Chapter Ten
CHARLIE
Every year, the Daughters of Savannah Civic Society put on a pre-holiday charity event that, once upon a time, took place in the grand ballrooms of the city’s finest homes.
But Savannah was changing, as cities tend to do.
Most of those old buildings had been snatched up by Savannah College of Art and Design or turned into bed-and-breakfasts.
The old families—once the epicenter of Southern society—had mostly moved on from the city center. But the money they left behind? That stuck around. And the people still holding onto it liked to toss it around like confetti.
This year’s event was being held at Trustees’ Garden, one of Oglethorpe’s old experiments, where he once tested which crops could survive Georgia’s soil.
Now, it was a sprawling event venue crawling with Savannah’s elite—ready to outbid their friends at the silent auction and spend top dollar on the art we’d all graciously “donated.” I use that word loosely.
Eunice was giving most of the artists a cut, seeing as we were all, well, broke.
I parked in an empty spot and looked to the woman beside me—who, judging by her expression, was about three seconds away from recreating the night we met and losing it all over my dashboard.
“You got this, Tally,” I said gently.
She nodded but didn’t speak. Hadn’t said a word since I picked her up—well, since I took the elevator up to get her. Silent in the garage. Silent the whole drive. Her hands were folded in her lap, knuckles white.
Every day, her belly grew a little more noticeable. Instead of dressing in head-to-toe-black, like a photographer who could blend into the wallpaper, Eunice had sent for a custom ballgown, claiming Tally needed a showstopper to help her “mingle with the donors and look divine doing it.”
She already looked uncomfortable as hell before we even left, but now, watching her try to climb out of the truck with her camera bag in one hand and her dress hiked up to her thighs in the other, she looked like she was about to crawl out of her skin.
I rushed around to the passenger side, grabbed her gear, and took her hand to help ease her down. She looked pale, shaky—nothing like the woman who, in a few minutes, would walk into a room looking drop-dead gorgeous and possibly land the biggest opportunity she’d had since showing up in Savannah.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. Her hair was pinned up in some fancy, low bun, little ringlets springing loose to frame her face. “I can take you home right now if you’re feeling sick.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that.”
Her voice was quiet. She chewed her bottom lip, eyes soft and scared in a way that made my gut tighten.
“I’m just nervous,” she whispered.
I cupped the back of her neck and made sure she met my eyes. “Hey, darlin’. You’re gonna do great. I’ll be there. Lee, Sutton, Magnolia—hell, even your brother’s inside, spending his money like the rest of ’em.”
“Ugh. That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the sound of Lee and Ryan, Lee’s songwriting partner, warming up on stage. “I don’t need Doyle judging me. Or worse—thinking I’m gonna screw it all up.”
I shut the truck door behind her and slid my fingers between hers. She looked up at me with those wide, nervous eyes that nearly undid me. The way she was dressed, the way her hair was done, the light makeup—it wrecked me.
And for a second, I let myself pretend we were two regular people walking into a gala together. Not the hired help.
Because tonight? This girl deserved to feel like a damn queen.
We entered the main room where the band was set up, and Lee waved us over from the stage.
Sutton and Magnolia were leaning against the rail, shouting at Lee and Ryan, who were both fiddling with the amps.
As we got closer, I caught the tail end of Sutton yelling, “It sounds like shit,” before both guys threw their hands up and rolled their eyes in perfect unison.
My sister turned around, and the second she clocked our joined hands, her eyes went wide as saucers. She smacked Sutton in the arm.
Magnolia was dressed in full bartender attire, Sutton in her more formal, all-black chef’s gear, but they’d clearly done their hair and makeup. As always, they looked stunning. I leaned in and kissed my sister on the cheek, then did the same to Sutton.
“Hi, Tally,” Sutton giggled, shooting a look at Magnolia. “Charlie Pruitt, my my my. Haven’t seen you hold hands with a girl since we were in middle school.”
Suddenly aware of our touching, Tally snatched her hand back and wiped her palm down the front of her dress.
“Sorry, Charlie,” she mumbled, leaning in to give the girls half-hearted hugs as they all exchanged overly polite compliments like a gaggle of geese seeing each other for the first time in years.
Lee hopped off stage and made his way to Tally. “I’ll take you to Momma,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. Color bloomed up her neck and a wave of unnecessary jealousy slammed into me. My brain went dark. If he couldn’t have my sister, would he go for her?
Tally offered us a little wave as Lee led her off, and Magnolia stepped beside me.
“Get that look off your face right now, Charlie Pruitt,” she hissed under her breath.
I curled my lip at her. “I have no look, Magnolia.”
“You do. It’s that Viking staredown you pull when you’re two seconds away from pummeling someone. You look like you might knock Lee on his ass for touching your girl.”
Sutton, nosy as ever, inched closer to eavesdrop, eyes lit with gossip-induced glee.
“She’s not my girl,” I said flatly. “She’s my friend. And she’s scared to death. Especially of her brother. Who, by the way, I’d like to have a conversation with if you’ve seen him.”
Magnolia laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “Charlie,” she said, voice soft but firm, “You do not want to get in the middle of whatever those two have going on. Same way you wouldn’t want anyone interfering in our shenanigans.”
I exhaled hard, trying not to rip off my tux or rake my hands through my hair like a man on the verge. Instead, I paced a few steps around her. She had a point—a good one. And one of those ‘don’t-intervene’ moments was walking toward us right now.
“Hey, babe,” Dane Wilder said, leaning in to kiss my sister’s cheek. Sutton vanished like smoke, Ryan right behind her. Dane turned to me with a slick grin. “My future brother-in-law,” he said, going in for a hug. “So, who was that I saw you strolling in here with?”
“Shit, I gotta run,” Magnolia muttered, fleeing toward the bar where guests were beginning to line up.
I turned to Dane. “How’ve you been? We haven’t seen much of you around lately.”
Dane laughed, chewing the end of his martini olive. “Busy. Trials. You know—real work.”
His gaze swept the room, then he started toward the far corner where Tally was standing with his mother, the two of them deep in quiet conversation.
“I should probably go introduce myself,” he called over his shoulder. “Make the new girl feel welcome.”
I made my way to the silent auction table across the room as Dane introduced himself to Tally in that smooth, slick way only Dane Wilder could pull off. She looked absolutely thrilled to meet him—until he moved on to the next group and she stuck her tongue out at his back.
Her eyes scanned the crowd and landed on mine, sitting behind a table in front of the pieces I’d donated. She lifted her camera and snapped a photo, and I’d have bet good money that when she developed it, I looked absolutely smitten.
As the night went on, her confidence bloomed.
She floated around the room taking candids, gently directing folks where to stand, who to gather with.
She plucked wine glasses from tipsy hands, corralled overzealous men away from unsure women, and always—always—kept herself out of her brother’s line of sight.
Good girl, I thought, half-laughing at myself and watching her like she belonged to me.
She didn’t, of course. But as she made her rounds—stopping to chat with Magnolia and Sutton, catching Jordan alone, joking with Lee and Ryan during their break, even humoring Dane again when he cornered her—I realized something.
She didn’t belong to me. But she was starting to belong to us.
“Hey, you,” she beamed, saddling up next to my table. “Eunice says I’m free to mingle—maybe even dance a little. Think you can abandon ship for a boogie or two?”
I laughed, coming around the table and linking our arms. “A boogie?”
“Or two, like I said.” She grinned, and we headed toward the dance floor, where Sutton had shed her chef’s coat to reveal a cocktail-length black dress.
Magnolia flitted by with a tray of drinks and dropped them off. “You looked great out there, Tally!” she shouted over the music—an upbeat and poppy tune that Lee and Ryan were sweating through.
Eunice and Vance joined us, Dane trailing behind. For a minute, things felt... normal. The kind of normal a gala was supposed to feel.
But nothing good lasts forever.
“Tally, what are you doing?” Doyle’s voice sliced through the music as he appeared at her side, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her out of the circle.
The look on her face made everyone stop. I could even hear Lee trip over a riff on stage. Doyle yanked her off to the side, and I lunged forward, but Magnolia caught my arm.
“No,” she said sharply. “Don’t.”
“It’s not fair,” I growled, yanking my arm back.
“It’s also not our business,” she snapped, eyes locked on mine.
Eunice, calm as ever, leaned in. “Is everything all right with Tally?”
Jordan appeared at her side, all polish and charm. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Wilder. Doyle’s worried she’s getting dehydrated. He thought she should rest a minute.” He turned to me. “Charlie, can I talk to you for a second?”
I deadpanned. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
He smirked. “Fair enough.”
He led me off the dance floor, away from Doyle and Tally. Outside, the air was cooler, and my nerves start to fray. But still, I met his eyes across the cocktail table.
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
Jordan sighed. “He didn’t know Eunice told her she could let loose. He thought she was slacking off.”
“She was dancing with Eunice. And even if she wasn’t, who fucking cares?” I started pacing the edge of the pavilion, raking my hands through my hair, gel sticking to my fingers in tacky strands. I probably looked half-feral.
“Charlie,” Jordan said calmly. “Whatever’s going on between Doyle and Tally is theirs to work out. He asked us not to interfere—and you should respect that.”
“Oh, so now we’re just supposed to stand around while another woman in this group gets talked down to? And what? Let it go? Smile and nod and call it Southern hospitality?”
Jordan’s eyes dimmed. His shoulders tightened. “Isn’t that what you asked us to do with your sister?”
He had me there.
I’d asked my friends to back off Dane. Not to interfere. Not to make waves. And they had—reluctantly.
But this felt different. This was family. Her own brother had dragged her off the dance floor. I’d never seen Doyle act that way before.
Was he changing? Or was I forgetting who I was?
“Jordan,” I said, quieter now, “Tell Doyle she’s trying. She did a great job tonight. Eunice is thrilled. Let her have this win. Give her a damn chance.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, eyes sincere.
“But you don’t know how many years Doyle spent cleaning up after her—bad choices, wild ideas, boyfriends who disappeared with her rent money.
We used to get postcards from Australia and eviction notices from apartments we didn’t even know we’d cosigned on.
He’s scared, Charlie. He’s scared she’s gonna tank this and take us all down with her. ”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe. But we’ll never know unless we give her the chance to stand or fall. We don’t get to decide for her. We don’t get to protect her from becoming who she wants to be... just because we’re afraid she might.”
Dane sauntered onto the patio, cigar between his lips. “What’s up, boys?” He grinned, smoke curling behind him. “Charlie, your new girlfriend said to tell you goodnight. She left.”
I nodded tightly and pushed past him without a word.
“Fix your hair, Pruitt,” he called after me. “You look like you just got out of a damned straitjacket!”
That night, lying in bed, I kept replaying the look on Tally’s face. The pure humiliation as Doyle dragged her off the dance floor like a child who didn’t know better.
I tried, with everything in me, to see it through his eyes—a brother who’d watched his sister come apart more than once. Who’d spent years piecing her back together. Who believed he was the only one who could keep her safe from herself.
And then it hit me—what haunted me wasn’t what Doyle did. It was what I hadn’t done.
I never stepped in Magnolia’s way. Never stopped her from making choices I knew might break her. I stood back, let her do it, and swept up the pieces afterward.
And maybe that made me a better brother.
Or maybe it made me worse.