Page 108 of Angel

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.’