They’re performing together. Sade sings with soulful intensity while Bix responds with her jazzy scat style.
The crowd is entranced, swaying and clapping. And Paul’s band backs them with obvious enjoyment. I should feel proud. Bix is incredible, her talent undeniable as she improvises complex patterns that complement Sade’s powerful voice.
A dark emotion sweeps over me as I spot Carlos Rhodes at the edge of the crowd, watching Bix with predatory assessment.
How dare he even cast his eyes on her?Anger flares as my muscles tense, ready for action.
And there's Bix, goading him! Twirling those pearls, shaking her hips. Leading him on like she hasn’t a care in the world.
I close my eyes a moment and try to think of this rationally. Bix is a performer, just like me. She's playing to the crowd.
Yet as I edge closer, I could swear I see some exchange between them. A secret glance. A daring smile.
This is not the same woman I held in my arms just hours ago, watching her as she slept.Bix Bismark is not the woman I thought she was at all.
CHAPTER 42
BIX
As Sade and I sing, more and more people drift towards the bandstand to watch. I spot Carlos moving closer, his expression rapt with interest.
“The man I love,” I croon, making happy little sounds to communicate the emotions in the song.
It’s nothing I can write on a piece of paper. Nothing I can explain. They’re just nonsense sounds that float out of me, sounds born of the heady feeling of realizing you’re in love.
Like I’m in love with Slayer.
“Songs are nothing but emotions wrapped up in lyrics,” Lola always taught us. “It’s the melody that matters. It doesn’t matter if you play it on an instrument or mimic that emotion with your voice. The words don’t matter one dang bit.”
The audience is getting it, I realize as I look out at them. Paul was on to something with this duet. The contrast between Sade’s soulful, direct delivery and my free-form interpretation creates something neither of us could achieve alone.
I move my shoulders, a little shimmy, a little shake. My pearls take on a life of their own.
Suddenly, everyone is on their feet, clapping. I catch sight ofSlayer standing at the edge of the crowd, his expression unreadable. Valentina hovers at his side, whispering something in his ear.
My voice fades into softness, and Sade returns. I riff on her lyrics as she sings, our sounds overlapping into an explosive finale.
The crowd goes wild. It’s as if they’ve never heard such a combination before. Maybe they haven’t.
Frankly, neither have I.
As the applause crests, Carlos steps forward, clapping enthusiastically.
But it’s Slayer’s reaction I’m searching for. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked on mine. There’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop—not just anger, but betrayal.
CHAPTER 43
BIX
When our song is done, Sade and I step off the stage but don’t make it much farther.
The crowd surges forward to congratulate us, and Paul is sending the band into their next number when Carlos joins us.
His blond hair, loose and floating above his shoulders, seems so at odds with his tailored tuxedo, just like his effusive warmth contradicts his British accent.
“Darlings, you were both exquisite,” he says. Sade looks away from his intense focus as he speaks to her.
“Your voice has such range. Such emotion. I see what I must have missed before. Next week I’d like you to audition again.”
