Sweet Little Bitch Read online

  Panic griped me and I turned to run toward my truck.

  “Where are you going?” Chantel asked.

  “To find Fiona,” I said stating the obvious.

  “You should know what’s wrong before you run off to find her. Because God knows she won’t tell you.”

  I paused and turned back to Chantel. “I’m listening.” I wanted her to hurry. The urgency to make sure Fiona was okay clawed at me.

  “That little memory box in your closet,” she said slowly. Confused I waited for more. “The one you have hidden. Fiona accidentally kicked it over looking for a shirt of yours to put on.”

  Box . . . ? Oh fuck. “And she told you?” I asked wondering if she was angry or hurt. What was I was facing?

  “I forced it out of her. She’s insecure. You know that. The box didn’t help.”

  Fuck me. I should have tossed it months ago. “Thanks,” I called out to Chantel. I jogged to my truck. Before I even pulled out of the parking lot I was calling Fiona.

  It rang three times and she didn’t answer. Dammit. I tried again, and Fiona’s voicemail picked up again. This wasn’t that big of a deal. I could explain it if she’d answer the phone. Sure I had the box hidden and I knew it was there, but I hadn’t thought of it for a long time. Tossing it would have been smart. If I was willing to admit it to myself, deep down I wanted to keep the memories. I wanted to remember what that had felt like. I know it was never as big, or as powerful as what I had with Fiona now.

  Speeding, I made it to the apartment in record time. Fiona’s car was gone. I parked my truck, frustrated. I called her again as I sat in the apartment parking lot, not sure if I should drive around Savannah looking for her or go inside and wait. It was very unlikely I’d find her if I went looking.

  Fiona’s phone went to voicemail again. Belatedly, I wished I’d asked Chantel where Fiona was instead of rushing off. I also wished I had Chantel’s number. I bet Mack did.

  He was off tonight. His black older model Hummer that was a gas guzzler was parked nearby. Whatever plans he had for this evening hadn’t begun. I headed inside to ask Mack for Chantel’s phone number. Why hadn’t Chantal told me where Fiona would be as I was leaving. She could have yelled it. “Hey! You can find Fiona here.” Or something like that.

  I went into the apartment and found Mack on the sofa laughing loudly at something he was watching on the television. He cut his eyes at me and pointed at the screen. “This shit it great! Have you seen it?”

  I didn’t ask what he was watching. I didn’t care.

  “What’s Chantel’s number?” I asked.

  He held up the remote pausing the show he was watching. “Chantel? Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because she’s Fiona’s closest friend and roommate maybe! What’s her number?”

  Mack scowled. “Jesus, you’re in a bad mood.” He picked up his phone that was on the couch beside him. Scrolling through the numbers, he touched the screen a few times then glanced at me. “Just texted it to you. What’s the serious expression about? Y’all fighting?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  I immediately called the number Mack had texted me while walking back toward my room, out of his hearing range.

  “Hello,” Chantel said after the second ring.

  “It’s Marty. Where is she?”

  “Not sure. She said she’d be home later.”

  “When did she say that?” I asked annoyed.

  “At ten this morning.”

  Shit! That was seven hours ago.

  “And you weren’t concerned since then?” What kind of friend was she?

  “No. Because Fiona is a big girl. She just needed space.”

  “If you hear from her could, you call me or tell her to call me. Please?”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure you know the moment I hear from her. But she’ll probably be home soon.”

  Hanging up, I walked over to the closet and found the damn box that had caused so much trouble. Picking it up I took the lid off and looked inside. There were the photos, keepsakes from our first date, letters, God I hoped she hadn’t read the letters. I held the promise ring I’d bought for Mary Grace before she ended things. It seemed stupid now. What was a promise ring anyway? A promise of what? Rolling my eyes, I rolled the ring around my finger and shook my head. I was crazy then. Young.

  I put the lid back on the box and took the ring with me. I would wait for Fiona at her door with this box. We’d look at it together. I’d explain why I still had it then I’d toss it in her garbage to show her I was done and this wasn’t important.

  “Leaving with some shoes?” Mack asked as I passed by.

  “Yeah,” I replied not about to explain this to him.

  “I’ll be gone in a couple hours. Got a date,” he told me as I reached the door.

  “Good luck with that.” I already knew it meant nothing. He was with a new girl every weekend.

  Closing the door to our apartment, I only took three steps before the front door opened and Fiona walked in. She stopped short where she stood and her eyes met mine. Neither of us moved. her gaze dropped to the box under my arm.

  “I want to explain everything in this box and then I want to toss it. I want us to toss it. This is the past. And I’m sorry you found it. But I’m sorrier that I even had it.”

  She didn’t move. And for a moment I didn’t think she was going to say anything in return. Finally, her eyes met mine and I saw something there that gave me hope. “Aren’t you angry? I went through your things.” She said it like it made sense for me to be upset with her. Not the other way around.

  “What?” I asked confused. Wasn’t she upset with me?

  She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “That is your stuff. I had no right to invade your privacy. And to get upset over it was even more unfair. I’m that one that should be sorry. Chantel was right. I was snooping and it was wrong.”

  I closed the distance between us and held the box out to her for her to take it. “I’m not angry. And I don’t care about this box. You are what is important.”

  She looked down at it for a few moments. Hesitantly, she reached out and took it from me. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she asked lifting her gaze back to mine with the sweetest damn smile in the world.

  Marty

  LEAVING FIONA IN BED WAS never easy, but I had to work today. We’d slept at her place last night, so I had to walk down to my apartment to get dressed. The shoebox was forgotten. I took it with me when I left with the intention of throwing it away here. I didn’t want Fiona to have to see it again.

  Walking into the kitchen, I dropped the box in the trash before heading back to my room. Last night I saw just how vulnerable Fiona was. Her parents had done a number on her ability to trust. I knew that already. She was fragile and I had to be more careful with her.

  One day, I wanted to believe my love would heal all that pain inside her. For now, I could practice patience. I would make sure things like that damn shoebox didn’t show up again. Fiona had realized she was overreacting without being told. That was progress.

  I showered quickly and dressed, then headed back to the kitchen to grab something to eat before heading to the station. Mack was awake and standing at the bar with the shoebox I had thrown away in front of him, photos in his hands. There was a serious look on his face as he lifted his head and stared at me.

  “This what had Fiona so worked up?”

  I nodded and walked to the fridge. “Yes. Toss it.”

  Mack sighed and put the photo down then leaned back against the cabinets and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  Had he lost his mind? “Yes. I would think you’d be thrilled to hear it.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a fucking cigarette for this.”

  What was his deal? I stood there holding the gallon of milk in my hand trying to understand what he was saying. “Why wouldn’t I want to get rid of it?”

 
; Mack dropped his hand back to his chest and looked at me like he would rather be anywhere else but here. “Because Mary Grace came here to tell you something. She told me instead. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I should, but I don’t think I can let you toss your memories of her until you know. She’s got cancer. Stage four. Maybe six months to live.”

  It felt like the oxygen was sucked out of the room. I stood there trying to make some sort of sense of the words Mack had just said, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t in love with Mary Grace but I had loved her. Thinking about her dying was something I wasn’t ready for. She was supposed to live a long full life somewhere with some Yale man.

  This news threw everything off balance. I couldn’t understand how that could happen to Mary Grace. I knew I only had a place in my heart for Fiona. She was the one for me. But Mary Grace was my past. I had cared for her more than anyone else back then. How could I accept that her time was limited? That she was sick?

  “Where is she living?” I asked thinking she couldn’t be at Yale still.

  “Back home. With her parents. She lost a baby. She was pregnant when they found the cancer three months ago. They said the baby wouldn’t make it because Mary Grace wouldn’t make it long enough without chemo. They had to take the baby. It was too early.”

  “Jesus!” I ran a hand through my hair thinking how unfair it was for someone as young as Mary Grace to not get a chance to live life.

  “Keep the box,” Mack said. “I’m going to smoke a fucking pack of cigarettes,” he added then left me alone in the kitchen.

  I stared at the box of memories. I thought about the plans we had made. The girl I had loved once. This all seemed unreal. It all seemed like a dream. I didn’t know how to accept it. Or how to deal with it.

  Five Years Later . . .

  Fiona

  SAVANNAH. NOT WHERE I WANTED to be and the last place I wanted to return to. New York was home. It suited me. It was fast and busy. I didn’t have time for regrets.

  At twenty-five years old, I was on the perfect path. I’d achieved more than most people my age. My modeling career had opened doors for me and now I was on the other side of the camera. Not taking photos but designing them. That was what I wanted to do with my life and that was all back in New York.

  None of that mattered when your sister decided to do something ridiculous like get married. Shay could have made it out of Savannah. She had potential and ambition. I offered to get her working on set more than once with me. But no. Shay was still here.

  As the driver slowed in front of the hotel where Shay had booked my room and where the wedding would be held, I sighed with disgust. This was happening. I’d see everyone I had cut all contact with after I packed my things and left Savannah three years ago. Shay was the only person who knew where and how to reach me, and that was because she was family.

  I pulled out my phone and opened the Uber app to add the tip for the driver before thanking him and getting out of the car. I grabbed my carry-on suitcase stood at the hotel entrance. I hadn’t packed much because I didn’t plan on staying one second after Shay drove off into her wedded bliss. I had to survive this hypocrisy for four days and then I could get back to my life.

  One would think after having a father like ours that Shay would have searched for someone . . . more. More dependable. More stable. More trustworthy. Anyone was better than Mack. Sex was not all that mattered. Not when it came to forever, or even the next twenty years if they were remotely lucky. Marriage needed . . . well it needed stuff I knew nothing about because I had no successful examples to draw from.

  Mack Oliver had worked his magic on Shay over four years ago. I hated it, but I had hoped it was passing phase. Shay would see what Mack was like. Her interest in bad boys was supposed to have pass by now. Unfortunately, Shay listened to none of this when I tried to talk sense into her. Instead, she laughed at me, told me to mind my own business, and informed me I was her maid of honor.

  The driver was gone several minutes before I finally moved my feet and walked toward the entrance. Our hotel was a mansion at one time. Shay had said when she was eight that she was going to get married here. I rolled my eyes and told her she was ridiculous because no one needed to get married.

  A bellman approached me asking to take my suitcase. My car hadn’t dropped me off right in front due to so many arrivals at the front door so he had waited until I got closer to the bell stand. I waved my hand and said, “No, thank you,” and continued to the door that he opened wide for me to walk inside.

  The onyx marble lobby was impressive. I expected the hotel to be opulent. Over the years I’d seen photos of my friends on social media that were taken here—from prom to engagement announcements. Staying here had never been a goal of mine.

  “Welcome to the Savannah Mansion,” an attractive blond man that had to be six-foot-seven said, his straight white teeth the highlight of his smile. My neck was going to get a cramp looking up at him and I was a tall female. “Are you checking in?” he asked.

  Why was he working here? He should be playing basketball somewhere. He was probably a university student. I stepped up to the counter. “Yes please,” I replied reaching for my backpack for my ID and credit card.

  “Are you by any chance with the Burns-Oliver wedding party?” the guy asked.

  I paused to look up at him. “Yes. Fiona Burns.”

  He kept his pleasant smile and handed me a key. Not the plastic card key that I was accustomed to in hotels. He gave me a real key. I stared at it, not reaching to take it from his hands. What was I supposed to do with that? It looked old and heavy.

  “This is your key, Ms. Burns. The room is ready. I was informed that you would arrive soon and we made sure it was set up.”

  I lifted my gaze from the key to his eyes. “That’s a key.” I said it as if he was the one who didn’t know what the strange item was that he held in his hand. His smile lifted a bit with amusement.

  “Yes, it’s the key to your room,” he repeated.

  Frustrated with the situation, I decided the key issue required clarification. “I don’t want that key. I want the little plastic card key.”

  And Mr. I-Should-Have-Been-An-NBA-Player chuckled. He actually laughed. How was I the funny one? This was a hotel. And it wasn’t 1918 anymore. How was I going to get into the hotel gym without a plastic key card? Had they not thought of that?

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Burns. But the city requires many of the historical aspects of the mansion remain to qualify for historical status. The door locks are one of those stipulations. They must reflect the time period.”

  That was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. “But . . . how will I get into the gym?” I asked. Even to my ears I sounded a bit panicked at the idea of toting around a real key.

  “There is a code you’ll find in your welcome packet in your room with—”

  “FIONA!” he was cut off by the loud squeal coming from my sister as she made sure everyone in a ten-mile radius knew my name. Her dark brown hair was longer than the last time she had come to see me. That was almost ten months ago. Seeing her now, I knew the sudden pang in my chest was guilt for not making time to see her more often. She didn’t look hurt over it though. She was practically beaming as she ran toward me.

  I closed my backpack and threw it back over my shoulder just before she threw her arms around me. “You’re here. I don’t have to fly to New York and drag your ass here!”

  And there was the guilt again.

  “You’re getting married.” The word sounded sour coming from me. “Of course I’m here.”

  Shay didn’t get offended by my tone. She laughed. Because she knew I thought she was crazy. She knew I didn’t want to be here. She knew I hated this place . . . and every memory I had left behind.

  “They gave me a key,” I told her hoping to break the awkwardness. I wasn’t affectionate. I had been given no affection as a child and I had a hard time giving it in return. Shay was raised with warmth and love. That
made her very different and her personality reflected as much.

  “Yes. To your room. Isn’t it perfect. It fits this place. I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time—Victorian mansions, beautiful gowns, and aristocrats.”

  All of that was because her mother read her fairy tales. When reality slapped her in the face she was going to have a tough time with the outcome. Life had slapped me. Not once, but twice and it would never happen again.

  “Don’t we all want to live during a time that one had to worry about diseases wiping out entire towns, corsets so tight it was hard to breathe, and there was no air conditioner while wearing entirely too many clothes? God, I so hate I missed all that,” I drawled.

  Shay rolled her eyes but the joy was still there. “Come on, Mary Poppins. Let’s get you to your room,” was her reply as she grabbed my arm and began chatting about the key and how it made the experience more authentic. I resisting saying how inconvenient I thought it was and let her talk.

  Marty

  “THE SPA HERE IS AMAZING. You’ve got to get a couple’s massage with me. The hot stones will change your life!” Rowan announced as she walked back into the suite that my brother and Shay had booked for me. I didn’t need a suite, but damned if they’d take my advice and save money on this wedding shit.

  I glanced up from the book I was reading at the redheaded beauty I had brought with me. Rowan was sweet, kind, funny, and I enjoyed her company. We had met three years ago when I moved from Savannah to Nashville where I’d managed to get a job at the fire department. At the time, I had needed a change. Nashville had given me an offer that was hard to turn down, so I went.

  Rowan was my first friend in Nashville. Her stunning appearance was what first caught my attention. My thoughts had immediately gone to wondering if it was off limits to date colleagues. What man wouldn’t wonder that?

  Then Rowan’s girlfriend at the time, Genesis, arrived and after I accepted that blow, we found our friendship. Rowan was unique, and although her beauty was never lost on me, I no longer saw her in a sexual way. I even found amusement when men hit on her because I too had been there.