Chapter 7

Snow flurries danced outside her window under the diamond sheen of the moon. Savannah watched the flakes whirl around, much like the thoughts in her head. They banged off each other, colliding and flying in every direction. The moonlight cast long shadows and muted the vibrant color of the ladybug patches on the ceiling in Liliana’s room. Her niece’s bed was too small but she needed to feel close to her. Kneeling by the bed, Savannah picked up the plushy ladybug pillow and squeezed it to her chest.

The majority of her thoughts centered on Liliana and her condition. When she reluctantly left the hospital for the day, the child seemed a little more subdued than she did earlier. But then, was anything normal in this situation? Markita’s presence added some vitality to her niece’s demeanor for most of the day as they talked back and forth. Savannah sank her face into the pillow and inhaled the aroma of the scented sheets. She’d just washed them the night before Liliana had gotten hurt. It had been a nice evening, too. Who knew the next day calamity would strike? Sleep had evaded her for the last hour and she knew it wasn’t going to come to her any time soon. Sighing, she got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. The timer on the stove showed it was half past midnight. Was Liliana doing okay? Did she sleep all right despite her injuries or was she still—?

She shut down that train of thought. No, she wouldn’t go into panic mode. She sent up another prayer for healing and protection for her niece, one of dozens in the past four days. Keep her safe, Lord. Heal her body. Help me not to go insane with worry. Help me to trust you even when I don’t understand.

Savannah opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of chocolate milk and a plastic container of chocolate chip cookies. She could almost hear her mother making a quip about her choices of midnight snacks. After she poured the milk into a glass and warmed two cookies in the microwave, she sat at the kitchen table and sank her teeth into the chewy, chocolatey goodness.

A sugar high went to her head and she groaned in ecstasy. Nothing like a sweet chocolate chip cookie to send a euphoric buzz through her system. She wondered if her blood sugar went through the roof. Savannah shrugged and took another bite. Who cared? Sometimes you had to throw away the celery for the cookie.

She sipped the chocolate milk and then licked her lips of the excess with a gluttonous pleasure. When she worked as a model, this kind of stuff would have never been anywhere near her. She avoided like it Superman avoided Kryptonite. Nascha had been adamant about her diet, ensuring she ate wholesome, nutritious foods in order to maintain her petite weight.

Nascha.

The very thought of her friend chased away the temporary jolt the cookie had given her and she set the rest of it down on the plate.

Nascha’s beauty had graced countless magazines with the regularity of the rising sun. She could transform a cardboard box into a fashion statement. The modeling world called her ‘Venus’ at one point because she had the looks of a mythical goddess. World renowned designers crawled on their hands and knees for her to model their creations. Savannah pushed the cookies and milk away and rested her chin on her balled fists.

Or they used to.

On the last day Savannah saw her best friend alive, tears, snot, and dried mucus bathed her face. The once-ethereal beauty had been marred forever by the cartoonish, ballooned lips from an injection gone horribly wrong. “Savvy,” Nascha had cried into the tissues she’d pressed gently against her macabre lips. “How could they find him innocent? Look what he did to me.”

Nascha wailed into that Kleenex, tattered and torn by the maelstrom of tears. Savannah had gripped her close, her heart breaking in two.

“Micah hasn’t been found innocent or guilty of anything yet.”

Nascha gave a watery scoff. “Do you think that matters? I know for a fact they’re going to declare him innocent. Do you think I can continue my career? My life is ruined.”

Savannah had floundered around for some source of hope.

“Maybe you can get your lips fixed. Surely other surgeons are capable—”

Nascha had drawn back in terror. “I can’t go back to a surgeon! Never again! Look at what Micah did to me!” She pointed at her bulbous mouth, its appearance red and swollen.

“He ruined my life!”

“Nascha, your life isn’t—”

“Yes, it is!” she’d screeched. A kind of madness exuded from the dark marble depths. “Do you think Darian Temple wants me to model his collection now? Do you think Epic Cosmetics wants to splash berry red delicious on this mouth?” She gulped. “He ruined my life. How is that possible? How can they see my face and think I’m lying?” After that outburst, Nascha became inconsolable. Shrieking, crying, and incoherent, she wrenched herself away from Savannah’s grasp and stumbled wildly about. Finally, she collapsed on the floor.

Savannah’s throat clenched. How could Micah have done such a thing? He’d not only destroyed her friend’s livelihood, but he made her out to be a liar. On the floor, as she’d held Nascha’s crumbled figure in her arms, she knew she couldn’t marry Micah. In good conscience, she could not stand by a man who had decimated a woman’s life to salvage his reputation.

With Nascha’s shuddering body against hers, Savannah prayed for a miracle. She prayed that somehow, her friend’s lips would go back to normal. That somehow, this nightmare would end and she’d be back in the realm of reality where she and Micah continued to plan for their wedding. That somehow, she wouldn’t have to make the choice between love and honorable duty.

Yet, a month later Nascha had taken her own life.

Savannah swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. First Nascha, then Fiona and Bart, and now Liliana. Life had been woven with a thread of misfortune these few years. Was life meant to be a bitter endeavor of ache and agony?

Couldn’t she get a break?

She grabbed the glass of chocolate milk and downed it in a few smooth gulps. The buzz of sugar zinged right through her. It set the hairs on her arms erect but it did nothing to quell the misgivings.

Nascha’s botched procedure had peeled away the magic of her and Micah’s relationship like the skin of ripened fruit. Suddenly, the perfect man had shown his true colors – a grasping, egotistical professional who would let nothing or no one stop his reputation from being soured, even if he was at fault.

If he’s so reprehensible, a tiny voice whispered, why is he here?

Savannah dragged her fingers through her hair. It kept coming back to that question. If he had botched Nascha’s procedure, surely he wasn’t trustworthy to aid her with Snuffy’s circumstances. And if that was the case, she should have never called him in the first place.

So why did she?

In the darkness of the kitchen, Savannah allowed the answer she avoided acknowledging to have its say. Deep down in her heart, despite everything, a dime-size doubt existed. That possibly, just possibly, something else had caused the end of Nascha’s career other than Micah’s negligence.

Doubt and disloyalty warred with each other in the cavity of her mind. How could she believe such a thing when the evidence of Micah’s carelessness had been made public? She only needed to remember how the tabloid surprised Nascha while she’d been buying personal toiletries. The paparazzi snapped a picture of her bloated lips to the ruthless inspection of the public eye. Devastated by the intrusion, Nascha refused to leave the house in the last month of her life.

So yes, she knew what Micah had done.

Yet, the uncertainty still remained.

Why did she cling to it? Why hold onto that miniscule thing like a lifeline?

Because she wanted to. And there was no logical explanation as to why.

Weary of her chaotic thoughts, Savannah rose from the kitchen table and trudged up the stairs like an old, arthritic-ridden woman. Tomorrow, she’d return to the hospital and Micah would be there. His knowledge and experience acted as balm to her frayed nerves. His presence made everything a little bit more bearable despite the turmoil of their past.

She may not love him anymore, but she needed him.

Micah headed to the entryway of the hospital for the fourth day, fighting against the tyrannical force of the icy wind. It chapped and slapped at his exposed cheeks. It blew against his squinted eyes and robbed them of moisture. He dipped his head and moved on. Soon, the snow-slicked ground gave way to salted concrete.

Entering the facility, he took a moment to stomp off the excess snow. In a few minutes, he’d be able to see Savannah again.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself. He ripped his gloves off and stuffed them into his coat pockets. He squashed the fuzzy warmth in the center of his chest. No more of that. He was here in a professional capacity. That was all.

He went to the elevator and waited along with others. His foot tapped the floor in an impatient staccato. What was taking so long? Finally, the doors parted and he went inside, pressing the floor button before anyone else could. A few people called out their desired destination and he sighed as he pressed them. Oh, great, they would be stopping at every floor in the building.