeling the warmth of her rose-scented skin as I kiss her neck, lingering longer than necessary.
The memory of this afternoon flashes through my mind—her delicate wrists tied to the bedpost with scarves, the absolute trust in her eyes, the way she surrendered while somehow remaining completely herself.
“I wish we could have a quiet dinner down there. Just you and me together,” she says, looking into my eyes.
“I do too.” I run my forefinger along her jawline. “But we have to mingle tonight. Tomorrow is the big debut.”
At the mention of tomorrow, a familiar tightness grips my chest. After years of fighting with Sterling, this moment is finally coming.
The world will hear my new sound, my true voice. The thought is both exhilarating and slightly terrifying. What if they reject it? What if Sterling was right all along?
“Hey,” Bix says softly. “It’s going to be amazing tomorrow. They’ll love it because it’s real.”
Her face swims into focus before my eyes.This woman.She sees through the Slayer persona to the parts of me I’d forgotten existed.
As we leave the suite and walk toward the Place des Lices, I realize I’ve wanted Bix from the moment I saw her,
Since that night at the noodle bar when she thought I was just Sam Slater, not the Dark Prince of the tabloids.
It wasn’t just her delicious, compact body that attracted me. It was her joie de vivre. Her spirit. The way she radiates a thirst for life.
The thirst I once had. But lost along the way.
Bix is so damn easy to talk to. Fun. At their best, our moments together are playful and relaxed—not a negotiation like most of the conversations I’ve had with previous wives and girlfriends.
And after the intoxicating moments we shared just hours ago, after discovering her openness to explore my secret pleasures… Well, something has shifted.
She didn’t flinch at the ropes. Bix didn’t judge. Didn’t try to psychoanalyze. She simply met me there, curious and willing.
The debut of my new album, my new sound, has been the most important thing on my mind for years. But now Bix and the future we could have together has pushed to the forefront.
The plush turtle she brought back to the hotel. The way she laughed when I improvised a melody about Oscar on my guitar.
These moments feel more significant than any album release, at least at this moment.
The Place des Lices comes into view, transformed beyond recognition. Medieval-inspired archways frame the entrance, and fire dancers cast dramatic shadows against ancient plane trees now draped with thousands of tiny lights.
The 18th-century fountain at the center has been reimagined as some kind of mystical well, mist curling from its surface.
“It’s magical,” Bix whispers, leaning her silky curls against me, eyes wide.
As we approach, I spot Carlos Rhodes near the entrance, deepin conversation with a group of industry executives. His gaze shifts our way, lingering on Bix a beat too long. Something possessive coils in my gut.
