Chapter 10 Savannah
SAVANNAH
My hotel room door closes behind me, and I lean against it, letting out a breath. My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the wood until they stop.
The room is beautiful. King-sized bed with white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a sitting area with a couch and armchair.
I kick off my heels, and they land somewhere near the closet. My feet ache from walking in them all day.
At the dresser, I start taking off my jewelry. Earrings first, then the watch Mom gave me for my college graduation. The clasp sticks like it always does, and I have to fumble with it for a minute before it comes loose.
I remember her handing me the box, her smile proud despite the exhaustion in her eyes. She’d been sick for six months by then, though neither of us knew it yet. Just thought she was tired from working too much.
“You earned this, mija,” she said. “You worked so hard.”
I set the watch down carefully on the dresser and stare at it.
She would’ve been proud of me today. The meeting. The presentation. The way I handled seeing Mason and Lizzy.
Or maybe she would’ve been horrified that I married a stranger in Vegas and can’t remember it.
Probably both.
I miss her so much it physically hurts sometimes. Miss her voice. Her laugh. The way she’d make me sit down and eat even when I said I wasn’t hungry.
I remember the last conversation we had before the morphine made her too confused to talk properly. We were in her hospital room, and she was having a good day.
“Promise me something,” she said, gripping my hand with what little strength she had left.
“Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll live and not just survive.” Her eyes were fierce despite how weak her body was. “I spent so much time working, sacrificing, being careful. I want more for you. I want you to take chances. To be brave and let yourself feel things even when it’s scary.”
“I promise, Mom.”
“Don’t waste your life being afraid, Savannah. Life is too short for that.”
And here I am, married to a man I don’t remember because I was drunk and broken and decided to do something crazy.
Maybe that’s what she meant. Maybe getting married in Vegas to a stranger is exactly the kind of brave, stupid thing she wanted me to do.
Or maybe I’m just trying to make sense of a mistake.
I change into the pajamas I packed. Cotton shorts and a tank top because I don’t expect to actually sleep in front of anyone. Wash my face, brush my teeth, basically go through all the motions of preparing for bed, even though I’m not tired.
The bed is massive and too soft. I climb in and stare at the ceiling.
My mind won’t shut off.
Mason’s face when he saw me. Lizzy crying. The bodyguards blocking them like they were nothing.
I can’t believe they’re actually together. Can’t believe Lizzy chose him. She was my best friend for years. We met in college, told each other everything. And she threw it all away for Mason.
The weird thing is, I’m not hurt about Mason. I thought seeing him would make me sad or angry or something. But I felt nothing. Nothing but disgust and the vague memory of wasted time.
I don’t love him. Now he’s with Lizzy, and I hope they’re miserable together.
I roll over. Ledger. Now, I may be in love with him.
I punch the pillow into a better shape and close my eyes, but I can’t sleep.
My mind keeps circling back to Ledger. The way he stood beside me outside the restaurant. The way his security moved without him having to say a word. The way he looked at me in the car, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.
The way I wanted to lean into him and let him hold me.
I barely know him. I married him, apparently, but I don’t remember it. Don’t remember what we talked about or why I thought it was a good idea or what it felt like when he touched me.
But my body remembers something. Because every time he’s near me, every time he looks at me, I feel this pull. This magnetic draw doesn’t make sense.
I grab my phone off the nightstand. 2:17 AM.
This is useless. I’m not going to sleep.
The room feels too hot and stuffy suddenly. The air conditioning is probably on, but it doesn’t matter. I need air.
I get out of bed and go to the balcony doors. They open easily, and the cold Chicago air hits me like a slap. It feels good.
I step outside and immediately see him.
Ledger is on the balcony next to mine. There’s a divider between us, but it’s low enough that we can see each other clearly. He’s leaning against the railing, still dressed in his shirt and pants from dinner, sleeves rolled up, tie gone.
He turns when he hears my door open. “Can’t sleep?” he asks.
“No.” I wrap my arms around myself. “You?”
“No.”
We stand there in the cold, separated by a three-foot divider, not saying anything.
“You didn’t really have to make our rooms this close,” I say finally.
He looks at me. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to protect you. Whether as your employer or your husband, I have to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From people who might want to hurt you because of me.”
The way he says it makes my stomach drop. This isn’t theoretical.
“What kind of enemies do you have?” I ask.
“The dangerous kind.” He turns back to the city. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in this. You didn’t ask for any of it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“But here we are.”
“Here we are,” I echo.
Silence stretches between us.
“Thank you,” I say. “For today. For security, not letting them get close to me.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me.”
“I do, though. Because you didn’t have to do any of this. You could’ve just let me walk away. Pretended Vegas never happened.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my wife. And I take care of what’s mine,” he responds without hesitation.
“I’m not yours.”
“Yes, you are.” He turns to face me fully. “You might not remember it. You might not want it. But it’s still true.”
I let out a sigh. “What was it like? That night?”
His expression shifts. Softens. “You really want to know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I grip the railing.
“What do you want to remember?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh, and it sounds broken. “I don’t know what I want.”
He moves closer to the divider between our balconies, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
“You were brave,” he says quietly. “That night. You’d just had the worst day of your life, and instead of falling apart, you decided to do something crazy. You won that trip. You took it. You met me, and we talked like we’d known each other forever.”
“We did?”
“We did. You told me about your mother. About growing up without a father. About feeling lost.” His eyes hold mine. “And when I asked what you wanted, you said you wanted to feel alive again.”
Something flickers in my memory. A fragment. His voice calling me princess. My hand in his.
I ask, “Did it feel real? Or was it just drunk people making a mistake?”
“It felt real to me.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache.
I don’t know what possesses me. Don’t know if it’s the cold or the exhaustion or the memory fragments swirling in my head.
But I climb over the divider.
It’s not graceful. I’m in bare feet and pajamas, and the metal is cold and awkward. But I make it onto his balcony, and suddenly we’re in the same space with no barriers between us.
“Savannah—” he starts.
“Don’t.” I step closer. “Don’t think. Don’t talk. Just—”
I kiss him.
His mouth is warm against mine, and the moment our lips touch, something explodes in my head.
Flashes. Memories.
Dancing in a club. His hands on my waist. Neon lights.
His smile. “You’re beautiful.”
A hotel room. His mouth on my skin. Gasping his name.
The kiss deepens, and more comes back. The way he tasted. The way his hands felt. The way he whispered princess against my ear while we moved together.
I remember.
Not everything. Not clearly. But enough.
Enough to know that this isn’t the first time I’ve kissed him.
His hands come up to cup my face, gentle and sure, and I press closer. The kiss turns desperate, hungry, like we’re both trying to find something we lost.
Then another flash. I remember him asking me to marry him. Getting down on one knee in a boutique at dawn. The ring sliding onto my finger.
I pull back, gasping.
We’re both breathing hard. His hands are still on my face, mine gripping his shirt like I might fall without him.
“I remember,” I whisper. “Pieces. Flashes. Not everything, but—I remember you.”
His thumb brushes my cheek. “What do you remember?”
“The kiss. On the dance floor. The hotel room. The way you looked at me.” My voice shakes. “The proposal. You got down on one knee. You asked me to marry you.”
“I did.”
“This is crazy.”
“I know.”
“I barely know you.”
“I know that too.”
“But I want—” I stop. Can’t finish the sentence because I don’t know what I want. To run? To stay? To kiss him again?
“Come here, princess.” He pulls me back to him, his lips crashing on mine. I open my mouth in return, allowing his tongue to dominate mine.
Heat shoots straight to my core as his hands roam over my back. I don’t want this moment to end.