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May, 1982
The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting the city of London in that peculiar golden light that made everything feel just a little more glamorous, just a little more cinematic. Inside one of the city’s most exclusive private restaurants, Duran Duran had just finished an intense but satisfying lunch. The album Rio had been out for a few days now, they were reeling from its success. They weren’t accustomed to this level of attention, but they certainly weren’t complaining. Their image, their sound, their carefully crafted personas had all collided in a perfect storm, and they were riding the wave.
Simon, as always, was in the midst of an animated conversation, gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke, a smile never far from his lips. The rest of the band sat around the table, content to let him take the lead, though each one had their own thoughts on the future. The early success of Rio had set a high bar, and they were already thinking about the next album. But for now, they allowed themselves to relax, to enjoy a quiet moment away from the relentless buzz of the music industry.
It was at that moment that the door to the private dining room opened, and in walked a group of musicians—The Velvet Reverie. Dressed in a mix of sharp suits and flowing, bohemian-inspired attire, they exuded an effortless cool. Their presence was commanding, but not overtly so. They had the air of people who knew exactly who they were, who didn’t need to prove anything.
Simon, always one to appreciate good company, immediately waved them over with a broad smile.
“Oi! Come join us,” Simon called out, his voice loud and exuberant, drawing the attention of the rest of the band. “We’ve got a private table, but there’s always room for more.”
The Velvet Reverie exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and curiosity passing between them. They hadn’t expected to run into Duran Duran here, but they weren’t about to pass up an opportunity for a bit of camaraderie with such high-profile company. The group made their way over to the table, and after a few polite greetings, they settled in, the conversation flowing easily from there.
Lucian was the first to speak. “I didn’t think we’d find you here,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “Last I heard, you guys were living it up in London, riding the high of Rio.”
