His Forbidden Bride: 50 Loving States, West Virginia (15 page)

I
think
people must assume I’m presenting because no one even attempts to stop us as we walk to the set of elevators that will take us directly up to the penthouse suites on the top floor. Or maybe it’s because a couple of guys from
Devil Riders
, VMH’s popular unscripted show about a southern motorcycle gang, are right behind us. As per usual, they haven’t bothered to get dressed up, or even attend the awards show, and they cut quite an intimidating picture in their leathers and denim as they crowd into the elevator with us.

At least they do until one of them says, “Hey, Nitra! Congrats on your old man’s win.”

“Thanks,” I answer as we get off the elevator. “We’re going to celebrate with them now.”

“We ain’t got nothing to celebrate ourselves,” Jake Nicholl, the show’s handsome young star says, grinning at me. “But I’m sure we’ll figure something out after a couple of drinks.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure you will.”

The show’s cast is known for their hard partying ways. I imagine there will be stories to tell when they’re done at VMH’s after-party, which is already thumping with Colin and Dad’s song when we get upstairs.

“You coming?” Jake asks, eyeing my dress appreciatively as we file out of the elevator.

Even if Colin didn’t have his own suite, I would have turned down the invitation. I can tell by the way Woods loops an arm around my shoulder and eyes Jake hard that he’s not one of those L.A. guys who gets any sort of kick out of famous guys ogling his woman.

I clasp Woods’ hand, reassuring him without words as I say out loud, “My husband and I have another party to go to, but have fun!”

“I most definitely will,” Jake assures me with a wicked grin, and I have a feeling he’ll be on to the next girl within the next five minutes. “Congrats, brother,” he says, nodding at Woods.

Woods doesn’t answer him, just asks, “Which one we going to?” when the bikers are out of earshot.

As if in response to his question, a huge bodyguard standing in front of a door on the other side of the carpeted courtyard calls out to us, “Miss Mello, right this way. Fairgood’s expecting you.”

We walk over, only to be taken by surprise when, instead of stepping aside to let us through the penthouse suite’s doors, the bodyguard pats Woods down without any warning.

“Hey, sir,” I protest on Woods behalf. “Colin invited us up here.”

If I’m expecting any remorse from the guard, I don’t get it. He just stone-faces Woods and says, “Alright, you can go on in. But you start something with my boy and I’m going to end it. Understand, son?”

My eyes widen. Did he seriously just threaten my husband?

But Woods just crooks his head to the side as if he’s nothing but amused by the guard’s words.

“I’m not your son, sir. But yeah, sure, I understand,” he says in a way that makes me feel like he’s merely humoring the much larger man.

The guard grunts, but finally steps aside so we can walk through the door.

Weird
, I think as we go in. Colin’s is the only door with a guard. Even the network party seems to think the security downstairs is enough to handle any would-be party crashers.

Still, I school my face into my best Nitra Mello when I see Colin waiting for us in the suite’s sitting area. “You won, bitch! You won!!!” I call out like we’re old friends, as opposed to people who have met exactly once for, like, two seconds at a Grammy party over seven years ago.

But I know Colin. He makes Blake Shelton look like he’s never seen a camera before, and I imagine he’ll embrace me warmly and say something about how I’m all grown up now.

Yet I stop short inside the aggressively modern suite with its “fuck you poor people” views of Hollywood. The large suite is as beautiful as you’d expect…but save for one person, it’s completely empty.

“Hello, Nitra,” says Colin. The only person here.

“Hi,” I answer, still looking around the suite. Not understanding at all. “Where’s my dad?” I ask Colin.

“At the network party,” he answers. “So’s my wife. I told them to meet me there later.”

That’s when his eyes shift from me to Woods. “I didn’t want to do this any place but in private.”

Oooh-kay,
I think as his words sink in and Woods’ hands fall out of mine.

I’d heard rumors that Colin kept his relationships out of the press before he got married because he was super kinky. And now I’m wondering how I can explain this situation to Woods without it ending in a fight.

“Listen,” I say to Colin. “I know there’s still a lot of confusion going around after I kissed Dyana in that one episode. But that was just for show. I’m not into threesomes or swinging or whatever it is you thought I might be good for when you had Sandy arrange this, ah…” I’m not sure what to call it now, so I settle for, “meeting.”

“That was a good episode,” Colin says, an appreciative note tinting his voice, “But I didn’t invite you up here to have sex with you.”

Woods’ expression goes from hard to granite, and my eyes widen as I say, “Oh, you want to…?” I look from Colin to Woods and grimace because they’re both so ridic hot, I have to admit if it were anyone but my husband involved in this hypothetical, I’d be crazy turned on by the thought of them going at it right now.

But since this is my Woods he’s talking about, I say, “Oh no, Colin. This isn’t a Terrell situation. Woods doesn’t swing that way.”

Then I rush into a formal introduction so we can change the subject. “This is my husband, Woods,” I say to Colin. “He’s a really big fan of yours…” Then I trail off yet again, because oops, yeah I heard it.

“Of your music,” I quickly edit. “He’s a really big fan
of your music
.”

But instead of taking the compliment, Colin’s eyes go all squinty and angry on Woods. “You really going to do this, man?” he asks. “How far are you willing to take this?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking between Woods and Colin with real alarm.

“He’s old,” Woods says.

His voice is quiet. But the two words erupt inside the room, blowing up my initial perception of the situation as I realize Colin knows who Woods is. He
knows
him.

But Colin jerks his head back as if Woods has physically punched him, “Okay, first you have the nerve to show up here, and now you’re calling me old?!”

“No, that’s just the way he talks,” I answer for Woods. “Because of a very long and involved story. But him calling you ‘old’ is actually a good thing, because you’re the first person he’s met that he’s actually said that about. And, oh my gosh…!”

I grab my almost-husband’s hand and say, “He actually knows who you are! Like in real life. Maybe that’s why you were playing his song on the guitar.”

“Stop right there,” Colin says, holding up one hand to me while he says to Woods, “You been playing a song of mine on the guitar? Why the hell would you be doing that?!”

And at that point I have to ask Colin, “Um, are you and Woods some kind of rivals? Did he win some award you really wanted or something?”

Truth is, save for the crossover acts, I don’t know a ton about country other than the indisputable fact that Dolly Parton is a national treasure. But I’m well aware of how vicious the music business can be even when it’s served up in a baseball hat and plaid shirt. And right now, I doubt Colin has a gun on him, but I can definitely see he and Woods—or whoever Woods used to be—have some major beef.

But Colin continues to glare at Woods as he says, “No, he ain’t my rival, he’s my half-brother. And by the way, I don’t know what lies he’s told you in order to get this close to me, but his name ain’t Woods. It’s Dixon. Dixon Fairgood.”

D
ixon Fairgood
. We finally had a name. And that’s wonderful. Even if neither Colin nor Woods—no, Dixon—seem to think so at the moment.

The two are staring each other down like a rap battle is about to go off, but I can totally see the resemblance now that I’m looking for it. Colin’s more muscular, but they’re both around the same height with the same lanky build. Also, they have the same set of crystal blue eyes.

However while Woods’, uh, Dixon’s are completely cold, Colin’s are glittering with red-hot hate.

“Why are you here?” Colin demands, his voice harsh.

“I don’t like you,” Dixon realizes this out loud, in a way I’ve become familiar with. But Colin reacts like his half-brother straight stepped to him.

“You think I care what you think of me, Dixon?” he demands, stepping towards the man I’m assuming is his younger brother in the time-honored tradition of men getting all the way up in each other’s faces. “You think I won’t have my security guard beat you within an inch of your life if you ever try to come anywhere near me and mine again, you piece of shit?” he demands. “I already told you lot how I feel about you coming near me. And I think my choice of life partner ought to have cemented my position on these matters loud and clear. Although, obviously you’re snake enough to trick this poor girl into bringing you here—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I say, squeezing between them and putting a hand on each of their chests.

“I don’t know what you think is going on here or what’s gone down between you in the past, but Woods—I mean,
Dixon—
has amnesia. He didn’t lie to me about his name. He’s never lied to me.”

But Colin shakes his head at me. “What? No. He lied to you.”

Exasperated, I ask, “Do you watch
Rap Star Wives
for real? Or was that just a joke you were making earlier?”

Colin squints in a manner so similar to Woods, it’s a wonder I didn’t recognize them as kin from the door. Then he admits, “Maybe an episode or two. My wife loves that show.”

I don’t bother to tell him we have a near 50% male viewer share and only a few percentage points worth are actually unabashed gay male fans. The rest are men who claim to only be watching the show because their wives or girlfriends do.

Instead, I continue with my explanation. “So then you know I’ve been in West Virginia for the last few years, and now I’m a doctor in real life. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true. I met your half-brother at the hospital where I work. He has a severe case of amnesia. I swear to you he does not know who you are to him, and he really doesn’t remember whatever caused this beef between you two. So please, I need you to set aside whatever happened and tell him exactly who he is. Right now.”

Colin shakes his head in denial. But then he gives me a considering look—again so similar to Dixon’s I feel a chill go down my spine. And my words must sink in, because eventually his face softens as he asks, “Dixon, is this true, man? Do you really have amnesia or is this some elaborate scheme Uncle Fred put together?”

Dixon steps forward, tucking me under his arm. Despite his confusion, his first priority still seems to be protecting me, even now.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he answers, voice cold. “I get that you don’t like me and I don’t like you. That’s old. But I can’t remember the reason.”

Now Colin looks down at me, his eyes wide. “And, oh hell, is the rest of what they’ve been saying all night true, too? You married—actually married Nitra fucking Mello?”

Okay, I get that to just about everyone in the entire world who’s ever seen an episode of
Rap Star Wives
, I’m not exactly a catch. But I feel compelled to point out to Colin, “You know that’s not the real me. Your half-brother is now married to a doctor with nothing but good intentions toward everyone she meets. Nitra Mello is a character I play on a TV show.”

But Colin scrapes two hands through his hair and says, “Oh hell, Dixon. I can’t even wrap my mind around what is happening here.”

Something is wrong, I realize from inside Dixon’s arm. I wasn’t expecting Colin to be like, “Okay, yeah, I get it. That’s cool.” But there’s something a little outsized and a lot off about his reaction.

And only my medical training keeps my voice level as I ask, “Seriously, can you please just tell us, Colin? What the hell is going on here? Why are you so upset about—?”

My many questions are interrupted by the sound of loud voices outside.

“What the…?”

But both Colin and Dixon must recognize the voice of whoever is yelling at Colin’s bodyguard, because Dixon grits out an, “Old” just as Colin says. “Oh, fucking hell…”

He turns to Dixon with an apologetic look. “I didn’t think. When I saw you down there, I called Mason and left him a voicemail, telling him off. But he must have already been in the area if he got here this quick.”

I’m a reality star, but at that moment, I feel like I’ve switched genres. Listening to both Colin and the commotion outside the door, I find myself shaking my head in horror.

The yelling cuts off abruptly, followed by the unmistakable dull smack of fist against skin.

“Fuck,” Dixon says, then, “Doc, get behind me.”

“Me too,” Colin says grimly as he comes to stand beside his half-brother.

But before I can even consider doing as they say, the door bangs open, admitting two men dressed in sleeveless leather motorcycle jackets, black jeans, and long-sleeved tees. In what feels like a strange recasting of the West Virginia diner showdown, one is stocky and older, with a full head of gray hair. He immediately puts me in mind of a rattlesnake with his weathered skin and mean glare. But he doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the younger one.

He’s larger than life. The largest, nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. With tattoos completely covering his meaty forearms and snaking from places unknown over his neck. Beautiful tattoos, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. But completely without color. A mish mash of black covering white skin so I can barely make out any of what they say.

I’m not quite sure what to make of him. Can only assume he got up here because security thought he was part of the
Devil Rider’s
cast. But I’ve met most of those guys, and they’re total sweeties in real life.

These two are definitely not.

Neither of them are blond, but I can immediately tell by their light blue-eyed squints that they’re also Fairgoods. Like tigers and lions. Part of the same family.

And I’m standing directly between both sides.

I look to Dixon, who’s staring at these guys like he stared at those motorcycle gang members back in West Virginia. Like he’s afraid they’re going to hurt me. Like he’s willing to do anything to prevent that from happening.

“Who…?” I have to swallow when my voice comes out as little more than a croak. “Who are they?” I ask Colin.

Colin answers, his voice grim and dark. “Our cousin, Mason, and our Uncle Fred.”

Then before I can respond to that bomb drop, Mason growls, “Where’s our money, D?”

At the same time his uncle asks. “Is it true? Did you really marry this nigger bitch?”