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Author's Note:
Three years. That's a long time to wait for a chapter, especially since I ended the last chapter with a devastating cliffhanger. I'm sure most of my readers assumed I lost interest in this story, or that I'm the laziest writer in the history of Literotica. Neither is the case and I actually have a (legitimate?) excuse for the epic lateness of what you're about to read. The truth is, 'Savannah' is the story I'm most proud of. I know that my profile is known for 'Beauty & the Geek' and that's the story most of my readers enjoy the most, but 'Savannah' is the story I fantasized about publishing. I wanted it to be my finest example of writing. I took a ridiculous amount of time and care in writing the first two chapters, with a firm story arc in mind (something I never had with 'Beauty & the Geek' -- a story I wrote basically off the top of my head as I typed the words).
But then something happened.
Grace is based on a real person who was a very close friend of mine until she passed away long before she deserved. This happened not long after I posted chapter 2 of 'Savannah'. I tried sitting down to write chapter 3 probably fifty times over the last three years, but I just couldn't do it. It hurt, emotionally. I could hear my friend's voice in Grace's pronounced drawl. Eventually I was resigned to the fact that 'Savannah' would go unfinished. Time has a way of healing all wounds, however. A scar remains, but it's finally time to continue this story. I owe it to her, to you, and to myself. This chapter is dedicated to the real Grace and to all my readers who have waited so long to hear her voice again.
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Ashlee leaned in close to the surface of a vanity mirror, a strand of her dark shoulder-length tresses clutched between two fingers. She studied the tips of her hair, assessing the split-ends and wondering if she should make an appointment with her stylist before graduation. After careful scrutiny of several more strands Ashlee glanced towards a digital clock beside her bed and realized she had been staring at her hair for nearly forty five minutes.
"I am so bored," she declared to her reflection.
Picking up her cell phone, Ashlee made several swipes against its surface until her contacts list was displayed. She stared at Grace's name and picture, contemplating calling. The girls hadn't spoken in two weeks and Ashlee desperately missed talking to her best friend. Grace had lied about her involvement with Chase and Ashlee felt it was Grace's responsibility to take the first move and make things right between them, but if she didn't call soon Ashlee feared they wouldn't make up in time for graduation -- only a week away.
Just as Ashlee was about to move her thumb and call Grace she heard the doorbell. Setting her phone aside she hurried out of her room and trotted down a long flight of stairs into a massive entryway. Wondering who would be knocking after eight o'clock on a Thursday night, Ashlee looked through the door's peep hole.
He was the last person she expected to see.
After working the deadbolt Ashlee pulled the door open, "Chase?"
"Hey Ashlee," Chase mumbled in a deadened tone.
"Jesus," Ashley intoned, looking over the boy who had come between her and Grace. He looked terrible, as if he hadn't shaved or slept in a week. His jeans and light canvas jacket had dirty scuff marks, as though he had been rolling on the ground, and dried blood caked the left corner of his mouth. Chase's normally-neat brown hair was heavily tousled. "Honey, you look awful. What are you doing here?"
Chase leaned heavily against the door jamb as though he was having trouble supporting his own weight. "Sorry... I didn't know where else to go," he slurred slowly.
"Oh Jesus," Ashley frowned sympathetically, "You're drunk, aren't you?"
Chase smirked without enthusiasm, "I think so."
"Okay," Ashlee offered, moving to help Chase by throwing his arm over her shoulders, "You are so lucky my parents went to Atlanta for the week. Let's get you inside."
Leaning heavily against Ashlee, Chase stumbled into the house beside her. "She won't see me," he mumbled in a voiced soaked with self-pity, "She won't even talk to me."
Ashlee led him towards the closest couch within a sitting room connected to the entry, struggling under Chase's weight, "Who won't talk to you... Grace?"
Chase slumped into the couch with the strength of a ragdoll. "She's gonna marry some spoiled rich kid," he slurred, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.
"What?!" Ashlee's eyes widened, "Grace is getting married?"
Chase nodded, his expression twisting in pain.
"How is that even possible?" Ashlee wondered with disbelief, "Who is she marrying?"
"Dylan," Chase murmured quietly. "Dylan... I forget."
"Montgomery," Ashlee finished for him. "Oh dear. Okay, um, we better get you cleaned up. You stay here and I'll be right back, all right?"
Chase didn't reply but also didn't look as though he was going anywhere. Hurrying back upstairs, Ashley set out to fetch what she'd need. She wanted to call Grace and find out what the hell was going on but sensed Chase needed her attention more urgently. Ashlee collected a washcloth and basin as well as a pillow and some blankets before returning to the sitting room where she left Chase. He remained exactly as she left him.
"I need a drink," Chase complained, barely conscious.
"How about some coffee?" Ashlee suggested, setting her items on the floor and kneeling near Chase's feet. She dipped the washcloth into the water basin before lifting it towards Chase's face. "Were you in a fight? Your lip is swollen and bloody."
"Some asshole at the bar," Chase confirmed.
Ashlee let out a heavy sigh as she dabbed at the corner of his mouth, "You're a wreck, aren't you?"
If Chase noted Ashlee's attentions he didn't show it, "I love her, Ashlee. I'm so in love with her..."
Ashlee winced at Chase's proclamation. All at once she realized whatever frivolous crush she had on Chase paled in comparison to what he felt for Grace.
"How is this even possible?" Ashlee wondered, rinsing the washcloth free of Chase's dried blood. "Grace hates Dylan, she always has. She would never marry him."
No answer came. Chase had passed out.
"Okay," Ashlee breathed, dropping her washcloth into the basin. "This is officially the weirdest night I've had in a while."
Struggling to remove Chase's Jacket, Ashlee also pulled his shoes off and managed to lay him back on the couch. Covering him with a pair of blankets she assumed he'd be fine sleeping it off until morning. Wondering what would possess Chase to drive to her house, Ashlee assumed answers would come in the morning. In the meantime, she needed to talk to Grace.
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"Honey," Branford Lattimore was explaining to his daughter, "You have to understand, it's a different economic climate out there. Paper just isn't selling like it used to, what with all these computers and tablets and such."
Grace sat sullenly on her bedroom loveseat wearing a tank top and a pair of flannel boxers, arms curled around her long legs. "Ah understand, daddy," she said, her tone venomous, "Ah understand that you and mom sold me off to the Montgomery family like some kind of prized mare, so they can breed me with their stud."
Branford frowned at the analogy, standing in Grace's room wearing a long smoking jacket and playing with his slender moustache. "It's not like that at all, darlin'. Ah'm doing this for you -- for your future, and the future of your children."
"You know Dylan Montgomery is a vile snake, right?" Grace scowled at the very thought of him, "Ah would rather you marry me to a witless donkey."
Branford chuckled at his daughter's melodrama, "He's just young and foolish, like all boys his age. Y'all will get on just fine, in time."
Grace pushed a wavy strand of her blonde hair behind an ear, "Please don't make me do this, daddy. Ah'm never going to fall in love with Dylan. Ah'm already.... ah'm in love with someone else."
"The catering boy?" Branford lifted a brow.
"He's not a catering boy," Grace growled angrily. She had never viewed her father as a snobbish elitist before that moment, "He's going to school to be a mechanic; he's going to open his own garage. And his name is Chase."
"You're too young to know real love, Grace. Ah know you think you love this boy, but you're not considering your future. He can't provide for you like Dylan can. Just imagine, sweetheart - after you marry Dylan your children will stand to inherit two of Savannah's oldest and richest fortunes. You and yours will be secure for generations. Now, isn't that just a little more important than some fling you're having with a boy in a hot rod?"
Grace sighed, realizing she had little chance of making her father understand. He was right, she knew; if she married Dylan she would be marrying into the richest family in Savannah. Grace's father was simply too pragmatic and money-conscious to see the situation any other way, so he did what any shrewd business man would do - he made a deal to secure the financial future of his business and family. As her parent's only child it was Grace's duty to heed their arrangement. It may have been an antiquated southern custom, but she was honor-bound to marry a boy she loathed for the sake of her family. At least, that's how Savannah's upper society would see it.
"You're wrong," Grace spoke with resignation. "Ah love Chase, and he loves me. Maybe ah'm only eighteen but ah know what love is, daddy." She pushed on the same tousle of hair she had curled behind her ear only a few moments earlier, out of habit. "But... you're also right. If ah marry Dylan we'll get lots of Montgomery money and m'ah children will get to grow up in a big mansion. The only thing is... Dylan ain't simply young and dumb. He's a mean, viscous scoundrel who's had a silver spoon stuck up his rear side for so long he thinks the whole damned world should be kissin' his ass. If ah marry Dylan Montgomery, ah'll never be happy."
Branford sighed. He certainly wasn't immune to his daughter's pleas, "What would you have me do, darlin'? You want me to call off the deal? We won't get the contracts and ah'll be forced to close more mills. Chances are we'll lose everything. The house, all of our belongings..."
"Ah would just be happy with Chase, the money don't matter to me none."
"You say that now," Branford shook his head, "But you've never been poor, Grace. You don't know what kind of struggle that can be. Ah don't think your mother could take it."
"Don't worry, daddy." Grace pulled her legs in tighter and set her chin on a knee, "Ah'm a Lattimore and ah'll do my duty. You won't lose mama or the business."
"That's m'ah girl," Branford reached and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Trust me, darlin, and give it some time. It won't be as bad as what you got stuck in your head."
Grace offered a melancholy nod and waited for her father to leave the room before allowing a single tear to leak from her eye, but as soon as her bedroom door closed several of them streamed downward. She wiped a palm across her cheek and sniffled, telling herself that it would all work out somehow. Grace wanted to be strong, she didn't want to cry. Girls cried, she told herself, not women, and Chase had made her a woman.
Rising from the loveseat, Grace began pacing in her room -- a habit she performed whenever something weighed heavily on her. Her bare feet padded back and forth along the plush carpeting as she contemplated her muddy future. Luckily for the floor, her cell phone began ringing to distract Grace from wearing a path into the carpet.
Distracted, she answered without even looking to see who it was, "Hello?"
"Grace? It's me."
"Ash?"
"Yeah. Um, is this a good time?"
Grace pushed a hand through her blonde waves. Her voice wavered from the recent water-works, "It's good to hear your voice. Ah could use a friend right about now."
"So it's true? You're engaged to Dylan?"
Grace closed her eyes and let herself fall into a sitting position on her couch, "Well, no one's decorated m'ah finger with any stones yet, but ah suspect it won't take very long. How'd you know about it, anyway?"
