by Amy Patrick
Music provided some distraction. Culley’s rental had satellite radio, so I shuffled through the channels, searching for something decent to fill the silent space. He reacted to none of the songs, and I didn’t ask about his preferences. If he hated something, he could change it.
Scrolling through the low-number channels that played music from past decades, I caught a familiar note and turned back to the 70’s. James Taylor’s “Your Smiling Face,” was on—near the beginning, too, which was awesome—it was one of my all-time favorite songs.
I started to reach for the volume control, but Culley beat me to it. He turned up the song until the singer-songwriter’s sweet voice filled the car.
Glancing at me briefly, he offered, “I love this song.”
I broke eye contact first and stared out the windshield, letting the memories wash over me. My father, singing to me at bedtime. The more he sang about my smile, the wider my smile grew until my cheeks were sore and my heart was full. I’d drifted off to sleep in perfect peace after he sang the final notes and kissed my cheek.
“You’re a fan as well, I see,” Culley said when the song ended.
I let my expression drop immediately—I didn’t even realize I’d been smiling. Shifting uncomfortably, I said, “Yeah. I like it. I’m surprised you know it—it’s old.”
He nodded. “I remember it from when I was a kid.”
Without me inviting him to continue, he did. “I was twelve, I think, nearly thirteen. We were riding in the car, Mum and me, and it was hot outside—it was around Christmas—we had the windows down. She’d let me ride up front with her for the first time, and I remember being all jazzed about that. The song came on, and I was about to switch it because it was oldies crap, you know, but she started singing, like, really loud. I’d never even heard her sing before, that I could remember. I left the station on and just listened to her. She sounded so happy. So different. Her face was all lit up, and she glanced over at me watching her and laughed and then she grabbed my hand and held it while she sang. I was so shocked I let her. I remember thinking...” His voice drifted off and he stopped and shrugged.
“What?”
He hesitated, but then he finished the story. “I remember thinking... we’re going to be all right. We don’t need him, Mum and me. We’ll be fine on our own, just the two of us.” He smirked and sniffed a laugh. “That was about, oh two or three weeks before she packed me off for Eton.”
The warm glaze that had gathered around my heart hearing Culley talk about his mom cracked and shattered. A dull ache replaced it. This old song reminded us both of our parents. For me it was a memory of how my dad was always there for me. For Culley... it reminded him of how his mom and dad were not.
“Why did she? Do you know?”
He darted a glance at me and then went back to watching the road ahead. “I dunno. World class education, expand my horizons, blah, blah, blah.” He paused a long moment but then went on. “I always wondered if she sent me away because I was growing up—and starting to look like my father to her.”
I nodded. If that was true, it was awful, but it made a twisted sort of sense—if Audun and Falene had issues, Culley’s face would be a constant reminder. That was if he looked like his father to her. What if his own mom couldn’t see him as he truly was? My heart squeezed in a short, sharp pulse. It had to be so disconcerting to know that no one could see the real you.
“Culley... what do you really look like? You know, without the glamour? What do you look like to yourself?”
He cut his eyes over to me. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m curious. I know everyone sees something different when they look at you, but you must see the truth, right?”
He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. When he finally spoke, his words were cryptic as always. “You don’t want to know the real me, Angel. Nobody does.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he was right. Getting to know each other really didn’t matter at this point. I would be in the Dark Court only as long as it took to gather the information I needed. After that—hopefully—I would escape and never see any of my “people” again. Becoming attached to Culley in any way wasn’t just pointless, it was stupid. This was going to be a long ride.
* * *
It was a relief to see the Nashville signs start popping up along the highway. We’d spent the past four hours listening to music, making small, meaningless remarks about the songs now and then. I was ready for a break.
“Want to stop for a little while?”
Following an exit sign for downtown, Culley pulled off the highway. “Sure. It’s late. Why don’t we stop for the night?” Glancing over at me, he added, “You’ve had a long day.”
Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but I yawned. “Okay.” It had been a long day. I wanted a shower in the worst way. I was still grimy from the wreck, and my muscles were sore. I didn’t think I had whiplash or anything, but my body was aware something out of the ordinary had happened today.
Nashville was a lot more metropolitan than I’d given it credit for. Modern buildings glistened around us in every direction as Culley navigated the city streets. In addition to charming old brick front buildings and honky tonks with neon signs, there was a gleaming convention center, massive arena, and the classic Greek revival capitol building.
When we reached an area dotted with restaurants and clubs and cute shops, he pulled into the parking garage of a large hotel, got out, and stretched. I grabbed my purse and slid out of the car. Before I could reach for it, Culley snagged my wheeled overnight bag from the back seat.
He popped the trunk and lifted his own suitcase from it. “Close that for me, would you, Angel?” he asked.
I certainly didn’t mind, but something about the look on his face froze me for a second. His friendly smile was a little too friendly. I finally moved, slamming the trunk and then falling into step with him as we headed for the elevator.
My mind whirred with fresh anxiety. In Altum, Culley and I had stayed in a suite with adjoining bedrooms, keeping up appearances so no one doubted our betrothal story. But here, there was no reason for us to sleep in such close quarters.
The elevator dinged, and the doors closed behind us. I glanced up at him. “Separate rooms, right?”
Culley’s eyes slanted down to me as one corner of his mouth lifted. “Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
I nodded and looked away from his mischievous gaze, staring instead at the lighted number panel. It felt like the temperature in the elevator rose by the second as we stood there side by side, not talking, not looking at each other. When the doors opened again, I burst out ahead of him and walked quickly to the front desk.
The woman behind it gave me a smile as big and sweet as her southern accent. “Good evening. Checking in?”
“Hi. Uh, yes... but we don’t have reservations. Do you have two rooms available?” I asked. Please please please
“Let me check.” Her long, manicured nails clicked across the keyboard. “Yes, we sure do. No doubles left, but I can offer you two king rooms, both on the fourth floor.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re on the same floor...” I started to explain, but Culley cut me off.
“That would be lovely. Thank you.” He pulled a credit card from his wallet and flipped it onto the counter. “Put them both on this please.”
His amused grin only served to remind me of how dependent I was on him during this trip. If I’d been traveling alone, I couldn’t have even checked into a hotel without my I.D. and credit cards. Cash wasn’t an option either because my ATM card also resided in that missing wallet.
Embarrassed to look like a kept woman—or a dependent child—I turned back to the woman to check her reaction. Um, yeah. She wasn’t thinking about me or the credit card or anything in the world except the beautiful guy in front of her face. She stared at Culley as if mesmerized.
“I... I... um... yes. Of course. Th
at would be...” She dragged her gaze away from him momentarily to slide his card, but her eyes kept darting up again and again to soak him in. Robotically, without even glancing at me, she placed a room key on the counter and pushed it toward me.
I let out a disgusted snort and took it, grabbing the handle of my bag and wheeling it through the posh lobby toward the elevator before Culley even got his key card. Mine had a room number written on the tiny folder holding it. No doubt Culley’s would have that plus another number—the woman’s own.
She was about twenty years older than him, but it was plain to see she’d be up for a little cougar action if he was into it. I did not look over my shoulder to find out if he was. It wasn’t my business. Instead, I pushed the up button again and stalked the bank of doors to see which would open first.
When one did, I stepped inside and pressed the four button. Culley came through the doors right after me. “Eager for bed, are we love?” He grinned.
“Apparently I’m not the only one,” I muttered.
He dipped his head, tilting it to the side. “Come again?”
“Nothing. I’m exhausted. You’re going out I guess?”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Why would you think that? I’ve had a long day, too. And we’ve got a lot of driving ahead of us tomorrow. Thirteen hours to be exact. I considered going farther tonight so tomorrow wouldn’t be such a drag, but I thought you might like to clean up and rest from your accident.”
I blinked, surprised and pleased he’d thought of it. “Yes. I really would—thanks.”
“Feel free to order room service and charge it to the room. That’s what I’m going to do.”
I shook my head. “It’s too late to eat. I’m just going to go to bed—after a long soak in the tub—my back and neck have had better days.”
We stepped out of the elevator and found our rooms were side by side. As I slid my card into the lock, Culley teased me. “Well, if you need a back rub or anything, you know where to find me.”
I gave him a side-glance and a reluctant grin. “I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t wait up.”
About twenty minutes into the most-appreciated bath of my life, there was a pounding at my door. I ignored it. Clearly someone had done more than their fair share of honky-tonking and had the wrong room.
The ruckus repeated, followed by a muffled shout. “Ava. Ava are you awake?”
Rolling my eyes toward my hairline I heaved a sigh. What does he want? I’d told him I’d be taking a bath and going straight to bed. If I had been asleep already, the racket he was making would have obliterated even the deepest slumber.
There was more knocking, more yelling. I rose and stood in the still-hot water, then dripped my way to the towel rack. A certain male model was going to suffer some facial lacerations for this.
The hotel was nice, but not high-end enough for those fluffy white robes you find in some. I wrapped a towel firmly around me and stomped to the door, flinging it open.
“What the hell do you want? I was in the tub.”
Culley’s eyes dropped and scanned down my body to my bare, wet feet and then back up to my face. “So you were,” he purred.
“What do you want?”
“Pardon the interruption. I couldn’t call you, of course, since you don’t have your phone, and I needed to tell you something right away. I’ve spoken to my father, and he requires us to meet with some people.” He paused, perusing my bare legs again. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to get dressed.”
I blinked. Blinked again. “Meet with some people? Tonight? Why?”
“He didn’t explain himself—he rarely does. He just issued the order. We’re going to Tootsie’s. It’s not far from here. Ever heard of it?”
“No. Do they have fluffy pillows and firm mattresses there?” I asked, the misery evident in my tone.
Culley chuckled. “I doubt it. But they do have some of the biggest stars in the country music industry stopping in to jam, and I hear their rooftop bar is ripper.”
Dying actually sounded like an appealing alternative to getting dressed and going out right now, no matter how “ripper” the bar might be. Death would be more restful, anyway. My shoulders sagged, and I let out a long breath.
“Can’t you go alone?”
“Afraid not. Father insisted we both go.”
I sighed again. “Fine. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.” Shutting the door, I went off to pout some more and to get dressed. All I had in my overnight bag—besides a change of underwear, thank God—was a red tank dress rolled up tightly. It was made of that t-shirt kind of material that doesn’t wrinkle. At least it was as comfortable as pajamas.
I had no idea if the casual dress would be appropriate attire for Nashville nightlife—doubtful, but what did I care? I was reporting for duty, not trying to get a record deal. When Culley knocked a half hour later I opened the door to see him freshly showered and wearing a pair of faded-just-right jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of boots.
“Did you actually have those in your suitcase?” I asked, eyeing the beautiful black cobra boots.
He laughed. “No. I went out a few doors down to Big Time Boots. Too much?” he asked.
I surveyed his look. It wasn’t too much. He looked perfect—as always—and ready to take a stage somewhere, projecting an I’m-a-star-but-trying-to-look-casual vibe.
Reaching down and to the side, Culley stood again and produced a smaller pair of boots, holding them up between us. They were beautiful—black leather with a silver studs and a red bird and rose pattern expertly stitched into them. They appeared to be my size.
“When in Nashville,” he quipped.
I glanced down at my flip-flops, the only pair of shoes I had with me. And back up at the boots. I really shouldn’t accept them. They were obviously expensive. And he shouldn’t have bought me something without asking first. But still... they were gorgeous. And smelled like new leather. And they matched my dress.
I reached out and took the boots, kicking my flip-flops to the side. “I’ll pay you back,” I said as I slipped them on, losing my balance and tilting to the side as I struggled with the second boot.
Culley’s hand came out to steady me. “You are tired, aren’t you?” He grinned. “We’ll get in and out of there as quickly as possible. And I’d recommend you stay far away from their signature cocktail, The Steve Drink. You haven’t eaten for hours, and as fatigued as you are, a strong chocolate milk would probably put you under the table tonight.”
“Don’t worry. I have zero interest in partying with ‘all my rowdy friends.’ Let’s get this over with. Lead the way.”
Our hotel was in the SoBro District, so all we had to do was walk a few blocks down Broadway to reach the clubs. Live music flowed from every open doorway, the bands visible through the windows of many of them. When we reached a lilac-colored brick building, Culley stopped walking.
“This is it?”
“This is it,” he assured me.
The sidewalk outside Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge was packed, though it wasn’t even the weekend yet. It might have felt like the past day had lasted a week, but it was still only Thursday night. Apparently that was close enough to the weekend for the Nashville locals and tourists. They were out in full force in the city’s hottest live music district.
“We’re not going to be able to get in,” I said, eying the line extending from the club’s entrance. My words were still hanging there in the air as Culley stepped forward, nodded to the doorman, and pulled me through the tight doorway.
The music was loud inside, but in a good way. My boots stuck to the floor a bit as we edged our way past the small stage and through the crowd toward the well-worn bar that flanked the left side of the club’s interior. The air smelled strongly of beer and cigarettes though I didn’t see anyone smoking.
Every inch of space on the walls around us was adorned with signed photos of country music stars past and current. As we made our way through the smiling, head-bobbing masses,
I couldn’t help but notice the women noticing Culley. Young and old, single or accompanied by a date, their eyes locked on him as if he was the last piece of chocolate on earth.
Culley didn’t seem to notice. Either he was so used to the ogling he truly didn’t see it or he’d practiced ignoring the never-ending female adoration. When we finally reached the bar, he lifted a hand. A bartender—female—nearly tripped in her mad dash to get to him and take his order. The music was too loud for me to overhear their conversation.
“What did you get for me?” I shouted to be heard over the music.
“Chocolate milk,” he said. Then, grinning, he amended it. “A soda. That okay?”
I nodded and settled back to watch the band on stage. It wasn’t one I’d heard of, but then I wasn’t a huge country fan. They were good, though—incredibly good. The other club patrons seemed to agree, whooping and clapping at the closing notes of each song.
“So... when are they getting here?” I asked Culley, scanning the crowd for anyone who looked like they might be associated with Audun—no one here seemed to have horns. It was after midnight. The bar stayed open until two-forty-five, but I had no intention of shutting the place down.
He leaned down and said into my ear. “My contact should be here any minute. Yours has just arrived.”
Chapter Six
Shots Fired
Culley pointed toward the stage where a handsome twenty-something guy in a faded red tee and baseball cap was making his way to the stage, guitar in hand. The musician waited until the band that had been playing stepped down from the tiny platform then hopped up and spoke close to the microphone.
“Good evenin’. I’m Trey.”
There was a roar of approval, complete with whistles and drunken screams. Even I knew that name and face. Trey Copley had performed on the most recent Grammy broadcast. His new song was a crossover hit on country and pop stations, and he’d made People magazine’s list of sexiest men this year. He was human—no doubt about that—but he was very attractive in a hot country boy kind of way that reminded me of Asher. The thought of him gave me a sharp, sweet pang in my chest.
