Page 62 of Best Kept Vows

“Sounds good. Should we say six?”

“Seven. I…I have a Pilates class until six.”

My wife was working out?What the fuck?Isn’t that what women didaftera divorce?

“I have to go, Sebastian.”

“Bye, baby.”

I stared at my phone, a sense of unease creeping in. Things weren’t right with my wife, and I didn’t like it at all. She’d been gone for six weeks now, and I was hoping we could finally talk about her coming back home.

We had our first counseling session with Dr. Ryan set up for this coming Friday afternoon, and I was hoping that was going to be a magic wand that could save our marriage—though I knew enough about therapy to know that was not how it worked.

But I’d see her Friday, and then I’d see her on Monday for dinner. That was two definitive meetings planned. This was progress. I had to believe that.

Like the rest of the business district, Bull Street was a mix of old and new. Polished corporate spaces were tucked inside renovated historic structures, and wrought-iron balconies and towering oaks gave the area its signature Southern charm.

Nigel’s office was on the top floor of one such building. It had large windows overlooking the city below; the spires of Savannah’s old churches visible in the distance.

An assistant led me into Nigel’s office—an efficient, no-frills space. A massive mahogany desk dominated one end, flanked by shelves neatly stacked with files. At the long conference table, Nigel sat with his laptop open, its screen mirrored on the large monitor mounted on the wall in front of him.

We shook hands. I declined his offer of coffee since I’d already had two cups.

“Alright, then. It looks like Abraham has talked to you.” Nigel wasn’t one for small talk, which suited me fine, even if sometimes I had to prod him to get the information I needed to have a fruitful discussion.

“Depends upon what it is you think he’s talked to me about.”

“He told you he wants to sell Boone Metals.”

“That he did.”

“Alright.” He presented what looked like my father’s portfolio on the large screen. “Let’s go through this.”

Nigel had been handling Boone-family money for decades, and his efficiency showed in everything he did.

“This is bleaker than I thought it would be,” I stated, now regretting not having asked for coffee.

Dad hadn’t just left a cluster-fucked company to me; now I was finding out his personal finances weren’t doing any better, and my mother was living like it was the old days, when she could do whatever she wanted.

“Yeah. They’ll have to sell the house,” he said emphatically, adjusting his glasses as he turned a page. “It’s too big for two people and too expensive to keep up.”

I let out a slow breath. The Boone estate was massive—a sprawling property that had once been a symbol of old-money prestige, but now it was a money pit. My mother treated it like her personal Versailles, hosting fundraisers and luncheons to keep up appearances, while my father had been reduced to occupying a single suite of the house with his nurse.

“Mama will fight that,” I warned flatly.

Nigel snorted. “Dolly doesn’t have a choice. She’s been living off your father’s investments, but the monthly income isn’t covering expenses anymore. The estate, the staff, her personal account—it’s all draining faster than the investments can replenish—it’s eating the capital, Sebastian.”

I sat back, rubbing my jaw.

“Your mother needs to get her bearingsnow. Look, I know you know that Abraham doesn’t have a lot of time left. He wants things settled before he goes; make sure your mama isn’t gonna starve.”

I’d known Dad’s time was coming, but I hadn’t let myself believe it would be soon. Or maybe I had—I just refused to face it.

Abraham Boone had always seemed indestructible, larger than life. And then the stroke had reduced him to someone smaller, quieter…less. Now, he was slipping away entirely, and I couldn’t ignore the bitter truth: I’d spent my life trying to impress a man who was about to become a memory.

What a fucking waste!

“Mama isn’t going to starve.” I’d take care of her if I hadto. “She’s just not going to be able to afford any more Dior tennis bracelets.”