Page 11 of Best Kept Vows (Savannah’s Best #6)

Sebastian

I came home late after a work dinner where Jane continued to behave strangely, which confounded me.

Get your head out of the sand, Sebastian. She’s hitting on you, and while that’s unprofessional and strange, it's not confusing .

A part of me was flattered. I was human, after all, and Jane was an attractive woman. She was smart and gorgeous, and we got along well. We definitely had chemistry, but then I had chemistry with several of my colleagues, which didn’t mean they wanted to fuck me or I them.

Did I want to fuck Jane?

Maybe want wasn’t the right word. I’d thought about it—sure.

I was a red-blooded man, not blind. But thinking about something and actually doing it were two very different things.

I’d never cross that line. Not just because I was married—though that should’ve been reason enough—but because I didn’t mix business with that kind of mess.

I didn’t shit where I ate. Too much risk, too much fallout.

Nothing good ever came out of office affairs.

Also, I didn’t find Jane attractive the way I did my wife. I wanted Lia. I wanted to hold her, care for her, and be held and cared for in return. Jane didn’t evoke anything close to that kind of tenderness.

But tenderness wasn’t precisely what I was feeling when Lia stopped me on my way to our bedroom and said, nonchalantly, that she’d gotten the job—and wanted to talk about it.

What the fuck? Didn’t she just have one interview? What kind of a job did you get with just one interview? A bullshit job, that was it.

“What do you mean you got a job?” My voice sounded sharper than I intended, frustration boiling close to the surface.

Lia stood near the kitchen counter, calm as anything, as though she’d anticipated my reaction. She lifted her chin, eyes flashing defiance. “Exactly what I said, Sebastian. I got the job. It’s an internship at Savannah Lace, and I’m thrilled about it.”

“You’re going to be an intern ?” I snapped, incredulous. “You’re forty-four years old, Lia! And you’re, what, going to make coffee? You’re a Boone, for God’s sake—you’re my wife. You don’t need to work as an intern.”

She folded her arms and met my gaze without flinching. “Three things. First—no, I won’t be making coffee. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Savannah Lace has a fantastic cafeteria, actually. Beau Bodine’s wife runs their in-house café, and she’s the one who makes the coffee.”

I knew Beau had married quietly—just close friends and family, which had surprised a lot of people considering his brother had gone all out with the big society wedding.

But what surprised me more was that he let his wife cook at Savannah Lace.

If she were an architect or held a leadership role, that would be one thing.

But working a low-level job? That wasn’t considered acceptable in our circles.

“Second, I’ll be an intern for twelve months—working across four departments for three months each to learn a variety of skills,” she continued.

I had to admit that sounded like a damn good internship for a college graduate with no experience—but not Lia .

Lia is an MBA graduate with no experience, and this is the best job she can get, Sebastian.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Lia?—”

“Third, I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you since we live in the same house.”

The way she said that got my hackles up even more. “Live in the same house? Like roommates?”

“I think so. We hardly see each other. You’re never home, and now that I’ll be working, I’ll endeavor to never be home, either.”

I gritted my teeth, tension building inside me, tightening every muscle. “We’re married. I’m your husband, and you need to listen to reason. You know how Savannah works. People talk. Nina Davenport’s reputation?—”

“Is none of our concern,” she cut me off sharply. Her voice was level but hard . “I don’t give a damn what people in your precious Savannah circles say.”

Her words stung, and fury twisted inside me like a live wire.

But beneath the anger was a sharper edge—fear.

Because the woman standing before me wasn’t the sweet, accommodating wife I’d grown used to.

She was nearly unrecognizable—fierce, defiant, the same woman I’d fallen for back at NYU, only…

stronger. Tougher. Wiser. And damn it, I admired her for it.

I hated that I did. I also resented it—because it was a force I couldn’t control.

“Lia—”

“I’ve had a long day. I’m going to bed.”

I was grateful that she went into our bedroom and hadn’t decided to sleep elsewhere.

I was also thankful that she was asleep when I got there.

We were that couple that didn’t argue a lot. We each had a lane, and we stuck to it, keeping arguments to a minimum. But these past few days, our home had become a battleground. I felt like I kept saying the wrong things, and unlike in the past, when Lia gave me a pass, now she wasn’t.

I looked at her beautiful face, which was turned to my side. I ran a finger down her cheek. “What is happening to us?” I whispered, feeling miserable.

I should’ve put my foot down and told her not to get her MBA—maybe then we wouldn’t be here, I thought bitterly, the words sounding childish, even in my own head.

But I wasn’t fooling myself. Her decision to go back to school to get a job might have sped things up, but we’d been on this path from the moment I took over Boone Metals .

I leaned back against the headboard, dragging in a slow breath.

I’d been working nonstop, drowning in it.

Too many hours. Too many missed dinners, and too many conversations left unsaid.

We were barely more than roommates . What she’d said stung—but what cut deeper was the fact that she wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t see Lia all day Saturday because there was an emergency at the factory. I wish I didn’t have to go, but I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to stay home with my wife, talk to her, and try to fix this rift that seemed to be growing between us at an alarming rate.

Now, Lia had a job. A freaking job!

I didn’t have a problem with her working—but my mother would lose her shit, and I didn’t want to deal with that .

It hit me then, the truth: I kept choosing peace with my mother over what Lia needed.

“How long before we get it running again?” I asked sharply, failing to mask my irritation as I stared at the massive CNC milling machine in the center of the factory floor. Usually humming steadily, it now sat silent, technicians crowded around its open maintenance panel.

Porter Carson, the factory manager, wiped the sweat from his forehead, clearly stressed. “At least four hours, maybe more. The spindle bearings seized up again, and we’ve got alignment issues. We can’t run any production until it’s sorted.”

“What about backups?” I pressed, already knowing the answer.

“Machine Two is offline until the replacement spindle for it arrives next week,” Porter replied, frustration obvious in his voice. “We’ve been overdue for a full overhaul, but maintenance kept getting pushed because?—”

“Because I said we couldn’t afford downtime.” My tone was heavy with guilt. Porter didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Now we’re looking at a day, maybe two, lost. It could be worse if we had to special-order replacement spindle bearings.”

“Jesus.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaustion pressing on my temples. “Do whatever it takes. Expedited parts, overtime pay—just get it running.”

“Will do, Sebastian.”

I glanced at the silent, idle machinery lining the production floor. Every hour we stood still was another blow to Boone Metals’ precarious bottom line.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here on a Saturday,” Porter added contritely. “I know you have enough on your plate.”

I released a weary sigh. “You did the right thing.”

Porter moved back to his team, already giving instructions to the technicians. I stood there a moment longer, painfully aware that I’d been putting out fires here at the factory, all while my home was burning to the ground.

I found out just how big the problem at home was on Sunday afternoon.

“Since you refuse to listen to me about working at that place, just don’t mention it to Mama or anyone else at dinner.” As soon as the words were out, I knew I should’ve softened them.

Lia looked up from a book she was reading on the back porch. It was cool here, and the fans helped. I hadn’t sat here in ages. Even this morning, I’d been working in my home office until I’d looked at the time and saw we had to leave soon for my parents’ place for Sunday dinner.

Lia regarded me thoughtfully. “How about I don’t come for dinner?”

“We always have Sunday dinner with my folks.”

What was wrong with her?

Why was she being so difficult?

How did a docile woman who always did as she was told become so belligerent?

“I don’t like having dinner there. Your mother is rude, and Coco is mean-spirited.

Your father used to be just as bad, but since he’s relegated to second-class citizen because he’s not whole , as your mama puts it, he’s not an issue any longer.

” She closed the book she’d been reading.

It was a project management business book.

“Come on, Lia. This is family.” I sat next to her, controlling my tone of voice. If she didn’t come, Mama would start a whole other line of shit with me that I didn’t need.

So, again, you’re choosing peace with Mama over Lia?

That little voice in my head was getting bigger, more persistent. Guilt bristled through me as I saw her tilt her head, her eyes sad.

“They’re your family, not mine.”

Air stalled in my throat. What did she mean by that? Did she mean…?

“I don’t want to spend any more time with them,” she continued.

“You spend time with my father,” I pointed out.

She looked at me, surprised. She didn’t think I knew. Hell, I hadn’t until just recently, which made me all kinds of an asshole.

“That’s because you all have abandoned the poor man.

You see him maybe once a month, and your mother and sister…

well, they don’t even bother with him, even at Sunday dinners when he’s sitting there in his wheelchair.

” There was strength in the way she spoke, and I was impressed with how she defended Dad, even though he’d been an asshole to her.

My wife was a fucking saint, and I had to get with it, show her my appreciation.

“Lia, I promise it will be better tonight.” I put my hand on hers, and she threw my touch away.

“Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.”

“Excuse me?” I was trying here, and she was being a bitch.

She gave out a harsh laugh. “Seriously, Sebastian, what will you do, huh? Ask your mother to behave herself? Why would you do that now when you haven’t done it for twenty-two years?

Will you ask Coco to stop commenting on my clothes, my hair, or how old I look and how I need to get a shot of Botox?

No, you won’t. So, cut this out. I don’t want to come for dinner.

In fact, let your family know that I’m done.

I’ve more than paid my dues, and now I’m not interested in being their punching bag any longer. ”

“What the fuck is going on with you?” I demanded, temper rising. “I am trying here.”

“What is it you’re trying to do, Sebastian?” She got up, and I saw she was in a cream-colored summer dress that I’d never seen her wear before. She was not in house slippers but strappy sandals with heels.

“I’m trying to fix us .”

She looked down her nose at me. “You’re out of your mind if you think you can fix us by insisting I have dinner with people I wholeheartedly dislike, with very good reason.”

I took a calming breath or rather tried to. “I’ll make sure they treat you right. Okay?”

She was already dressed up, so why was she giving me a hard time?

“Sorry, I have a prior engagement.” She paused and smiled without any humor. “You’ll understand this one. It’s a work thing. My new colleagues and boss invited me to have drinks with them. And you know how it is; I have to network.”

She was throwing words at me that I’d used over the years when I had to be away on weekends and dinners.

My head throbbed, and irritation clawed at my nerves. “You’re choosing drinks with strangers over family? ”

“No,” she replied evenly. “I’m choosing work over family. And, like I said, I’m tired of your family dinners. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

I clenched my hands into fists. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it so she’d come with me. This woman in front of me looked like Lia, talked and walked like her, but she behaved like a stranger .

She opened the porch door to go inside the house.

Panic clawed at me as I watched her slip away, my control over her—and my life—slipping right along with her.

“You’re walking out in the middle of a conversation?” I yelled, incredulous.

She paused at the doorway and turned to me, her eyes filled with rage, which I hadn’t seen in years.

“Yes, Sebastian. Because this is not a conversation . It’s you trying to control me. And I’m done with that.”

Then she walked into our home, the door closing softly behind her.

I stood frozen, breathing heavily as the silence on the porch closed in on me like a heavy blanket suffocating me. I recognized the feeling clawing at me— loss .