Chapter Seventy-One Savannah
| Seventy-One |
Savannah
One Year Later
Marion handed Savannah a glass of champagne.
“No thanks, I’m on in ten, don’t need to be tipsy.”
Marion gave her a smile. “Just a sip. We have something to toast.”
Hope swelled in Savannah’s chest. “It hit?”
Marion pulled out her phone, put it on speaker, and dialed Savannah’s editor. “You there, Anne? I’ve got Savannah.”
“Congratulations, Savannah. Number one, baby!”
Elation rushed through her. Killer Twist had come out last week, and today was Wednesday, the day the New York Times list came out.
She was a New York Times bestselling author!
And number one! Never in her wildest dreams would she have believed it.
She had put aside her other project and instead wrote about a woman obsessed with a horror writer who’d killed the women he intended to marry.
It was the fictionalized version of the real-life events that had ended Bennett’s life and put Isabel in prison for the rest of her life.
Savannah now only spent some of her time at the Bedford house.
When she’d met with the estate lawyer, she had learned that Bennett had established a life estate for Felicia in the guesthouse.
Since it was all part of the same property, it couldn’t be sold until Felicia died or chose to move out.
Savannah felt sorry for the woman who was deeply grieving.
She’d told her that nothing would change.
She’d continue to pay her salary, and Felicia could look after the house when she wasn’t there.
She left Bennett’s office exactly as she’d found it.
She couldn’t bear to get rid of his things.
She had to live with the guilt that if only she had had faith in him, he would still be alive.
But there was no point in wallowing in regrets.
Savannah was happy to be back in the city.
She had bought a place at the Apthorp. The first time she’d walked through the limestone courtyard she had felt like she was living in a dream.
Nora Ephron had once lived there. And now Savannah called it home.
It hadn’t taken Finn long to adjust to his new home, and unlike Bennett, she never worked on a book without him sitting at her side.
She took a sip of the champagne, then handed the crystal flute back to her agent.
“By the way, I love your hair that way. I never knew it was curly. Gorgeous,” Marion said.
Savannah smiled and glanced at herself in the mirror. It did suit her.
“Ready?” Marion asked.
Savannah nodded, and they left the green room together and went downstairs to where her fans were already gathered.
Her fans. She was finally at the top. No more striving.
No more hoping for someone to notice that she was talented.
She had arrived! She was into the second week of her tour, and this was a ticketed event hosted by an independent bookstore in Santa Fe.
After her talk, the manager led her to a table where she would sign books.
It still felt amazing, finally having a published book, her own publicist, and a marketing team.
It was everything she had ever dreamed it would be and more.
Regardless of Bennett’s criticisms, her writing was good.
Damn good. She hoped he would have been happy for her.
Focus, she told herself. Her fans deserved her undivided attention.
As they began to come through, she smiled, made small talk, and posed for selfies.
The line was long, at least one hundred deep, and despite her elation, by the time she was getting to the end, she was wiped out.
She wanted nothing more than to get back to her hotel room and relax.
The bookseller pushed the last book in front of her, and before she looked up to smile at the next person, the woman spoke.
“Hello, Millie. Make it out to Poppy.”
Her head snapped up. All the blood drained from her face. This couldn’t be real. Was she hallucinating? It was her. Poppy in the flesh.
“But you’re…dead,” Savannah said, her voice cracking.
Poppy smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you, sis.”