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.”