Five Years Later . . .
Fiona
SAVANNAH. NOT WHERE I WANTED to be and the last place I wanted to return to. New York was home. It suited me. It was fast and busy. I didn’t have time for regrets.
At twenty-five years old, I was on the perfect path. I’d achieved more than most people my age. My modeling career had opened doors for me and now I was on the other side of the camera. Not taking photos but designing them. That was what I wanted to do with my life and that was all back in New York.
None of that mattered when your sister decided to do something ridiculous like get married. Shay could have made it out of Savannah. She had potential and ambition. I offered to get her working on set more than once with me. But no. Shay was still here.
As the driver slowed in front of the hotel where Shay had booked my room and where the wedding would be held, I sighed with disgust. This was happening. I’d see everyone I had cut all contact with after I packed my things and left Savannah three years ago. Shay was the only person who knew where and how to reach me, and that was because she was family.
I pulled out my phone and opened the Uber app to add the tip for the driver before thanking him and getting out of the car. I grabbed my carry-on suitcase stood at the hotel entrance. I hadn’t packed much because I didn’t plan on staying one second after Shay drove off into her wedded bliss. I had to survive this hypocrisy for four days and then I could get back to my life.
One would think after having a father like ours that Shay would have searched for someone . . . more. More dependable. More stable. More trustworthy. Anyone was better than Mack. Sex was not all that mattered. Not when it came to forever, or even the next twenty years if they were remotely lucky. Marriage needed . . . well it needed stuff I knew nothing about because I had no successful examples to draw from.
Mack Oliver had worked his magic on Shay over four years ago. I hated it, but I had hoped it was passing phase. Shay would see what Mack was like. Her interest in bad boys was supposed to have pass by now. Unfortunately, Shay listened to none of this when I tried to talk sense into her. Instead, she laughed at me, told me to mind my own business, and informed me I was her maid of honor.
The driver was gone several minutes before I finally moved my feet and walked toward the entrance. Our hotel was a mansion at one time. Shay had said when she was eight that she was going to get married here. I rolled my eyes and told her she was ridiculous because no one needed to get married.
A bellman approached me asking to take my suitcase. My car hadn’t dropped me off right in front due to so many arrivals at the front door so he had waited until I got closer to the bell stand. I waved my hand and said, “No, thank you,” and continued to the door that he opened wide for me to walk inside.
The onyx marble lobby was impressive. I expected the hotel to be opulent. Over the years I’d seen photos of my friends on social media that were taken here—from prom to engagement announcements. Staying here had never been a goal of mine.
“Welcome to the Savannah Mansion,” an attractive blond man that had to be six-foot-seven said, his straight white teeth the highlight of his smile. My neck was going to get a cramp looking up at him and I was a tall female. “Are you checking in?” he asked.
Why was he working here? He should be playing basketball somewhere. He was probably a university student. I stepped up to the counter. “Yes please,” I replied reaching for my backpack for my ID and credit card.
“Are you by any chance with the Burns-Oliver wedding party?” the guy asked.
I paused to look up at him. “Yes. Fiona Burns.”
He kept his pleasant smile and handed me a key. Not the plastic card key that I was accustomed to in hotels. He gave me a real key. I stared at it, not reaching to take it from his hands. What was I supposed to do with that? It looked old and heavy.
“This is your key, Ms. Burns. The room is ready. I was informed that you would arrive soon and we made sure it was set up.”
I lifted my gaze from the key to his eyes. “That’s a key.” I said it as if he was the one who didn’t know what the strange item was that he held in his hand. His smile lifted a bit with amusement.
“Yes, it’s the key to your room,” he repeated.
Frustrated with the situation, I decided the key issue required clarification. “I don’t want that key. I want the little plastic card key.”
And Mr. I-Should-Have-Been-An-NBA-Player chuckled. He actually laughed. How was I the funny one? This was a hotel. And it wasn’t 1918 anymore. How was I going to get into the hotel gym without a plastic key card? Had they not thought of that?
“I’m sorry, Ms. Burns. But the city requires many of the historical aspects of the mansion remain to qualify for historical status. The door locks are one of those stipulations. They must reflect the time period.”
That was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. “But . . . how will I get into the gym?” I asked. Even to my ears I sounded a bit panicked at the idea of toting around a real key.
“There is a code you’ll find in your welcome packet in your room with—”
“FIONA!” he was cut off by the loud squeal coming from my sister as she made sure everyone in a ten-mile radius knew my name. Her dark brown hair was longer than the last time she had come to see me. That was almost ten months ago. Seeing her now, I knew the sudden pang in my chest was guilt for not making time to see her more often. She didn’t look hurt over it though. She was practically beaming as she ran toward me.
I closed my backpack and threw it back over my shoulder just before she threw her arms around me. “You’re here. I don’t have to fly to New York and drag your ass here!”
And there was the guilt again.
“You’re getting married.” The word sounded sour coming from me. “Of course I’m here.”
Shay didn’t get offended by my tone. She laughed. Because she knew I thought she was crazy. She knew I didn’t want to be here. She knew I hated this place . . . and every memory I had left behind.
“They gave me a key,” I told her hoping to break the awkwardness. I wasn’t affectionate. I had been given no affection as a child and I had a hard time giving it in return. Shay was raised with warmth and love. That made her very different and her personality reflected as much.
“Yes. To your room. Isn’t it perfect. It fits this place. I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time—Victorian mansions, beautiful gowns, and aristocrats.”
All of that was because her mother read her fairy tales. When reality slapped her in the face she was going to have a tough time with the outcome. Life had slapped me. Not once, but twice and it would never happen again.
“Don’t we all want to live during a time that one had to worry about diseases wiping out entire towns, corsets so tight it was hard to breathe, and there was no air conditioner while wearing entirely too many clothes? God, I so hate I missed all that,” I drawled.
Shay rolled her eyes but the joy was still there. “Come on, Mary Poppins. Let’s get you to your room,” was her reply as she grabbed my arm and began chatting about the key and how it made the experience more authentic. I resisting saying how inconvenient I thought it was and let her talk.