When we pull into the driveway, there’s a vehicle I don’t recognize.
“Just leave the shit in here, and we’ll get it later,” I tell Chloe as I hop out.
Walking to the door, I tell her not to open her mouth, even if asked a question, without the lawyer okaying it.
She’s scared, and I know I’m not helping her at all, but right now, so am I.
When we walk in, I see Savvy sitting in a chair at the island, and I run to her, hugging her.
Her body shakes as she sobs into my chest, “I’m so sorry.”
I step back and squat down. “None of this is your fault, Savvy.”
“Guess what?”
I wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “What?”
“My name’s not Savvy. My name’s Sutton. That’s what my real birth certificate says. Sutton Sawiris. I wasn’t born in Florida. I was born in Saudi Arabia.”
“You’re still Savvy to me.”
“No, I’m not. I’m Savannah to you. I’m Savvy to my mother and Liberty. Or, should I say, Sandra Townley, the woman who gave a note to the FBI from my mother, saying I was raped by Denny and I killed him when I was five years old! God, if that’s true, no wonder I hate men.”
“You see, you got it all wrong. None of that shit matters anymore, because the only thing you are is mine, and I’m yours. Everything else can fall away like the autumn leaves and—”
She pulls me against her as she sobs, “Don’t you see that none of that is real, Patrick? None of it. Because I’m not even real!”
I push her hair out of her eyes. “You know what you need? A bath, some food, and some sleep.”
“Your parents are home.”
“Yeah, well, his parents knew there was a kick-ass VW Bus hanging around when they weren’t home. I think they’ll be fine with it.”
Savvy looks up at Dad. “You may want to hide your cookware. Apparently, I’m a fucking murderer.”
Dad starts laughing, and I swing my head in his direction and glare at him. Then Savvy starts laughing, and I look back at her.
“Okay, everyone, it’s dinnertime shortly. What am I making?”
“She likes peanut butter blossoms.” Dad winks at her. “They’re my favorite, too.”
“Pretty sure we have about twelve dozen in the freezer from Christmas, so I’ll get those out and let them thaw.”
“Savvy, Chloe, you’re guests; tell me what you’d like.”
“Savvy likes pasta, but no meat,” Chloe says.
Chapter 24
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
~Ecclesiastes
Savvy
Sitting at the Steel family’s dining room table, my knee bounces up and down. Patrick grips it and steadies it.
“You’ll be fine. I’m right here. So are Mom and Dad.”
I nod.
When the doorbell rings, I feel like I’m going to get sick.
I stand up. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“You know where it is, doll,” Xavier says as he walks to the door.
Patrick follows me and stands outside like some sort of personal bodyguard. He’s been like that for two days, except for the hours we sleep, which isn’t many.
I look in the mirror to make sure I still look like me, even though I’m not. Patrick tells me a name means nothing, and I do know who I am, but what he doesn’t know is that it’s easier to say than to be.
I want to stay in here all day, but I am meeting my father.
The thought frightens me and also has me longing for some part of me to be normal.
When I walk out, Patrick takes my hand, and I stand here, looking at a tall, dark-haired, dark-skinned man who is apparently my father. He’s standing at the island, in a suit that I know is tailored and probably costs more than every item I own. He’s handsome and smiling at Xavier and Taelyn, talking to them … and then he turns and looks at me.
I watch his chest heave, and he closes his eyes briefly, and then opens them.
“Sutton, you have no idea how many years I’ve dreamt of the day I’d finally see you again.” He holds out his arms. “Come to baba.”
I look up at Patrick and see his face fall slightly and his eyes lose some of their shine. He swallows hard and says, “You remember him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
I shrug.
He lets go of my hand and places it on my back. “Go, Sutton, go meet your dad.”
The hug is warm, and he smells familiar, but I don’t know if that’s because I need it to or if it actually is.
When I step back and look up at him, his dark chocolate eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
“We have much to discuss.”
I nod.
“I’m sure you have many questions you’d like answers to.”
Again, I nod.
“Shall we go or stay?”
“Stay,” Patrick says firmly.
“Stay,” I repeat.
“Let us get this out of the way first.” He looks behind him, and a man I didn’t even see at first hands him a file. He sets the file down in front of me.
“All pending charges have been dropped. Your name cleared. Your alias gone.” He reaches back and is handed another file that he sets on top of the other then flips it open. “You are Sutton Sawiris, born in your homeland of Saudi Arabia, on the fourteenth day of February. Your mother attended NYU and studied art. I attended there, as well, and majored in International Business. She knew of my faith and knew I was to take four wives, and she would never be one. But we loved each other deeply, so she came to live in a home that I bought for her on the sea in Duba. You were conceived there, born there, loved deeply by two parents there, but when I was to take my first wife, things became difficult for her. She wanted to leave, and I understood, but she was forbidden from taking you, my child,
