Page 23 of Best Kept Vows (Savannah’s Best #6)

Ophelia

A urora had left the key to her apartment with the building's concierge. I didn’t know why these women had become friends and confidantes so quickly, but they had, and I was grateful.

I unpacked like I was settling into a hotel, even though the two-bedroom apartment was nothing like one.

It was charming, cozy—warm in a way that didn’t feel staged.

And strangely, I felt more at home here, in this borrowed space, than I had in years in that sprawling house where we raised our children.

That house had become a museum of obligation, while this felt like a possibility.

It felt strange to be in a space that was mine alone after twenty-two years of sharing a home, a life, and every square inch of myself with my husband and children.

I had braced for the grief, and yes, it was there—quiet and persistent.

But what caught me off guard was the flicker of excitement that pulsed beneath it.

A quiet thrill at the unfamiliar silence, at the knowledge that this space, for once, belonged entirely to me.

I didn’t enjoy change, which is why it took me time to do new things—like getting my MBA and finding a job. I was also risk averse in general, and usually overthought things.

Why did I say that to Coco last Sunday?

I should stand up to Dolly—but I have to do it without making Sebastian angry.

Maybe I should’ve worn the blue dress, pink was a bit much.

I should’ve asked Sebastian before I bought that painting.

Will it annoy Sebastian if I invite my family over for Christmas?

So, not only standing up to Sebastian but also walking out of our home was totally out of character for me.

I texted Aurora and thanked her for letting me stay in her beautiful apartment. She replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

I stepped out of the apartment at the same time as my neighbor.

Luna had told me that her brother, an Irish twin, had moved into the apartment building while his house was being treated for termites and going through some renovation.

“Hi,” the man, who I assumed was Lev Steele, said when he saw me and confirmed my suspicion when he extended his hand. “Lia Boone?”

He had a good handshake, firm and friendly.

“Lev?”

“Yeah.”

He was in his mid-thirties and quite handsome. Like Luna, he had auburn hair and green eyes. He was dressed in workout gear: shorts and a T-shirt.

We took the stairs together.

Now, I wasn’t blind, so I could see this was what one would call hot stuff, and I wasn’t a prude, so I enjoyed it when he walked me to my car at his insistence.

Lev moved with athleticism, and I caught myself sneaking glances at him—not in a serious way, but in the way a woman who hadn’t felt truly seen in a long time sometimes did. Also, he had a great ass.

“Heading somewhere fun?” he asked.

I beeped my car, which was parked on the street, and let out a small laugh. “Not particularly. I’m going to see my father-in-law for lunch. You?”

“Pick-up soccer at Forsyth Park. You play?”

“Soccer?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He seemed to think that was a normal thing to ask me.

I hesitated before responding, not sure if he was teasing. “Not unless you count chasing my kids around when they were little.”

“Shame.” He gave me a slow, easy grin, and then looked me up and down. “You’ve got the legs for it.”

I blinked at him, surprised. Was he flirting with me?

I looked down at my simple sundress and sandals, then back at him. Lev’s expression was warm, not sleazy or over-the-top, just sincere. He said it like it was an obvious fact.

And it felt…good.

Really good.

Heat crept up my neck. “I’ve never played soccer in my life.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes twinkling. “How about you join me next weekend if you’re not busy?”

Oh?

“You know, like a…date,” he finished.

I blinked.

“I…ah….” It had been over two decades since I’d been even half interested in a man who wasn’t Michael Fassbender, and he didn’t count because he didn’t know I existed.

“We won’t call it a date,” he offered with a soft chuckle.

“Why?” The word came out without my thinking about it. I was flustered. “No…I didn’t mean?—”

“Relax, Lia.” He tilted his head and studied me. “Luna told me you look a little like Audrey Hepburn, and you do.”

I wasn’t na?ve enough to think it meant anything. Yet, I still wanted to preen.

“I better go,” I mumbled.

“So, next Saturday?” he asked.

Lev Steele was a charming, good-looking man, and I was certain that I wasn’t the first woman he’d casually complimented.

I licked my lips and shrugged. “That’s too far into the future for me to make a decision about right now.”

Was I flirting back? Good God !

“Alright, Audrey. I’ll come by next Saturday and see where you’re at.”

He opened the car door for me, like a gentleman, and waited until I was driving away before he took off. I watched him jog toward the park through my rearview mirror.

Talk about giving a woman a hot flash, I thought, amused with myself. Sure, it was surface-level, wasn’t it? Lev didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. But who the hell cared? A little surface level was maybe what I needed.

That feeling stayed with me even as I drove on the long driveway to the Boone crypt, which was what I called Sebastian’s parents’ home.

Coco had a similar but smaller house not too far away.

When I’d refused to live in a place like this—opulent and impossible to run without a whole lot of people working for you—Coco and Dolly had insinuated it was because I was oh so bourgeois .

At least I was living within my means, I thought smugly.

I knew enough about Boone Metals to understand that the company was struggling, and the family was living off of Abraham’s investments—and Sebastian feared beyond it.

He worried that his father had taken on debt, which he hoped to pay through profits from Boone Metals, which wasn’t profitable, not right now.

Sebastian had been happy, he told me, that we had a lifestyle that we could sustain.

I didn’t need to buy this season’s designer wear.

Instead, I shopped at ThredUp, an online vintage store—not just to be mindful of money, but because, as Ada had once pointed out when she introduced me to it, it was a more environmentally sustainable choice.

She had completely turned me off fast fashion.

“Hi, Pamela. How are you?” I said to Dolly’s housekeeper, who’d been working here since before I’d married Sebastian.

“The cook has made your favorite for lunch.”

“Collard greens?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

As a transplant to the South from the East Coast, I’d fallen in love with the food—from fried chicken to everything else that was a heart attack on a plate.

“Ah…anyone home…besides Abraham?”

“Miss Dolly and Miss Coco are out for a charity luncheon,” Pamela quickly told me. She knew that I didn’t get along well with the woman of the house, or her daughter, and I had a feeling she didn’t blame me for it. “Go on now, Mister Abraham is waitin’ for you.”

I made my way through the polished marble foyer toward Abraham’s quarters.

It was strange to think that after so many years, I finally felt comfortable in this house—but only as long as Dolly and Coco were absent.

Without their presence, the mansion felt less like an oppressive monument to wealth and more like a place where genuine conversations could happen—at least between Abraham and me.

Abraham’s nurse, Hendrix, greeted me with a hug at the door and stepped aside to let me through.

“I hear the lunch is a Lia special.” He walked with me to the covered porch, where we often ate lunch when it wasn’t too hot or cold. With the fan and cloud cover, it was a rare, pleasant summer day.

“Collard greens,” I told him. “How’s he doing?”

Hendrix shook his head. “Better because you brighten his mood…but his bloodwork results don’t look good.”

I patted his shoulder. We knew this was coming. Abraham’s health wasn’t getting better; he was declining and had been for the past three years. I also knew he was losing the will to live, which didn’t help the situation. After all, mental and physical health were closely connected.

Hendrix’s head moved in a slow, solemn nod.

“His cholesterol is still high, his blood pressure is unstable, and his kidney function is declining—all of which are common post-stroke complications. His body isn’t processing waste efficiently, which is putting extra strain on his heart.

And his hemoglobin levels are low, which suggests he might not be getting enough oxygen circulating through his system. ”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. “So, what does that mean?”

Hendrix hesitated before answering. “It means he’s getting weaker. His heart isn’t as strong as it used to be, and his risk of another stroke or cardiac event is high. We’re adjusting his medications, but…he’s not improving the way we’d hoped.”

I looked at Abraham through the glass doors. His once-imposing figure was thinner, his skin was paler. He still had fire in his eyes, but his body was failing him. He waved to me. I smiled widely.

“How long?” I whispered as I put my hand on the doorknob.

Hendrix’s expression softened. “It’s hard to say, but a few months at best.”

I stepped onto the porch and approached Abraham. I leaned in to hug him and kissed his cheek. “Hey there.” I took a seat in the chair beside him. “How’s it goin’?”

Abraham scoffed. “You just…talked to Hendrix…you know…how it’s goin’.”

He was a salty man, and even though he’d had a stroke, he hadn’t changed, even though his attitude toward me had.

I patted his hand. “Hungry?”

He shrugged his right shoulder as the left one was paralyzed. “They say, as you…get closer to death, the…appetite goes.”

“I’ve heard that, too.” I studied him for a moment. “But you’re not close enough to death to lose your appetite,” I declared, leaning back in my chair.

Abraham laughed, and it did my heart good.