Page 64 of Falls From Grace
Here, in the privacy of her bedroom, hiding beneath the bedsheets, she could admit something dark: deep down, she’d never expected Brynn to adhere to the line she’d drawn. Cole had always campaigned to wear her down with flowers, jewelry, love songs and heartfelt speeches. At the time, Savannah had believed it was because despite everything, he just loved her so much. Now all she saw were her boundaries being trampled.
Brynn, however, appeared to be taking her at her word. No lavish flowers arrived, no tearful letters. There were no grand gestures, not one single attempt to win her back. There was only silence, and a void in her life where Brynn had once almost been. She hated herself a little for the realization that part of her was aggrieved by this. At times, she would have done anything for one more word from Brynn, to open her front door to find her standing there, ready to fight. But at the same time, she felt the full impact of the respect Brynn was showing her. One thing she’d said seemed true: she wasn’t behaving like Cole at all.
The night at Tootsie’s was only a couple of weeks after her return from Vermont. Being back home in Nashville again always gave her a slight head spin. Gone was the immense peace and isolation of the snowy forest, her days instead beginning to get filled again. There were meetings, dress fittings, beauty appointments, photoshoots, and the ceaseless buzz of the city. Thank god Nashville also contained two other things that kept her sane: the quiet green compound she called home, and Rosalie Carlson.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie greeted her when Savannah arrived on her doorstep for dinner, “you look kind of familiar, but I just can’t quite seem to place you?”
Savannah rolled her eyes and pulled her oldest friend into her arms to hug her. Rosalie hugged her back and for a long moment Savannah did not want to let go.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she finally pulled back. “Shit got real.”
Rosalie observed her closely for a moment, her sea-green eyes filled with softness.
“So it would seem,” she said, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze before turning to walk into her kitchen, where something smelled absolutely delicious.
Savannah loved Rosalie’s home. It was a fraction the size of any of the properties she owned and sometimes she hated herself for what had become a weird inability to live like a damn normal person.
Rosalie didn’t have to worry about paparazzi or stalkers, however, and her lovely Victorian cottage on a quiet leafy street just off downtown was about the most beautiful place Savannah knew, for all her own wealth and luxury. There was something about the warmth of the gleaming floorboards, the quiet collection of books, the shining cookware and the beautiful tangled flower garden outside the french doors that always felt like home. If anyone had asked her where on the planet she felt safest, it would be curled up on a sofa in her oldest friend’s living room. Walking in through the front door made her feel like she could breathe out properly for the first time in months.
Savannah had finally called her, just after Christmas; Coral’s accusation about their friendship ringing in her ears. Still, when her heart was fracturing there was only one person on the planet she wanted to talk to. Rosalie’s combination of over-protective love, deep understanding and a light scolding was exactly what she’d craved.
She looked at Rosalie now where she stood in her kitchen, pouring them both a glass of wine, and as always had the strangest sensation of seeing double. Rosalie looked casually lovely, the way she always did, with her auburn hair and creamy skin, and yet still within the grown woman Savannah could always see her as she’d looked the very first time she’d laid eyes on her: a wide-eyed sixteen-year-old in boy’s pajamas.
“Savannah Grace,” Rosalie said now, handing her the glass of wine. “If you don’t sit down and tell me literally everything, I swear to god, I will never speak to you again for as long as we both shall live.”
Dying of gratitude, Savannah sat.
“So,” Bryce Campbell looked at her steadily across the desk in his enormous corner office at the label’s lavish Nashville complex, six weeks later. “How are you feeling?”
“Pumped,” Savannah admitted, reaching out and snagging a candy from the big bowl that perpetually appeared wherever the label head arrived. “I’m beyond ready.”
“We all are.” Bryce stretched back in his executive chair. “I have to admit Savannah, this album was worth the wait, and then some.”
She glowed at him smugly, and he laughed.
“Longing is the first single, of course.” He lifted his finger to tap off his agenda items. Savannah frowned.
“I think it should be Beware the Fury,” she argued. “I like the idea of arriving back with a blaze.”
Bryce considered her.
“It’s the least Savannah Grace that Savannah Grace has ever sounded,” he said thoughtfully. “And it’s a hell of a track. It’s going to get people talking, that's for sure.” She nodded, happy he was taking her view of things, until he continued. “Here’s the thing. That song is a fuck you to Cole Corbin, and I’m not saying the man doesn’t have it coming. Part of me wants to give the punters what they want: Cole’s long-suffering, country music darling, ex-wife finally venting her righteous rage and kicking his ass from here to kingdom come.”
“Does sound good, doesn’t it?” Savannah smiled.
“Sure. But it’s also exactly what the world expects of you right now.” Her smile faded. “Longing, on the other hand, well that’s more of a wild card. Savannah Grace is back, and Cole Corbin is nothing but a blip in her rearview mirror. Savannah Grace has forgotten the man even existed. Savannah Grace is, in fact, singing love songs to and with a beautiful woman.”
Savannah stood up sharply, her heart pounding.
“Don’t you dare, Bryce.” She felt the blood drain from her face. “Don’t you fucking dare turn my life into a marketing gimmick.” She glared at him and he spread out his hands, gesturing for her to sit back down. Eventually she did, albeit reluctantly, tense and ready to fight.
“That’s not what I’m proposing,” he said calmly. “Your business is your business, and you know the amount of respect I have for you. I’m simply proposing the song standing on its own and speaking for itself. You didn’t record it with a male vocalist after all,” he pointed out and she blinked. She hadn’t even considered it. “It’s your finest work, Savannah. It’s passionate, it’s heartbreaking and it’s sexy. It’ll be the hit of the year, if not the next five years.”
She breathed in a deep breath and looked down at her hands, considering. Even the very fact of his insinuation had thrown her; this would not fly with the establishment if she was still firmly inside country music. Instead, it appeared she really was entering a whole new world. She’d lived in the old one so long she had no idea how to feel.
“Fine,” she said shortly. “We’ll do it your way.”
“That’s great,” he relaxed back in his chair. “Next thing on the agenda then, is the music video.” He rattled off a couple of big name directors and potential filming dates, all of which she had thoughts on. “Alright, done,” he said once they’d come to an agreement. “I’ll get Jen to clear Ms. Marshall’s schedule that week too and we’ll get it in the can so it can all be wrapped up well before the album launch.”
