February 22.
They were reserved, never hurried, almost certain they were being watched, yet both shared a knowing glance. The blonde drew near, hesitant, unwilling to acknowledge such a mistake. Together, in the hallway, they recited a love scene—Casablanca. Each did what they could to keep embarrassment from lingering, though neither feared the public nor cared if anyone saw them indulging in such acts.
Just a small laugh.
-So it's true, you've only got a touch of talent to be an actor. You could make a pretty decoration and manage some decent supporting roles, as long as you don't mind it. – Scarlett teased, making a tiny gesture in front of Billy. Her golden curls tumbled loose like a radiant cascade of desire, her mockery almost certainly part of who she was.
-I'll take that as a win. Having a woman to support me doesn't sound bad at all. I'll be the hook for business deals, the pretty face that wins hearts with just a glance. – Billy replied.
He completely trapped the blonde in a tickle war. While she tried to resist, she threw a right hook that Billy dodged entirely, laughing with delight, knowing better than anyone how hard she could hit, hammer-strong despite her grace. Even if she pretended otherwise, even if she wouldn't do anything too proper or extravagant, he had her locked in a playful hold and nibbled her stomach softly, pressing just enough to make her laugh. Billy knew her weakness was her belly, and that was what sent her into helpless laughter. In the hotel hallway, some people glanced their way—luckily, it was an era without cell phones. The bodyguard, walking just ahead, kept an eye only on the cameras, never turning away.
-You've lost, silly girl. – Billy said, seeing she couldn't move up or down. Her chest rose and fell with force, and he was certain another attack would leave her either furious or flustered enough to deny it all in foolish defiance.
-I've only got one thing to say—you're a complete idiot. – Scarlett shot back, on the verge of laughing. How fitting, how improper. She cursed like a truck driver and lunged at Billy, her face flushed. Billy bolted for his room, setting up an ambush in play, certain she would only watch the front.
It happened in a blur. He shut the door behind him, but she was caught from behind. Billy slipped her into a wrestling hold and flung her toward the bed, startling her as she fell, completely pinned by his strength. He pressed her into the mattress with another hold as she tried to wriggle free.
He bit her ear, leaving it wet.
That earned him a headbutt to the nose. Though Billy tried to brush it off, he pulled her close and attacked her mouth with need, stealing her breath. Both gasped for air, the fever of love driving them on until she faltered, the lack of oxygen too real. Billy leaned in for another kiss, sparks crackling between them—it was a festival of love, where tenderness slipped into intensity, tolerable turning unbearable.
-Let's get away, let's escape the routine. A road trip—I'd stop making music for a month just to be with you. Together. Just say we'll live an adventure, and I'll do everything possible so that we share a moment worth the joy we'll see in each other. – Billy said, catching Scarlett off guard, working her over with such intensity that she grew weak again, his touch fluttering her like butterflies, delightful and overwhelming. She was almost left speechless, nearly unable to finish. Her eyes welled with tears, sentimental and raw, though she tried to hide them, turning her face away. She was utterly undone by a proposal so sincere, so noble. That was Billy's truth—his success came from his honesty. When his emotions ran deep, he only knew how to act with equal intensity.
…
A fleeting moment, ill-timed, like a photograph.
Billy Lima's concerts had ended in Quito, Bogotá, and now Caracas. Ready for a conscious farewell, he was closing his final show in Caracas, a night that demanded depth, one of those long-lasting labors.
Golden sun, dark-haired moon—singing with power and skill. One thing was certain: when women seemed to draw near, anyone claiming otherwise was only fooling themselves.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
One takes Prozac like Tic Tacs.
Washes it down with cognac and Balzac
The other's into Arjona and Coelho
Plays with her hair, dreams of being a model
If one is loneliness and two is company
Three is like playing spies
Against the KGB and the CIA
One carries Eden in her bra
She moves so well, and so does the other
One believes in elves and fairies
The other in Prada believes in nothing
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
While singing with strength, delivering each note with precision, Billy was masterful on bass. One of the crew, working deeply behind the scenes, had his own truth to face. Inevitably, Billy had crossed paths with a young woman, and now, to his surprise, a baby was on the way—Billy was going to be a father again.
-I hate to say it, but I'm almost 30 weeks along. – Merche said through tears. She received gifts from Billy—sometimes money, a thousand pounds at a time, with nothing more than a note to spend it wisely. Other times, postcards from his tours, souvenirs—all passed through Jerry, who pressed Michael Ocklars to manage Billy's image. He knew about the situation, and when in a good mood, even sent things himself. The last time, he bought her a little red coupe.
Gifts upon gifts.
-I understand. – said Mariannette, a charming woman in every way, Merche's confidante, and part of Jerry's clever play to keep things quiet.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
I don't know which one I love more
Or which one I can't stand
I've been a liar, unfaithful—it wasn't right
But damn, it was good
And I've learned that loving two
Is the same as loving none
Golden sun, dark-haired moon
My tragedy is my fortune
Yes, loving two
Is the same as loving none
Golden sun, dark-haired moon
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
Ideally, he cared little about any of that. It was just another circumstance he lived through—everything came from his voice, his heart. What he carried in his mind and soul felt precise, fitting. He poured into song the rebellion of someone who lived day to day, smiling, enduring, turning flaws into charm—so much charm that forgiveness seemed inevitable. Fate, in turn, repaid him. It was living without overthinking, too foolish to pin down the truth, so foolish it almost looked like he had a real zest for life.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
I don't know which one I love more
Or which one I can't stand
I've been a liar, unfaithful—it wasn't right
But damn, it was good
And I've learned that loving two
Is the same as loving none
Golden sun, dark-haired moon
My tragedy is my fortune
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
-I support you, with all my heart, I truly do. – Mariannette said sincerely.
-I just don't know what to do. – Merche sighed.
-You can do whatever you wish, as long as it's a conscious choice, and you understand how hard it may be for anyone. – Mariannette replied.
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
And loving two
Is the same as loving none
Golden sun, dark-haired moon
Of course, it never works
When three halves make a whole
With more than two people
There are always more than two truths
And until everything falls
Under its own weight
I keep carrying my karma
Keep lying with kisses
🎶🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎶
He remained unbound, refusing to sink into thoughts that clouded him. He finished the lyrics, sweeping away any calm left behind, leaving only the storm.
The screams were recycled energy, filling him with life, showering him with joy and memory.
...