“That was ‘Hit Me with Your Best Shot,’ ” Cash huffs, “which is perfect.”
Mercy’s eyes are wide, her lips rolled in.
Maddox beams at my wife. “Nailed it, didn’t they, Slugger?”
Zara can’t stop laughing. “Doesn’t count if they didn’t play it.”
The notes move smoothly into the unmistakable rolling intro of “I Will Survive,” and I slant my head.
The pianist winks at—well, who can say what she’s winking at?—with a giggle into the microphone. “Not that one either. Where will we land?”
The crowd accepts this as a part of their playful rhetoric, but Cash tilts the neck of his beer at me in accusation. “We all know what that was, and anything about survival is more than fitting for you two. How the fuck—hell—are you doing that?”
“Doing what?” I smirk and sip my cognac as Zara buries her face in my chest.
Cash is about to lose it. Maddox is impressed. Ryker is hovering somewhere between intrigued and outraged. Jax is undone. A myriad of theories, rebuttals, and claims are spewed while I cozy up with my wife and fiddle with my watch.
The other pianist interrupts us, his fingers dancing over some familiar chords. “I see the issue. It’s Saturday night. And what time is it?”
“Nine o’clock!” a chorus of voices shouts as he starts to play “Piano Man.”
Zara’s hand smacks over her mouth, her eyes instantly brimming with emotion. She grabs my thigh, as if to convey how much she wants to hear them sing this, and then she looks at Cash. “You win. You freaking win. This is … perfect.”
Cash is victorious, but beneath his celebration, there’s a question as to what has Zara so choked up.
The rest of the family is wondering the same, but as the crowd chants the lyrics and the soulful melody of a harmonica resounds, it’s Tessa who softens and asks, “Do we want to know why?”
I’m not interested in sharing about how we mended ourselves to the tune ofFür Elisein Singapore, so I leave it to my stunning wife.
Zara shakes her head. “It’s just a reminder of how Axel showed up for me.” Her eyes connect with Tessa’s. “Love in action.”
Adjusting one of my new cuff links—which are composed of minted gold coins and were a gift from my thoughtful wife—I kiss her hair and tug her closer. And like my family does, they enhance that love-in-action sentiment tenfold by simply being here.
La Lune Noire works more magic when one of the band members revs up the crowd about our presence. “It’s a rare night and a huge treat when we have so many of the owners with us. Rumor has it, the Noires might be willing to kick off our dance portion of the evening before they head out.”
He can’t even manage to ask if they’d be interested because the reception is too enthusiastic.
When we all swagger to the dance floor, he hands me the microphone. Giving toasts is kind of our thing, even though we rarely deliver them at events with the general public or in situations that require something PG. But surrounded by my family—except for Rena and her crew—and immersed in carefree joy, I gladly address the restaurant.
“Café L’Ambroisie has always been one of our family’s favorite atmospheres at La Lune Noire, which is due to the vibrancy the band and guests infuse, so thank you for that warm reception. It is an honor to be here with all of you and my beautiful new bride.” I thread my fingers with Zara’s and kissher knuckles. “May you sing like you’re in the shower, dance like no one is watching, and drink like there’s no work tomorrow. Welcome to La Lune Noire.”
And the whole restaurant lifts their glasses and shouts in unison, “Drink and conspire!”
With “Uptown Funk” as the conclusion to our night, we grace them with a carefree jitterbug. Zara smiles ear to ear the entire time, laughing at the over-the-top moves from Maddox and Cash, Jax’s lazy steps that never miss a beat, and Remy getting down in the middle of all of us. I worried living in a fishbowl would be a challenging adjustment for her, but my girl thrives in the spotlight. She’s been thrown into the Noire life, and true to her strengths, she’s killing it.
“What’s the occasion?” she asks an hour later.
“We’re celebrating.”
“Because …”
“It’s Saturday.”
“And on Saturdays, we fly over the city?” Her attention flits from me to the Big Easy lit up below as my private helicopter circles it.
This is a luxury model I purchased not long ago. The main draw is that the cockpit is separated from the cabin, so Zara and I have complete privacy, and it’s quiet enough that we don’t need headsets. The pilot can’t hear us, but he can alert us to any issues through the com, and we can press a button to connect to him. Otherwise, it’s just us.
“On Saturdays, like every other day we get to be together, I intend to spoil you. And we haven’t done this yet.”
