Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

“You sure this is the right look?” Inside the en suite bathroom open to the bedroom, I studied my reflection in the mirror, feeling underdressed for the show.

“You’re giving total Carrie Underwood vibes.” Imani smiled. “It’s perfect. Simple up top is needed with those sexy-as-sin, fringy boots that go to your knees.”

“Maybe some bracelets and earrings, though.” Nala busied herself with fishing jewelry from her bag. Among the three of us, her sense of style was far more on point.

While waiting for her to finish the ensemble by adding jewelry, I focused back on the mirror. I had on short, frayed jean shorts, a big brown belt, and a cream-colored tank top—simple but also sexy, especially with the espresso-brown eye shadow and winged eyeliner that matched the color of the boots.

Nala slid the bracelets on my arm next, then I swept my long hair up so she could add the dangly earrings.

“Alessandro is gonna lose his mind. Your legs are fire.” Imani drummed her fingers against her lips. “Braden couldn’t take his eyes off you during rehearsal, either. Not sure how he’ll handle being onstage without—”

“Alessandro wanting to deck him?” Nala beat me to it, because yeah, Braden had not only lectured me about my marriage earlier—thankfully at a safe distance away from Leo and Frankie—but also stared at me like he was in love with me while we’d played together.

The second Alessandro shared a room with him, he’d notice, and now I wasn’t sure how I’d missed the fact Braden had had feelings for me. Then again, growing up, I’d always found it easier to have a guy friend who was secretly crushing on me than girl friends who secretly hated me. Britt—case in damn point. Because a true friend wouldn’t sleep with your boyfriend.

“Her fancy-pants husband isn’t going to hit some guy for checking out his woman. Guys like him don’t do that.”

Oh, Imani. How very wrong you are . . . at least about this particular “fancy-pants.”

Nala chuckled, then grabbed some shimmery powder and a brush and dusted it across my chest. “Rich boy or not, he’s got some fight in him. I could see it in his eyes earlier.”

At the knock on the bedroom door, I assumed it was Javier or one of Armani’s men in the living room of the suite beckoning us, but it was Alessandro who called out, “You ready?”

“Oh, she’s ready, all right.” Nala set down the bronzer and brush. “Let’s give them a minute alone before we leave.”

I was grateful we’d be meeting Braden on Broadway in the “beating heart of Nashville” instead of riding together.

Imani swung open the bedroom door, and what I didn’t expect was to see Alessandro standing there looking like a man who belonged in Nashville and not Mr. Fancy-Pants.

“Well, damn,” Nala said, shooting a quick look back at me from over her shoulder.

Damn is right. I swallowed at the sight of my husband’s outfit that would “blend in” with our setting tonight, as I’d joked earlier in his office.

Once he’d moved out of the way to let Nala and Imani leave, he filled the doorway again, eyes flying over my outfit, and I stood there studying him right back.

Well-worn jeans. A denim button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A black cowboy hat and dark-brown boots.

“Tecovas?” I murmured in surprise while going to him. I knelt and lifted a jean leg to confirm whether I was right. “You’re wearing my favorite brand of cowboy boots.” I looked up at him while letting the leg of his jeans fall, and he was staring down at me with narrowed eyes.

That deep breath . . . Oh yeah, that was his “control is about to snap” one. I focused on his crotch and realized why it’d been that breath of all breaths. After a little awkward throat-clear from me, he offered his hand and helped me stand.

“I may have checked the label on the ones you wear all the time,” he said casually once I was back on my feet. “You told me to blend in.”

“Apparently, you’ll still be standing out,” I whispered, unable to digest how he’d gone from businessman to cowboy in the blink of an eye.

“You look . . .” He let go of my hand. “You’ll be standing out, too.”

“I would hope so since I’ll be onstage,” I teased. “Thank you for letting me come here. Keeping me safe so I can feel a little normal for the first time in a while.” I went ahead and shared what had been on my mind all day, but I’d yet to say because I was stubborn.

He frowned. “Keeping you safe is my job.”

“Right.” And buying the Dolly guitar and handpicking my ring was what? But I didn’t dare rock the boat and say those words aloud.

“Javier went ahead of us with two of his guys. Your equipment is there, waiting for you,” he said as I grabbed my brown suede purse, which had fringe that matched my boots.

“Oh, okay. Great.” I spun back around, and he was no longer in the doorway but right in my face. My free hand went to his chest.

Lowering his eyes to my hand, he asked in a husky tone, “Am I allowed to say good luck? Or is this a break-a-leg thing?”

I waited for him to look at my face again before smiling. “You can say whatever you want.”

“Can I? Anything?” He arched a brow, and why’d that feel like he was suggesting there was a lot more he wanted to share?

“As long as it’s cordial,” I said, opting to be a coward instead of pleading with him to tell me what I really wanted to hear: that I was more than just a job, a debt owed, and a chance at revenge for him.

“You don’t need luck. You’ll do great.” He took my standoffish cue and went with friendly, and I forced a polite nod of thanks and removed my hand from his chest.

We didn’t speak another word during the limo ride there. Imani and Nala, thankfully, filled the awkward silence by chatting. Pumping me up for the performance.

When the limo rolled to a stop at our destination, my heart landed in my throat, and my nerves took over—especially seeing Braden on the sidewalk, waiting with Britt.

Nala’s hand flew to the door handle. “Why’s she here?”

“Who is she?” Alessandro spoke for the first time, searching my face for an answer.

“An ex-friend.” My shoulders slumped, and at the sight of Javier now on the street with two of his men, Alessandro gave us the go-ahead to exit.

Outside, Alessandro stood alongside me and set his hand at my back as I confronted Braden and Britt.

“Hi.” Britt combed her fingers through her hair, her once-brown locks now the same shade as mine. “I came to support you. To make peace.”

“Give her a chance. Hear her out.” Had Braden lost it? Was he really ambushing me for some reunion twenty minutes before we were set to perform?

“You must be Braden,” Alessandro piped up in a clipped voice as Nala and Imani came to stand at my other side, having my back as well in this unexpected showdown.

“You must be the husband.” Braden did a quick inventory of Alessandro, right down to his boots, then flicked his attention back to me, letting both of us know he had as much interest in playing nice as Alessandro did with him.

“I don’t want you here,” I told Britt, scooching even closer to Alessandro. Right now, I needed my protector.

“Please.” Britt reached for me, but Nala outstretched her arm, motioning her to back off.

“You shouldn’t have let her come,” Nala said to Braden. “This is bullshit.”Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s a free country, and she was here when I showed up. I had no clue, but—”

“No,” I cut Braden off. “I’m not making peace now, or after. I’m going inside to play, and then I’m leaving.” I stepped forward, and Alessandro took that step right along with me, letting me handle myself, but I knew he’d intervene if needed. “You pissed away our friendship when you slept with my boyfriend. You hurt me a thousand times more than Dylan did, and I’ll never forgive you.” I pointed my focus on Braden next. “You want to forgive her, that’s your choice. But don’t ever corner me like this again, or you can kiss what’s left of our friendship goodbye, too.” With tears in my eyes about to test my waterproof mascara for the second time today, I sidestepped them both and started for the bar, following Javier in with Alessandro behind me.

Once inside, seeing my guitar and keyboard on the stage, I maneuvered around people talking and milling about to get there.

I went to brush away a tear, but Alessandro snatched my wrist and pulled me over to the side of the stage. “You okay?” he asked, still holding me. The lighting was moody and dim, but I could make out the concern in his eyes.

“Not even a little bit, but I will be.”

I knew he had questions about what he’d heard out there, but he wouldn’t probe. He let go of my wrist and cupped my cheek and swept his thumb there. “You’ve got this.” He gave me the convincing nod I needed.

“You did good, by the way. Thanks for not getting blood on your shirt when I know you probably wanted to.” I forced out a nervous laugh, needing to ease the tension.

His lips twitched into a surprisingly sweet smile. “Not hitting him will probably go down as one of the greatest challenges of my life.” When his eyes landed on my mouth, he murmured, “But the night’s still young.”

I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about Braden, but about the challenge of not taking me in his arms later.