Page 39 of Best Kept Vows (Savannah’s Best #6)

Ophelia

“ Y ou’ll do great,” Sebastian assured me for the hundredth time as he walked me to The Mansion on Forsyth Park.

He kissed me softly, wished me luck, and ushered me into the opulent boutique hotel known for its gilded elegance and intimate luxury.

As soon as I was in the foyer, Maggie, Betsy’s assistant, came to me. “Lia, wonderful to see you again.”

We made small talk as she led me to the ballroom, where sunlight filtered through towering windows framed by heavy drapes. The gold-leaf detailing on the ceiling gave the entire space an ethereal glow, as if the room itself were listening, waiting.

Yeah, I was intimidated as hell.

I had been here before with Sebastian and his family for some social event, but it wasn’t the kind of place I came to on a weekend afternoon for high tea or whatever it is women who “lunched” did here.

That was more Dolly and Coco. They lived to be seen at places like this—except—I thought cheekily when I saw Ada come into the ballroom, they weren’t invited to this event.

Ada looked so much like me but was her own person. She had a boho chic style, and loved her long earrings and clothes reminiscent of the '60s.

Today, she wore a flowing white blouse embroidered with delicate blue patterns, paired with wide-legged linen trousers in soft beige.

Her silver hoop earrings caught the light as she moved, and a stack of colorful bangles jingled softly on her wrist. She exuded a casual, effortless elegance that was entirely her own.

“Mama, you look fabulous.” Ada gave me a once-over before she hugged me.

“As do you, honey.”

I belabored about what to wear. It was Sebastian who suggested business casual . So, I was in a black sheath dress that stopped just above my knees. My hair was up in a chignon.

“Wear the pearls,” Sebastian had urged, and when I did, he said, “Fucking, Lev!”

“What?” I asked, mystified.

“He said you look like Audrey Hepburn.”

I flushed.

Sebastian had told me about his conversation with Lev and how he’d been jealous of the younger man. It had been an ego boost—not just that Sebastian had been green with envy but that someone like Lev found me attractive .

The grand ballroom was filling up quickly, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glassware setting a lively atmosphere.

About twenty-five to thirty women mingled with ease.

Though it was a networking event, the relaxed ambiance made it feel more like a gathering of friends.

Plates were laden with delicious buffet-style food, and everyone was enjoying wine and cocktails.

I hadn’t expected the warm welcome. These women, the kind who had always seemed untouchable, greeted me with genuine curiosity and kindness.

As people settled into their seats, Aurora made her way toward me, accompanied by Betsy. They introduced me to a few other notable women—Caroline, a formidable African-American lawyer who had won several prominent gender-bias cases, and Sylvia, a Latina who owned several restaurants in Savannah.

There were five speakers in total, and I was the third on the schedule.

The first speaker was a journalist who discussed how she was navigating writing stories about women’s issues in our time. The post-speech discussion was robust, with people asking questions and her answering them.

My nervousness only increased.

The second was an OB-GYN who talked about how hard it had become to take care of her patients in the current legal environment.

She kept thinking she should leave the state but felt an obligation to stay.

It was a poignant speech, and when she talked about losing a patient, I think pretty much everyone had tears in their eyes .

There was a break after the first two speakers, and I drank some water to calm my anxiety.

“What are you most afraid of?” Sebastian had asked me after I practiced my speech for the third time in front of him.

“Of letting Betsy down. Of embarrassing Ada. Of looking like a fool,” I blurted out.

“Betsy invited you, so she knows what she’s getting. I doubt you’ll be letting her down. And you could never embarrass Ada, you know that.” His gaze turned gentle. “And don’t be silly—you’re the farthest from anyone who would look like a fool. Most of the time, you’re a regal, unshakable presence.”

“Regal?”

“Yes, Lia. Don’t you see? Dolly and Coco get rattled because you’re effortlessly elegant. They try so hard to project what just comes naturally to you.”

I stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”

“What?”

“I thought…I thought you were ashamed of me because I wasn’t like them.”

Sebastian hung his head in shame. “Baby, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that my behavior led you to ever feel that way, because I have never been ashamed of you.”

When it was my turn, I took my place behind Betsy.

“Alright, everyone, listen up! I've got a treat for you,” Betsy’s voice carried, clear and strong. “Lia here is about to blow your minds with her story of going from homemaker to badass intern. Give it up for Ophelia Boone!"

As I stepped forward, the room filled with supportive applause, and Ada’s encouraging smile gave me the extra confidence I needed. I approached the ornate wooden podium, exhaling and steadying myself.

“Thank you, Betsy, for inviting me. It’s my first le salon …and honestly, my daughter Ada had to ask me to stop referring to it as a hair salon.”

People laughed.

Sebastian had told me to start with a joke to relax the audience, and then move on to the serious stuff.

“People are more inclined to pay attention to you if they think you’re going to entertain them.”

“When Betsy said she wanted me to speak about my journey from homemaker to intern at Savannah Lace, I didn’t see why she would want me to do that. I didn’t do anything special. My kids left. I was bored, so I got an MBA, and then I was lucky enough to get a job.”

I looked around the room, catching as many eyes as I could.

“ Always look people in the eye, even when there’s a group of them,” Sebastian instructed. “Make them feel like you’re talking to each one of them.”

“When I walked across the stage at my MBA graduation, I expected to feel proud.” My eyes met with those of a woman Betsy had introduced me to a few minutes ago.

She was in her late fifties and had just started to finish her master’s degree that she’d abandoned when she became pregnant.

“But the strongest emotion I felt was fear. I was, for the first time in my adult life, stepping into a new world. A purpose outside of my home. And I was terrified. ”

There was a ripple of murmurs from the crowd and nodding of heads.

“I spent twenty-two years raising my children, running a household, and supporting my husband’s career. And I was proud of that. But somewhere along the way, I forgot that I was more than just a role I filled.”

I met the gaze of another woman—an entrepreneur who’d started as a virtual assistant while juggling life with a toddler. A decade later, she ran a thriving company with a team of twenty, supporting small businesses. She gave me a nod, her eyes filled with understanding.

“So, I started from scratch. I went back to school. I got an internship. And I fought for the right to rediscover myself. It hasn’t been easy, and I won’t pretend that I don’t sometimes feel like I’m faking it…well, that’s a lie; most of the time, I feel like I’m a second away from being fired.”

Someone said, “ I hear you, sister ,” which was followed by a spattering of applause.

“But fear is—as the Bene Gesserit, another group of badass women say—the mind-killer.”

This elicited chuckles and chants of Dune .

“When I told my son, Tristan, that I was thinking of pursuing an MBA, he was all in. I expressed concern about being forty-four by the time I finished. His answer was simple: I was going to be forty-four regardless, so I might as well spend those years working toward a career.”

I paused and looked around the room. Ada was recording, giving me appreciative nods.

“So, I’ll share with you what I learned. It’s never too late. You are never too old. And choosing yourself is never the wrong decision. Thank you.”

Betsy rose from her chair after the applause died and looked around the room. “Well, let’s start with your questions. Maggie has a microphone if you need it.”

The Q&A was fun!

This group of women was irreverent and raucous, a lot like the women I worked with.

Still flushed from the rush of speaking, fielding questions, and basking in the warmth of the women around me, I made my way through the marbled hallways of The Mansion toward the restroom—only to be ambushed.

There was no other way of describing it. Here I was in desperate need to pee, and my path was blocked by Dolly and Coco, two heavily perfumed sentinels of the Old Savannah Order, their eyes brimming with disdain.

I raised a hand before they could say a word. “Not right now.”

Then, in a move that was truly Olympic-worthy, I sidestepped them and power-walked to the restroom.

They followed me— I kid you not! —into the freaking ladies’ room of The Mansion.

I went into one of the stalls and did my business, wondering if they were outside, listening.

Talk about creepy!

When I came out into the luxe, gold-accented restroom, Dolly and Coco were waiting like a couple of designer-clad vultures. And judging by the expression on Dolly’s face, she was about to pass out from the sheer effort of watching me succeed.

Now, for context, The Mansion’s ladies’ room was not just any ol’ restroom. It was a palatial powder room—a sanctuary of wealth where women reapplied their lipstick under chandeliers, freshened up with scented hand towels, and engaged in hushed power plays between marble vanities.

A small seating area with plush velvet chairs occupied one side of the room because, apparently, some women needed a rest after the strenuous act of existing in high society.