4. Jaxon #2
After he leaves, I return to the piano, finding Vivienne's melody again. It's nearly complete now, just missing something in the bridge—a resolution, a connection to bring it all together.
I play it from the beginning, eyes closed, seeing her in my mind. The flash of fire when she challenged her father. The vulnerability quickly masked when he threatened her career. The sharp intelligence that recognized the cage around her, even as she fought its bars.
So different from Sophia, with her soft compliance and secret betrayals. Vivienne wears her defiance openly and challenges directly. No hidden agendas, just straightforward determination.
The melody shifts under my fingers, finding its missing piece. The bridge connects, resolving the tension into something hopeful but still questioning. Still challenging.
"That's beautiful."
The voice startles me. I turn, hands freezing on the keys, to find Vivienne herself standing in the studio doorway, looking as surprised by her presence as I am.
"How did you—" I start.
"Your housekeeper let me in," she says, stepping fully into the room. "I was supposed to meet with your manager about the Lumina campaign. He told me to wait here while he took a call."
Luke. Of course. Setting up his little chess pieces.
She moves closer to the piano, her tailored blazer and pencil skirt a stark contrast to the casual atmosphere of the studio. "I didn't mean to interrupt. That melody... It's not something I've heard before, is it?"
"It's new," I admit, studying her. "Still working on it."
"It's..." She searches for the word. "Honest. Raw. Not what I expected from the king of carefully constructed public personas."
The assessment is too accurate for comfort. I close the piano lid, creating a barrier between my vulnerability and her perceptive gaze.
"What did Luke tell you about this meeting?" I ask.
"That you wanted to discuss a potential collaboration with the Lumina campaign. That you might have a proposal that would benefit us both." She raises an eyebrow. "But judging by your expression, that's not entirely accurate."
"Not entirely, no."
She crosses her arms, wariness replacing curiosity. "Then what am I really doing here, Jaxon?"
I should lie. Should maintain the careful distance I've cultivated from everyone in my life except Lily. But something about Vivienne Clarke makes me want to break my own rules.
"Luke thinks we should fake a relationship," I say bluntly. "I need family-friendly respectability to keep custody of Lily. You need independence from your father's control. On paper, it's mutually beneficial."
Her eyes widen, then narrow. "And what do you think?"
"I think we barely know each other. I think you're my brother's ex, which complicates things. I think it's manipulative and calculated and exactly the kind of PR game I usually avoid."
"But?" she prompts, hearing the unspoken word.
"But I also think Zackery Dean is trying to take Lily from me. And your father is trying to derail your career. And maybe, just maybe, there's a solution that helps us both."
She studies me for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then her gaze shifts to the piano.
"That song," she says quietly. "Who is it about?"
The question catches me off guard. "What makes you think it's about someone?"
"Because I recognize the feeling in it." She moves to stand beside the piano, close enough that I catch the subtle scent of her perfume. "It's searching for something. Reaching for something just out of grasp."
Her perception is unsettling. No one reads my music that accurately—not fans, not critics, not even Luke after years of working together.
"It's just a melody," I lie.
"Well, it is beautiful." She moves closer, her hip brushing the piano. "It feels like a melody about something or someone, but I don’t write songs…” Switching topics, she questions, “So, this fake relationship idea. How exactly would it work?"
I study her, trying to read behind the careful neutrality of her expression. "Public appearances. Some strategic photos. A carefully crafted narrative of the reformed rockstar and the career-focused heiress finding an unexpected connection."
"And the benefits?"
"For me, keeping Lily. For you..." I hesitate. "Independence. Leverage with your father. The Lumina account secured under your leadership."
She raises an eyebrow. "You'd use your influence with Gerald for that?"
"If that's what you want."
She's silent for a long moment, considering. Then, "Play it again."
"What?"
"The song. The new one. Play it again."
I hesitate, then open the piano lid and position my fingers on the keys. The melody flows, more confident now that it's found its resolution. I lose myself in it again, in the story it tells of fire and determination, of connection, unexpected and challenging.
When I finish, I look up to find her watching me with an expression I can't decipher—something between wonder and wariness.
"It's about me, isn't it?" she asks softly. "The melody. You wrote it after we met."
The question hangs between us, demanding truth. I could lie. Should lie. But something in her eyes pulls honesty from me.
"Yes."
The admission changes something in the air between us. Makes it heavier, charged with possibility.
"Why?" she asks.
"I don't know," I admit. "Something about you...challenges me. Interests me. I can't explain it."
She takes a step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "That complicates your fake relationship proposal, doesn't it?"
"Considerably."
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The tension between us builds, electric and unexpected.
"I should probably leave," she says, not moving.
"Probably," I agree, also staying exactly where I am.
The air between us thickens with unspoken possibilities. With attraction neither of us expected or invited.
"Luke set this up," she says suddenly. "He engineered this meeting."
"Without question."
"That should bother me more than it does."
I stand, eliminating the barrier of the piano between us. "What does bother you, Vivienne?"
"That I'm actually considering your ridiculous proposal." Her eyes hold mine, challenging. "That despite all the logical reasons to walk away, I'm still standing here."
The air between us thickens with unspoken possibilities. With attraction neither of us expected or invited.
She’s close enough now that I can see the faint rise and fall of her chest, the way her pulse flutters at her throat. My fingers twitch at my sides, wanting to touch, to explore, to see if her skin is as warm as it looks.
"I should go," she whispers, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. Her gaze flickers to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and fuck if that doesn’t make my pulse jackknife.
"You should," I agree, my voice rougher than I intended. I brace my hands against the edge of the piano behind her, caging her in. "But you won’t."
A sharp inhale, and then her hands are on me—fisted in my shirt, pulling me down, meeting me halfway in a kiss that shouldn’t happen, that should be nothing but a strategic arrangement.
Except there’s nothing strategic about the way her lips part beneath mine, about the way she gasps when I press her back against the piano, deepening the kiss. Nothing calculated about the way her body melts against mine, her curves molding perfectly to me.