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.
“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, deep in 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.
“Slayer,” one of the hostesses says in a lilting French accent, waving us through the velvet rope.
Bix flashes a smile and squeezes my hand as we walk into the transformed square. The scent of mimosa mingles with smoky incense.
Acrobats twist overhead on silks, while musicians in period costume play haunting melodies. Various celebrities, most often seen on the covers of glossy magazines, greet me as we make our way through the crowd.
Valentina catches my eye from across the square, raising her Champagne in acknowledgment. I nod but keep moving, Bix’s hand firmly in mine.
“Slayer, my man!” calls a familiar voice. I turn and find Rafe, looking completely unlike his usual surfer-dude self in a black tuxedo.
“Rafe!” I embrace him, relief washing through me. “You look fabulous,” I tell him. “I know this has been so rough for you. It’s rough for me too.”
He gives me a characteristic Rafe smile and shrug. “Yes, but you know Mom. She’s a trooper, no matter what comes her way.” A shadow passes briefly over his features.
I nod and hug him again before turning toward Bix. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Bix.”
“Hello, Rafe,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Well, if it’s about me, I know it’s all good. I’m the angel,” he says, waving his fingers around his halo of blond curls. “And Slayer here is the devil. Our friendship dates back to biblical times.”
We all laugh.
“Have you come to know Slayer’s devil side yet?” Rafe asks Bix, quirking an eyebrow. “Or is he still hiding it from you?”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen it peek out,” Bix says playfully.
“That’s just a taste of what’s to come,” I say, caressing her pert derriere. “Be warned.”
“I welcome it,” she says, giving me a look that makes my cock hard all over again. Then she clears her throat.
“So you two have known each other a long time, it seems. What were you like as children?” she asks, changing the subject as a blush colors her cheeks.
“The same,” we say in unison.
She shakes her head, laughing.
Over Bix’s shoulder, I spot Sterling in conversation with the venue director for tomorrow’s concert. His expression is tight, concerned.
“Let me take you around, introduce you to some people,” I tell Rafe. “Can you excuse us for a moment, Bix?”
“Sure,” she says, but I hear the uncertainty in her voice.
“Thanks. I’ll catch up with you soon,” I promise, kissing her cheek. “Don’t wander too far.”
I worry a bit about leaving her on her own, but tonight is about celebrating. And she is here to do a job. Tomorrow is for new beginnings.
If only I knew which parts of my life were about to begin, and which were about to end.