The baton lifted, and the musicians straightened, the noise slipping off into silence.
And then the room filled with music.
The strings swelled low and smooth beneath the sharp cry of violins, the sound growing, rolling through the auditorium until Nash could feel it vibrating beneath his feet.More instruments joined in—louder, heavier—the music building until the whole place seemed to pulse with it.
Nash tried to sit still, he really did, but only a few minutes in he found himself shifting in his seat again.Not restless—just frustrated.
Because from this far up, Cassie was just a dark shape onstage, too far away for him to see her face.
And he hadn’t flown all the way from West Virginia for that.
So when intermission finally rolled around, Nash was on his feet before half the audience had even stood, muttering half-assed apologies as he squeezed past knees, bumped expensive coats, and hurried down the stairs.
One level down became two.The farther he went, the dimmer the lights grew.
An usher near orchestra level glanced sharply toward him.
“Sir, can I help you find—”
“Think I found it,” Nash muttered, already sliding into an empty seat as the lights dimmed again.
From here, he could actually see her.
Not just the outline of her beneath the stage, but her.The controlled sweep of her bow arm.The slight movement of her shoulders and torso with certain passages.Even the faint pull between her brows whenever she focused on a difficult stretch of music.
Some songs Nash recognized—Christmas tunes everybody knew.The rest he couldn’t have named if someone put a gun to his head.Too big for the room, too many pieces moving at once, soft one second and damn near thunderous the next.
Then Florence Welch walked onto the stage.
Nash only knew the name because Cassie had been talking about her nonstop for the last month, but even he had to admit the woman carried herself like somebody people paid attention to.Tall beneath the chandeliers, red hair spilling over the shoulders of a dark-green gown as she crossed toward the microphone waiting near center stage.
A moment later, movement near the violin section caught his eye—Cassie stepping away from her chair, black silk cascading as she crossed to Florence, stopping only a few feet away with the violin raised beneath her chin.
Soon the orchestra began to play, low and haunting beneath the hall’s hush.
Then Cassie joined them, her first note ringing high above the music, carrying sharp before dipping lower into something richer, rougher as the bow moved faster.
A moment later, Florence began singing.Soft, then stronger, louder, rising right alongside Cassie’s violin.
But Nash only had eyes for one woman.
Not because she looked beautiful—though Christ, she really fucking did.
But because she looked like she belonged there.Like she’d been made for the stage lights and silk, to stand beside world-famous singers without looking out of place for even a second.
And still, none of it erased the rest of her.
The girl who could play mountain music with the best of them.Who danced barefoot around bonfires with moonshine on her breath and smoke in her hair.Who talked shit, ran pool tables, rode with bikers, and still walked onto a stage at Carnegie Hall like she had every right to be there.
Most people spent their whole lives trying to be one thing.
But Cassie…hell, Cassie was all of it.
The orchestra swelled around them.Florence’s voice climbed higher, Cassie’s violin chasing right alongside it, the two sounds twisting together until Nash couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Then the final note hit…and held…before falling away into silence.
And the room exploded—applause crashing through the auditorium as people surged to their feet, Nash among them, pride hitting him so hard it damn near hurt.
