Page 8 of Best Kept Vows (Savannah’s Best #6)

Sebastian

I left home early the following day.

I had a meeting, but I also didn’t want to be around when Lia woke up.

I knew she wasn’t sleeping last night when I tried to initiate sex.

I wanted her—wanted to somehow seal the breach between us, but she didn’t want me.

I couldn’t blame her for that. So many nights, she reached out to me, and I told her I was tired.

I didn’t think I could get it up, especially the first year when I took over Boone Metals.

After I rejected her advances several times, she stopped making them.

Now, I stood on the other side of a chasm, which was of my making. Sure, I could bark at Lia for not being supportive enough—but I knew my wife, knew what she’d done for me, knew that I shouldered the blame for what was broken between us.

I wanted to fix it—fix us—I really did. But I just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth. That truth settled over me again as I stepped out of my accountant’s office on Bull Street, the heart of downtown Savannah, standing witness with its usual, unbothered charm.

The company was bleeding money, but thankfully, Lia and I had investments that were still performing well.

I’d made good money during my years as a business consultant, and we lived comfortably, luxuriously, even, among Savannah’s social elite.

But let’s be honest, that access wasn’t about wealth.

It was because my last name was Boone. Without it, I doubted I’d get a second glance—certainly not as just Sebastian Somebody, Business Consultant.

The family wealth was locked in the company and the estate.

I’d inherit once my parents were gone (if anything was left)—but that wasn’t going to pay our bills today. Based on our financial situation, I knew I could step away and never work again, and we’d be fine—Lia and I and the kids.

I could do that. It was a luxury, a privilege to be able to say such a thing—but we had that.

So, why was I killing myself and destroying my marriage?

I ran a hand through my hair. I knew why.

It was the family legacy. I couldn’t let it go away.

Boone Metals had been in existence for nearly a hundred and thirty years—it wasn’t going to get fucked during my watch.

I walked past Gallery Espresso on Bull, and decided to get a cup of coffee at Savannah’s oldest coffee shop.

The café’s inviting atmosphere, filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of patrons, provided a brief respite from my thoughts.

I ordered a black coffee and took it to sit outside at one of the tables—giving myself a moment to breathe before I went back to the office where I’d have to immediately go into fire-fighting mode.

Damn it all to hell! I wasn’t catching a break, not at home and not at work.

I shrugged out of my suit jacket and hung it on the back of my chair. I hadn’t worn a tie—it was too fucking hot for that. It was just nine in the morning, and it was already sticky.

I was born and raised in Savannah, and even though I spent four years in New York when I went to college, I knew I’d come back.

I’d told Lia that when we first met. I smiled as the memory came back.

God, but we were young and so in love. She was full of energy and life—sassy, gorgeous, perfect.

She was still many of those things, but not full of sass and life, I thought with regret.

When we moved to Savannah, it had been about fitting in, and I’d suggested Lia work for Boone Foundation, the company’s charitable arm that my mother and sister took care of.

Lia didn’t get along well with my mother and sister, and when she got pregnant, she told me she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and couldn’t do the foundation work.

I knew it wasn’t because Lia couldn’t do it; she didn’t want to.

My mother complained, but I stood by my wife.

I used to work at Boone Metals then, for my father.

Those days, I came home from work and spent time with Lia and Tristan. When Ada came along, I was thrilled, we were close as a family, going away on vacations and taking drives on long weekends.

But then things at the company were not going well, and I began clashing with my father. It came to a head, and I demanded he step down, and I take over. Dad told me he wouldn’t give me the company, not for another twenty years or so, when he was good and ready to retire.

I walked away. I wasn’t going to wait that long.

Lia had supported me. She’d said, "We’ll be fine.” She’d been all set to apply for jobs and work to pay the bills.

Fuck! She never told me to make it work with my father or that she was stressed about money. No, she was ready to roll up her sleeves and do what was needed.

But we had savings—and an old trust fund from my grandfather.

We weren’t going to struggle. We bought our home outright, and I launched my business, which—fortunately—took off quickly.

But success came with a price. I had to travel often, spending long stretches inside client offices, helping them untangle and rebuild their systems and processes from the inside out.

Lia didn’t complain. All she asked was that I not miss anything meaningful to the kids. I kept that promise—damn it, but I did—even after I took over Boone Metals, I did .

No, the only promises you broke were the ones you didn’t even bother to make, and those were to your wife .

I looked around my favorite city in the world and felt that its charm was muted today. The sun-soaked Spanish moss hung limply from the oaks lining the squares, their shadows heavy like my conscience .

“Sebastian, amigo !”

I rose when I saw Diego Perez. We got to know one another several years ago when I consulted for his company in Arizona. Since we both came from Savannah, we’d bonded. I knew he’d moved back and worked for Larue Homes in Sentinel, Georgia.

“What are you doing here?” We did the manly hug and handshake.

He sat across from me at the table. “I live here.”

“I thought you were in Sentinel.”

He huffed a laugh. “I am. But we have a small satellite office with a half a dozen people here in the Savannah Lace building.”

“Oh.”

“You know Anson married Nova King, she’s the office manager at Savannah Lace—so he wanted to work out of here. But we go to Sentinel a few times a week, so it all works out,” he explained.

Anson Larue was the CEO of Larue Homes and had a reputation as a sharp and ruthless businessman. I was bemused to hear about Savannah Lace for the second time in a short time.

“How about you? Are you married and?—”

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Diego cut me off cheerfully.

I gave him a thoughtful once-over. “Someone has managed to steal Diego Perez’s heart?”

“Heart and soul, amigo .” He dramatically put a hand to his heart. “I’m dating Nina Davenport. ”

And now I was hearing that name again .

Nina wasn’t exactly Savannah’s typical Southern Belle. She was older, accomplished, divorced, and outspoken—exactly the kind of woman my mother would have whispered disapprovingly about at brunch.

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Nina is…don’t get me wrong, but she’s older than you.”

Diego shrugged carelessly. “Sure is. Wiser and smarter, too.”

I drank some of my coffee. “My wife is interviewing with her…for some…thing.” Fuck, I didn’t even know what job it was. I hadn’t asked.

“That’s cool. Nina runs an awesome company.”

“All women there, I hear.”

Diego arched an eyebrow. “Careful, Sebastian, your old white man is showing,” he teased.

I smirked, shaking my head. “Not at all. I hear Nina is very accomplished.”

I had heard that—but I’d heard other things as well.

Women in Savannah society didn’t typically start their own companies after publicly divorcing their husbands, which is precisely what Nina had done.

Granted, Samuel Brennan (Nina had since reclaimed her maiden name) was notoriously unfaithful, but Nina hadn’t opted for a quiet, no-fault divorce, as was expected.

Instead, she’d openly filed on the grounds of adultery, naming names and dragging Samuel’s indiscretions out into Savannah’s unforgiving daylight—and, in the process, had taken him to the cleaners.

She’d then surprised everyone by taking the money she got from the divorce to start her own firm. Before that, she’d been working as an architect for Sam’s family business, which she now directly competed against.

Savannah Lace was a small boutique firm with fifty or so employees, if I had my numbers right.

Brennan Architects, by contrast, was a national powerhouse.

It handled large-scale commercial and institutional projects across the United States, with regional offices in Atlanta, Charlotte, Chicago, and Dallas.

They specialized in high-profile builds, including hospitals, corporate headquarters, universities, and luxury developments.

Sam Brennan inherited the firm from his father, expanding its reach dramatically and cementing its status as one of the South’s most prestigious architectural practices.

“The Savannah grapevine know of this? ‘Cause this is the first time I’m hearing about you and Nina.”

This time, he laughed, rich and clean. “A few people know, but it’s not common knowledge, I think. I don’t give a flying fuck. Nina cares. You know her ex.”

I nodded. If you were from Savannah, you knew Sam Brennan and his penchant for insulting his ex-wife in public whenever he got the chance, which told everyone that ten years on, he was still bitter about the divorce, while Nina was apparently having an affair with the handsome, young, and suave Diego Perez.

And it wasn’t just an affair, considering Diego wanted it to be more.

A realization struck me. Would I be Lia’s Sam Brennan?

Fuck!