Page 131 of Sing You Home (Nashville Star 1)

Luke frowns.

Sal only smiles.

The band on her finger sparkles in the lights of the flashbulbs.

“It does look good on me,” Sal replies. She stares up at Luke, her glittery eyes heavy-lidded. “And so does he,” she adds smoothly.

Luke hoots out a laugh. Cameras flash.

Sal gives him a flirty smile, one laced with the knowledge that Luke’s all hers.

As they move down the red carpet, Luke tucks Sal a little tighter to his side. Holding her close is all he can do.

Because they’re staring. Everyone’s staring. At Sal. At that dress that nearly brought him to his knees.

Her beauty’s had him in a daze since they left the house. Luke can’t take his eyes off her. And it’s clear no one else can either. She’s a goddess walking. A goddess he longs to take home and dethrone pretty damn quick.

“Hey, over here, beautiful!” a photographer yells.

“C’mon, smile pretty for the camera, Sal!” another calls out.

Luke wishes he could freeze-frame this moment. His wife by his side again, on a red carpet, stunning, smiling, her hand in his.

The crowd gasps as the first raindrop hits. Photographers clamber for cover. A reporter ducks under an umbrella. Emmy Lou squeals and takes off for the nearest exit. Seth swears and glances down at his boots.

Sal tips her head back and laughs. A beautiful, joyous sound that damn near shatters him.

Then she loops one arm through Seth’s, the other through Luke’s, and tugs them down the red carpet toward the stage.

Backstage, Sal spies the glitter of the microphones, a hushed audience and dim lights as the Brothers Kincaid ready their next song. As she sidles through stagehands and producers, she’s moved, jostled, greeted with reverence.

Sal looks for Mort but doesn’t find him; instead, she’s kissed by Emmy Lou and pulled into position.

Hovering by the curtain, she peers out onto the stage and smiles. Jace has the big old bass in his hands. Seth sits around with a fiddle on his knee. And then Luke strides across the wooden floor to rest at the lip of the stage. The spotlight comes on. Getting a grip on the microphone, tall enough for him to reach, he praises his roots, salutes the city-that-is-holy: Nashville. He lets out a hoot and a holler, and instantly, applause erupts, loud as rushing water.

Luke strums the first few chords of “Sal’s Song.”

Jittery, unable to stand it, Sal screams and throws a hand into the air.

Glancing over his shoulder, not a beat broken, Luke throws her a wink.

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