She puts on a brave smile.
I chuckle. "Are you always nervous before a performance?"
"This isn't the same thing," she claims.
"But are you normally nervous?"
She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No."
"Then I have an idea."
"What's that?" she questions.
I rise, take off her gold collar, and drape an eggplant purple one around her neck. Diamonds sparkle around it, and there's only one ring. It's on the back, hidden. I bought it for her when she told me what she was wearing to record.
She reaches up and traces over it. She says, "I think I'm going to have the most expensive choker collection on Earth."
I grin. "You mean collar collection."
She rolls her eyes.
I suggest, "Why don't you just pretend you're on stage instead of in a studio."
Her face falls again. "It's not that easy."
"Try."
She blows out an anxious breath of air. "I will."
"Good girl." I slide my hand around her waist, then lead her to the front door and out to the Porsche. We get inside, and I head toward the studio. I turn the music up.
Blakely turns it off. "Sorry, but I need some silence right now."
I glance at her, and her face is pale. She has her hand over her stomach.
"You're going to kill it, pet," I reassure her.
She closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest.
For the rest of the ride, we don't speak. I take her hand and hold it, caressing the back of it with my thumb. She never opens her eyes until I park and turn off the engine.
I gently reassure, "Everything will go perfectly. Just sing your heart out."
She softly laughs. "Easy for you to say."
"Is singing still your dream?"
"Of course."
I point to the front doors. "Then your dream is waiting for you inside. You just have to do your thing."
She taps her fingers on her thigh and blurts out, "You might not like what I wrote."
"Sure I will."
She furrows her eyebrows and looks at her lap.
I turn her chin toward me. "I'll love whatever you sing. But I'm not part of this equation, pet. You need to do what you do and not worry about anyone else in the room. Understand?"