Chapter 20
ANGEL
The Mediterranean breeze swept up the cliffside, carrying spray from crashing waves, mingling with the floral bouquet wafting from the hotel gardens.
Floodlights illuminated the grand descending stairway at Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc, turning the limestone steps into a glittering runway.
Leggy supermodels in ridiculous silk gowns crowded the terrace, struggling to squeeze five-foot trains through the narrow revolving glass doors.
They had nothing on the woman beside me.
With her makeup done and her hair in pixie-styled perfection, my wife was a dream.
I straightened my tuxedo jacket, brimming with pride as I guided Roxy down the carpeted stairs.
Her hand rested in mine, her silk gown whispering over the marble steps while photographers shouted our names from behind silver barricades.
I’d spent the last few weeks fighting my demons, but standing next to this woman made every scar worth the pain.
Roxy radiated pure grace, her shoulders bare, chin high, unfazed by the flashing bulbs and shouting reporters.
A French reporter pushed her mic toward us, her camera crew blocking the top step as the ocean churned below.
‘Angel!’ she called out. ‘Tell us about why you’re here tonight with your beautiful bride.’
I stepped beside Roxy, linking hands with her.
‘I’ve been coming for many years; we love the people, we love the cause, we love the celebration,’ I said, addressing the lens.
‘It’s a glamorous night; I get to take my wife Roxy out. We’re also here to support amfAR, a great cause, by playing a few new songs from our upcoming album, Storm Born.’
The reporter beamed, gesturing toward the marquee where auction tables sparkled under crystal chandeliers.
‘What are the Sinners bringing to the table tonight, Angel?’
‘I’ve sponsored a bespoke package on the auction block tonight. All our albums signed, merchandise from the band, ten VIP tickets to our next concert, and ten days at an Aegean island sanctuary villa, complete with super yacht transport, personal chefs, and a full spa set-up.’
Roxy shot me a playful glance, her eyes flashing under the starlight as she squeezed my fingers.
‘Can we also bid for the Greek villa, handsome?’ she teased, her voice dropping into a rich whisper, making sure the reporter heard.
‘Anything for you, babe,’ I murmured back, pressing my lips against her temple.
We were playing it up for the cameras, and they loved it.
Lenses clicked like mad as I kissed her.
We weren’t hamming up the emotion, though.
The arcs of electricity between us, the charged-up sexual tension, were all real.
‘Enjoy the gala, folks,’ I rasped, guiding my wife toward the grand ballroom where the bass vibrated through the floor.
Roxy leaned her head against my shoulder, chuckling at our horsing around.
‘You’re so chaotic, Angel Forrest.’
‘I’ll show you chaos, babe, and kiss you senseless in this corner,’ I growled, pulling her into a dark alcove.
She arched a brow.
‘I dare you.’
‘Come here.’
I pulled her tight for a deep, passionate kiss that promised much more bliss later.
ROXY
‘It’s so magical, feels like a dream I never earned,’ I murmured to Sofia, taking a slow sip of my prosecco.
‘Oh honey, you freakin’ deserve each single second of this,’ Sofia declared. ‘Evangeline put you and Angel through pure, unadulterated hell, and this tonight? This is your sweet, well-earned victory. So revel in it.’
The grand ballroom of the legendary Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc glittered with golden light from stunning chandeliers.
The aroma of charred duck breast and truffle-infused dauphinoise potatoes mingled with the crisp, effervescent notes of chilled vintage champagne tickling my nose.
Tuxedo-clad French servers moved in perfect sync across the polished marble floor, carrying silver trays piled high with pan-seared foie gras, fish, fresh oysters, and butter-braised langoustine.
Glittering crystal pendants hung above hundreds of round tables draped in white linen, where billionaires and global stars clinked flutes of Dom Pérignon and Veuve.
Across from our table, a gaggle of international supermodels and Hollywood actresses sat in front of their untouched plates.
‘Look at them,’ Sofia murmured. ‘Why are they staring at their grilled sea bass as if it contains poison?’
Sofia cut into a tender slice of langoustine, popping it into her mouth before leaning over the tablecloth toward me with a wicked grin.
‘Shame. They’re treating a three-star Michelin cuisine like radioactive waste. More for us,’ I chuckled.
I stabbed a golden truffle potato with my fork, savoring the delicious butter and garlic.
‘If I’m sitting in southern France wearing a gown that costs more than my first car, I’m eating every single bite on this plate,’ Sofia declared.
We toasted to that, clinking our glasses of chilled champagne.
‘Amen to that, sister,’ I agreed, thoroughly enjoying our course while the rest of the room starved for fashion.
The signature fashion segment of the four-hour dinner gala began as house lights dimmed, spotlighting the grand runway stretching through the center of the hall.
Top models strutted out wearing couture designs from Prada, Miu Miu, Louis Vuitton, Tom Ford, and Vivienne Westwood.
This year’s theme was Icons of Rock and Pop, with styling inspired by Madonna, Marilyn Monroe, Jon Bon Jovi, and Britney Spears.
Supermodel Elena V hosted the bidding, selling 30 custom catwalk pieces for 300,000 euros to a Swiss tech tycoon.
Then the stage went to black before colored floodlights flared, sending a wave of electric tension through the crowd as the Six Sinners stepped up to their instruments.
‘Previous amfAR gala performers have included Dua Lipa and Coldplay. However tonight belongs to our gorgeous men,’ Sofia whispered as a frisson of excitement went through me.
Angel stood at the center of the rostrum with his acoustic guitar, his smoky eyes searching the throng until they locked onto mine.
A shiver went through me as he and Jude launched into Redemption’s Call.
Levi’s violin serenaded us all over Deacon’s smooth saxophone notes.
Bishop’s bass vibrated through the floorboards while Reign created a rhythmic storm that got the audience onto its feet, including Sofia and me.
Jude and Angel traded raw, blistering lead vocals, their harmonies cutting straight through the audience with pure, unfiltered power.
Seeing my husband up there, so handsome, magnetic, and captivating as his throaty timbre echoed through the hall, made my pulse jump in my throat.
I ached with pride as he and Jude commanded the venue.
They tore through Fire and Brimstone and Race like the Wind before debuting three tracks off their new album, Storm Born.
Angel’s raspy tone devoured each line, his fingers flying over the frets as he poured his entire soul into the microphone.
I couldn’t look away, my eyes fixed on the fierce passion blazing in his face.
Sofia leaned close, her elbow nudging my arm, a playful smirk on her face.
‘Close your mouth, honey, you’re drooling all over your loan dress,’ Sofia teased, her voice bright with laughter.
‘I can’t help it,’ I admitted, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as I kept my eyes glued to my husband. ‘The man is unreal.’
‘Your heart is in your eyes, babe,’ Sofia whispered, squeezing my hand tight. ‘You two adore each other, that’s clear, and I hope you’ve made it through the fire.’
I hope so too, I thought, as Angel threw his head back as the last chord of the current song reverberated through the room to a deafening standing ovation.
We sat back down for one of the band’s ballads, and as the Six Sinners tore up the hearts of everyone in the room, sensation prickled against the back of my neck.
I turned my head left toward the front row tables.
A pair of intense eyes locked onto mine from across the vast room.
Senna Zavros sat at a front row table, draped in a tailored purple velvet blazer over an unbuttoned silk shirt that exposed his silver chains.
His floor-length dreadlocks fell over his broad shoulders.
A septum ring caught the ceiling lights as he raised his glass in my direction with a slow smirk.
Holy shit, my teenage guitar hero is staring right at me, I thought, my heart thumping in a wave of sudden disbelief.
However, the man wasn’t the same rock god I’d worshipped when I was younger.
This version of Senna was older, Botoxed and leery, and a flash of disappointment went through me at how much he’d changed.
Sofia must have registered Senna’s attention too, and she nudged my elbow, leaning close to my ear so her voice carried over the roar of Levi’s violin solo.
‘I can’t believe you’re being ogled by one of the world’s sexiest rockstars when your husband is on stage,’ Sofia whispered, blinking in shock.
‘Once was sexy, mind you; the plastic surgery and Botox are not working for him,’ I murmured back.
‘Girl, he’s hunting you down with his eyes.’
On cue, Senna crooked a finger, his gaze still fixed on me.
A mountain-sized bodyguard approached him and bent to listen to Senna, who was gesturing toward me.
The security man straightened, nodded, and prowled to us.
‘Is he coming this way? Sofia whispered.
‘Seems so. What does Senna want?’
The burly sentinel man came to a stop before our table and cleared his throat, his shadow blocking out the light of the crystal chandelier above us.
‘Mr Zavros would like to invite you two ladies to sit with him for the rest of the set,’ the massive hulk murmured.
Nearby actors and fashionistas turned their heads, whispering behind raised programs as the interaction caught the room’s attention.
‘Damn, if we refuse now, every camera in this room will document the snub,’ I whispered to Sofia through gritted teeth, my annoyance flaring at the unwanted attention. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Fine, but I’m coming with. We’ll play polite and move back as soon as we can,’ Sofia muttered, as she rose beside me.
‘I appreciate it, honey, but Senna surely won’t try anything with our men on stage right in front of him, will he?’