Page 18 of The Belle and the Biker

CHAPTER7

Savannah

The earliest planeshe could book for me was 6 p.m., so I have plenty of time to call everyone and let them know I will be out of town for a while. The modeling agency has already emailed me that they won't have any more bookings for me because of my bad attitude at the photographer's office. The homeless shelter still didn't have any need for my volunteer services. The company that gave me bookings for etiquette lessons grumbled a bit about my cancellation and told me to call back when I'm available again.

In other words, New York isn't going to miss me that much. It seems the city isn't ready for a gracious Southern woman who is always happy to share her fashion, decorating, and etiquette advice. Well, it's their loss. I could have made everyone much prettier and more gracious.

"You want me to come to North Carolina with you?" Tawny asks. "I could use a break from Axl. Or rather, he seems like he could use a break from me. He's acting weird these days."

"Weird, how? You two seemed fine last night."

"It comes and goes. One day he's fine. The next, he's off in his own world. He had a wicked hangover this morning and said he needed time alone. He's been doing that a lot lately. And I don't always know where he is. Sometimes I ask what he's been up to, and he changes the subject." Her eyes flicker with a rare gleam of vulnerability.

"I'll be fine in Sugar Hill. I don't want you to have to put up with my aunt Hepzibah," I say. "Trust me, if you're in a mood now, she'll make it worse. Why don't you flat out ask Axl what he's up to?"

"I have. He'll just say he's going out for a ride. And when I ask to go with him, he says he needs to clear his head and walks out of the room. But he says he doesn't want to break up. I don't know what the hell's going on."

I would suggest that she follow Axl, but I'm afraid of what might happen if she catches him with another woman. I don't have enough money to help her pay for a good lawyer.

"Men are weird. What can I tell you? I'll call you and check in," I tell her.

"You freakin' better. Or I'll kick your ass. Also, remember your self-defense moves. You've got to practice more, you Southern cone of soft-serve."

"Will do, you Northern nugget of nastiness."

Tawny has studied multiple martial arts systems. She settled on the Israeli art of Krav Maga because it's brutally efficient and practical. She insists on teaching me lessons every week, but I don't mind too much. It's good cardio, and if I ever need to defend my honor, I'll be ready.

Sprocket drives Tiddlywinks and me to the airport in plenty of time for my flight. I am picked up in Charlotte by Aunt Hepzibah's "manservant" (her term) Carlisle. I've known him since I was a toddler, and I'm twenty-five. For all those years, he's looked exactly the same—dour-faced, silver-haired, stoop-shouldered. He looked to be somewhere between his sixties and his eighties the first time I laid eyes on him, and he still looks the same.

He arrives wearing his usual understated dark suit. In the house, when he's working, he wears a tuxedo and looks like Jeeves from the P.G. Wodehouse books.

I've already loaded all my suitcases onto a cart when he arrives, by myself, might I add. I used to flutter my eyelashes at a man or have a servant do it, but Savannah 2.0 does things for herself when she has to.

He grabs the cart's handle and greets me with a slight nod and his usual grave expression. "Hello, madam."

"Good to see you, Carlisle. You're looking well."

I barely slept last night, thanks to the presence of Crash on my couch, and I yawn the whole way to the car. I try to stay awake to make conversation, but Sugar Hill is three hours west of the airport, and I doze most of the way.

I wake with a start as we pull into the long driveway leading to the house. Coming to visit Aunt Hepzibah is like driving through a time portal. Her Greek revival house was built in the 1800s, with massive two-story columns and first- and second-story balconies that wrap around the front of the house. Wings on either side of the house are home to the groundskeeper, four maids, a chef, and several gardeners. The majestic Southern live oaks that line the driveway spread their branches in an interlocking embrace, forming a tunnel that swallows us in a hushed wintry embrace.

Carlisle pulls up in the circular driveway at the broad marble front steps. The stone fountain, a Grecian woman pouring her vase into the basin below, is dry because it's turned off during the winter, but the greenery surrounding it is neatly trimmed.

As I climb out of the car, I tip my head back to take it all in. I spent a lot of my childhood here; my mother would bring me here as a punishment when she felt that I wasn't "behaving in a ladylike manner" and leave me for days at a time. Aunt Hepzibah would stand there on the front porch and chastise me severely until my mother left, and then she'd roll her eyes and say, "Well, the witch just departed on her broomstick. Despite your terrible behavior, I would consider a game of Tiddlywinks in the solarium, accompanied by sandwiches and lemonade. If you think you can refrain from cheating this time. Don't take it personally. It's just the Mulberry Acres side of the family, in general, isn't known for their morals."

And people wonder why I grew up to be a mean, snarky bitch. Well, people who haven't met my family wonder that.

Even though it's close to midnight, the air is a lovely, balmy fifty degrees, and Tiddlywinks perks up as we walk up the marble front steps. "Just wait until tomorrow," I tell her. "It's supposed to be seventy degrees; you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

"Are you talking to your purse, madam?" Carlisle inquires. He's lugging two of my suitcases.

"Basically, yes."

His expression doesn't change it rarely does. "Very good, madam."

"Do you want me to grab a couple of suitcases?" I didn't want to carry them, but Savannah 2.0 felt obligated to ask.

"I wouldn't dream of it, madam."

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