Page 52 of Freeing Savannah

Savannah’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected this. This breaking open of a woman who had spent so long smiling through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t know how to stop it,” Olivia went on. “Maybe that’s the worst part. I married a man I didn’t love because I was lonely. Your father . . . when he died, I couldn’t breathe for months. Then Harlan came along. He was charming, successful. He said all the right things. I knew he could take care of us for the rest of our lives.”

She looked at Savannah now, eyes rimmed in guilt. “I thought I was doing what was best for us. For you. He said he could give you a future. A stage. The spotlight. I believed him.”

Savannah swallowed the ache rising in her throat. “What I needed wasn’t stages or press. I just needed you.”

Olivia’s face crumpled, and she reached for her daughter’s hand. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry. I let him control too much. Let him dim your light while pretending to polish it. He made you a symbol, Savannah. But I . . . I should’ve made you feel safe. Loved.”

Savannah squeezed her mother’s hand and slid over on the piano bench to make room for her mother to sit beside her. “It’s not too late.”

With a heavy exhale, Olivia dropped onto the bench. They sat there in the stillness, years of silence stitching slowly back together in the quiet between their words.

The performance hall prepared for its next moment of grandeur. But for them, a different kind of performance had just concluded. A mother finally stepped off the stage of denial, and a daughter slowly began to believe she wasn’t alone.

Olivia brushed a tear from the corner of her eye with a graceful flick. With the set-up complete, the stage had fallen into a tentative calm, like the hush that lingered after a storm had passed, but not entirely left.

“So,” Olivia said after a moment, a trace of gentle curiosity softening her features. “Sawyer.”

Savannah blinked at the shift in topic, her cheeks immediately warming. “What about him?”

Her mother gave her a knowing smile. “Don’t play coy, sweetheart. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only person in the room. And you . . . You haven’t looked at anyone like that since—well, since you were thirteen years old and had to say goodbye to your best friend.”

Savannah’s breath caught. For a second, she wanted to deflect, to fall back on her usual polished answers. But this wasn’t a press interview or a publicist’s talking point. This was her mother. And maybe someone who wanted to know the real her. Finally.

“It’s complicated,” she admitted. “But also . . . not.”

Olivia tilted her head, inviting her to go on.

“He was my best friend, once,” Savannah said, voice softening with memory. “When the world felt heavy, Sawyer made it lighter. I lost him, and I thought that piece of me was just . . . gone. But now he’s here, and somehow it feels like I can finally breathe again.”

Olivia’s eyes glistened. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be.

Savannah looked down at her hands laced in her lap. She smiled, slow and unguarded, as images of Sawyer drifted through her mind. Sawyer assuring her she could shine not like the sun, but like the moon that was just as bright. Sawyer, always by her side as she navigated the intricacies of diplomacy, a strong, steady presence that brought her a sense of calm.Sawyer, when he kissed her as if it was the first and last time mixed as one.

“I do,” she said. “I really do.”

Her mother let out a long breath, a sound of release and relief. “Then don’t let anyone—not me, not Harlan, not the world—keep you from that.”

Savannah looked up, startled.

“I mean it,” Olivia added, leaning in. “He fought for you, Savannah. With everything he had. And he’s still fighting. What do you think he’s doing right now with Harlan? I see how he grounds you when everything else spins out of control. That kind of love . . . you don’t let that slip away. It’s exactly what I had with your father.”

For the first time in a long time, Savannah felt the echo of hope in her chest. Steady. Certain. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet. “For saying that.”

Her mother gave her a soft smile. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“When you finally tell him how you feel . . . don’t wait too long. Life doesn’t always give us second chances. But when it does—you hold on with both hands.”

Savannah nodded, heart full. And for the first time since the tour began, she started to believe she might make it through this. Not as a performer or diplomat, but as herself.

CHAPTER 21

Voodooonce more stood in the wings, this time at the Dubai Opera House, arms folded loosely across his chest as he watched Savannah work her magic on the piano. She sat at the grand piano now, going over a delicate passage, her fingers dancing lightly across the keys, her expression focused. She appeared to have a bit more energy than she’d had in the last week and a half. They hadn’t talked about it, not having a moment to themselves, but he figured the conversation with her mother had gone well.

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