“Or something? It’s pretty damn perfect. And you know it.” Krystal shook her head. “Kiss me.”
Jace looked all too willing to do that—and more.
“Okay. Okay. Wait.” Emmy Lou laughed. “I’m disconnecting now so you can…whatever.” She covered her eyes, smiling at their laughter, and ended the Skype connection. She penciled in Jace’s contribution, singing through it softly, then laughed. Krystal was right. He’d made that look a little too easy. But there was no arguing the end results. It was a good song.
“I have some new things,” Juliette said, holding the door open for her two assistants to push the large rolling clothes rack into Emmy’s room. “Try this one.” Juliette held out a long-sleeve minidress covered in reflective bangles. “It will make you sparkle.”
“Like she needs help with that.” Travis leaned in the door, a spoon hanging out of his mouth and a jar of peanut butter in one hand. “I feel like I need to put on sunglasses.” He shielded his eyes from the assortment of shimmering garments on the rack.
“Hello, Travis. What do you think?” Juliette smiled.
“It looks like someone took apart a disco ball and glued it all over the dress.” Travis flopped onto the foot of Emmy Lou’s bed and scooped out another spoonful of peanut butter.
“That is exactly what I did.” Juliette laughed and held the dress in front of Emmy Lou. “Try it?”
Travis shrugged. “Yeah, go on and blind all our fans, why don’t you?” He turned to give her privacy.
Emmy Lou slipped out of her shorts and T-shirt, eyeing the disco ball dress. Krystal wore black and red and deep blues while Emmy Lou stuck with white and silver, champagne, and a variety of pinks. Were there times she’d like to add a little color? Sure—but Momma had taught her the importance of sticking to your brand from an early age.
While other kids were in scout troops or going to track meets, she and her siblings went to modeling academies, networked with the rich and famous, and learned how to succeed in the music industry. The two most important things: being recognizable and making an impact. Emmy Lou was the only one to perfect the art of making a positive impact. As a result, the record company and their publicist made sure to keep Emmy Lou front and center on all the Three Kings ads, CD covers, and videos.
She slipped the dress on, turned so Juliette could pull up the zipper, and caught sight of her brother—tapping out the beat to Krystal’s new song on his knee, totally focused. “What do you think? She sent it this morning. But the chorus—that was all Jace.” She took Juliette’s hand and stepped onto the stool.
Juliette knelt, a few pins in her mouth. “Shorter?” Tape measure in hand, she folded the hem up, sat back, and nodded.
Emmy glanced at her reflection and shrugged. “Your call. You know I trust you.”
“That’s Emmy Lou. Miss Agreeable.” Travis’s gaze darted her way before returning to the sheet music. He leaned back on the bed, propped himself on one elbow, and read each page again. “I’d take this down an octave? For harmony.” He stopped tapping, changed the rhythm, and tapped out the new beat. “And I’d make that beat longer at the end…”
It wasn’t the first time she’d been struck by her brother’s talent. Travis had a natural musical ability, like Krystal and their father. When it came to backup vocals, bass guitar, banjo, and the pedal steel guitar, there was no one better. He’d even taught himself to play the dobro because he said it added a homegrown, classic authenticity to their songs. But whenever she or Krystal suggested he take a turn and pen them a new tune, he’d roll his eyes and brush them off. Typical Travis.
“Then suggest the changes.” She kept her tone light, knowing full well he’d shut down or blow her off if she made this into a big deal.
With a dismissive hiss, he turned the sheet music facedown on the pink-and-white comforter and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Nope. Krystal knows what she’s doing. My input isn’t needed.” He pushed off the bed, sorting through the clothes rack with quick, jerky movements. “Pretty sure I know how that would go over.”
“What do you mean?”
Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and posture rigid, he looked ready to give her an earful. Something big was eating at him. And since her brother tended to deflect with jokes or teasing or lots of alcohol and highly questionable choices, his serious expression had her complete and undivided attention. Just when she thought he’d say more, he went back to sorting through the shirts on the rack. “Nothing.”
Which wasn’t true. “Trav—”
“Forget it, Emmy.” Meaning he didn’t want to talk about it. He picked a shirt from the rack and held it in front of himself, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “Hey, disco-ball girl, stop looking at me like that.”
But she wasn’t ready to let it go—not yet. “I love you, Trav. And if you’ll let me in, I’m here. Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, stop getting all worked up.” He nodded. “I love you, too. Even if you’re a pain in the ass.”
Typical Travis dodge maneuver. “Me? I’m the pain in your…”
“Come on, say it. You can do it. Ass. Ass.” He drew out the s’s for added emphasis, then chuckled and pulled another shirt from the rack. “Sometimes a good curse word is appropriate. I thought for sure you were going to tell the photographer to fuck off when he had Brock swing you over his shoulder. Or at least, a hell no.” Travis shook his head. “I’m thinking some people are going to be offended by that picture.” He shrugged. “Brock caveman, you cavewoman. What the hell was that about?”
Emmy Lou shot him a look.
“What?” His wide-eyed innocent expression didn’t fool her for a second.
“Are you really offended on my behalf? Or waiting for a chance to slip him into conversation?” It was a rhetorical question, really. The smile on his face was answer enough. “Real subtle, Trav.”
“Good. You can change.” Juliette pulled out a white, sequin-covered, long-sleeved jumpsuit.