Chapter Eight

"Well, goodness me, aren't you blooming?" came the frank assessment. Chester, Savannah's longtime manager, arrived into the living room. "Oh no, please don't get up." He waved a hand as she went to stand. "How about I join you instead?" He took a seat on the opposite sofa from where she'd sat just for a moment, forty-five minutes ago.

"How are you, Chester?" she asked. They exchanged pleasantries, briefly interrupted as Annabelle brought him his coffee. The two were old friends and Savannah briefly wondered if her housekeeper and her manager had enjoyed many a good vent about her together over the years. It was strange to be so close to people, and yet so structurally distant. Her life was full of these kinds of arrangements, peculiar to her position as both immensely privileged and, well, busy.

They discussed for a while their plans for the next two years. Usually, it would be fairly straightforward: write an album, record an album, release an album, go on tour. But right now, life was a little more complex. As soon as Savannah had found out she was pregnant, she'd gone into a tailspin. Brynn wanted her to rest - with good reason - but Savannah had wanted to get on top of everything she could.

Over the three years since her last album had been released, she'd written stacks of songs, many of them with Brynn, but many more on her own. Unlike her last album, there was not even a hint of writer's block. In fact, the opposite was the problem; whittling her creative output down to a cohesive set of twelve songs had driven her crazy. But by the end of her first trimester, Savannah was in the studio.

It was hard to define what was driving her. Her last album had been her first solo release, and it had out-performed even her own highest hopes, cementing her reputation as a top tier artist for perhaps decades to come. Her wealth was dizzying to contemplate. There was no need to push herself the way Savannah had pushed.

And yet. Despite the growing life within her, despite the impending wedding, Savannah had worked on her album like everything in the world rode on its success. She and Brynn had fought over it, her usually patient partner at a loss to understand why Savannah couldn't just take it easy right now, at this one critical point in their lives. And Savannah herself could hardly explain it. It wasn't explainable. Instead, it lived inside her blood vessels, itching at her, telling her that she had to keep working, that she couldn't sit back and let her dreams die, that she had to make sure that Savannah Grace the corporation kept spinning, kept growing. That people depended on her. So. Many. People.

She'd finished recording a month before the wedding, and Brynn had miraculously still wanted to marry her. But the next question was arising. The baby was due in two months. The album was waiting in the wings. The label was pushing to release it at the end of fall. Was she going to tour? With an infant? What would that even look like?

Partway through their conversation, Savannah shifted laboriously, turning her body to raise her legs up onto the sofa. It took a minute to reposition the cushions behind her spine, and beneath her knees, and when she looked up, Chester was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"I know," she said, "it's ridiculous."

"I…" he petered out.

"What?"

"I shouldn't even be asking you this," he said crossly, "but I've had a request. The Grand Ole Opry."

"Oh?" she asked. The country music institution had invited her to membership two years ago. It had been one of the greatest honors of her career, especially as her last album had not been remotely country.

"There's been some disruption to their programming, a couple of big tours on hold - Covid, stars in rehab - the usual."

"And?"

"They want an hour-long set. At the Ryman. Saturday after next."

Savannah looked at him. She'd played the Ryman Auditorium many times, as both Twice Struck and as a solo artist. Each time was life-changing. Each time was like going to her true home, attending her true church. It was the only place that made her believe in God. You did not say no to the Ryman. She looked down at her gigantic belly.

"Well then," she said, "I suspect I'm going to need a dress fitting."

"Babe, this is ridiculous. Worse than ridiculous. It's crazy."

"This is the last thing, I promise. Then I'll take it easy. It's just an hour long set."

"It's not just an hour long set," Brynn huffed at her. She was pacing around their bedroom, worry and irritation scrunching her pretty features. "You'll rehearse, you'll sound check, you'll do the show, you'll encore, it's going to be a lot."

"I'm not an invalid," Savannah grimaced, her chest starting to feel tight. "Pregnant women everywhere work much harder jobs than standing around on a stage holding a mic for an hour!"

Brynn gave her a long, level stare. This was teetering close to the edge of dangerous ground for them. Bright afternoon sun was flooding their bedroom, making the expansive space glow. Their bedroom… Savannah still sometimes looked around this room that had once been hers alone and remembered the night just over three years ago when she'd sent Brynn away for what she believed was forever. She'd sat broken on the floor, right there, where Brynn now stood, tall and strong and heartbreakingly beautiful, the light making her dark hair glow with hints of caramel.

"Honey." Savannah let her voice soften. "I'll clear it with Imani." Imani was their obstetrician, no nonsense and wonderful. "If she has a single concern, I promise I'll cancel the show."

Brynn nodded slowly.

"I just worry about you. About our baby," she said quietly. "After everything."

"I know." Savannah let herself feel the warmth of that for once, rather than the weight. She knew how loved she was, how loved this child already was. Savannah, of all people, knew what an incredible gift that was. She looked at her wife and her heart swelled at how lucky they were to have her.

"And you can't even get off the couch without groaning," Brynn continued, oblivious.

"And it's very sexy." Savannah narrowed her eyes at her.

Brynn spluttered a laugh despite herself.

"You're always sexy," she agreed, a small quirk of her lower lip signaling that perhaps they weren't going to argue after all.

Savannah curled a finger towards her and Brynn didn't take her eyes off her as she crossed the room, sliding her hands gently around her lower back, standing close enough that Savannah had to look up slightly to meet her wife's eyes. Something about their height difference had always caused a slight tug of heat inside her.

"I think you should get down on your knees and say that," Savannah murmured. Brynn raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, you would think that." Her dark eyes were amused but definitely considering. Her hands slid down over her ass, and Savannah knew she had won. Her heart rate started to speed up as she flashed forward a few minutes to when her wife's tongue would be softly slipping against her right where she needed it.

"Put your money where your mouth is, honey," she instructed and pointed down at the floor. Brynn's eyes flashed.

"So bossy," she murmured, her hands squeezing her ass firmly. "I should do something about that."

"Oh, please do." Savannah gazed at her from under her lashes, daring her.

"You always think you're in charge." Brynn shook her head and instead of doing what she was told, she gently spun Savannah around, took her hands and pressed them flat against the wall for support. "Leave them there," Brynn said, her voice soft but firm, and a shiver of pleasure ran through her.

Brynn gently began to kiss the back of her neck and her bare shoulders, her hands slipping down the front of her sundress to tease her nipples. A gasp of heat escaped her as Brynn toyed with her mercilessly.

"Not so in charge now," Brynn murmured, her lips against her ear and Savannah moaned, desire taking her over, putty in her wife's hands. Brynn very slowly slid her fingers up the back of her thigh and under her dress, teasing along her abdomen below the bump to the waistband of her panties. Her other hand was still squeezing her nipple, making Savannah gasp in time with her insistent touch. She kept her hands flat on the wall, knowing from experience that when Brynn wanted to render her helpless, she meant it.

Her wife's fingers slowly slipped down inside her panties, where she was aching and slippery with want.

"Oh, that's it, baby," Brynn whispered. "Give me what I want." She made soft wet circles against her, making Savannah cry out, her legs already trembling. "I'm going to make you come all over my fingers," she murmured. "You're so easy for me, aren't you, honey?" Savannah couldn't prove her wrong, even if she wanted to.

Later, after Brynn had made her point abundantly clear, it was Savannah who found herself on her knees. It was, pragmatically, the easiest way for her to make love to her wife without the bump getting in the way, Savannah reminded herself. It wasn't just that part of her found it desperately pleasurable to hand over control to the one person she trusted the most. Brynn's fingers tugged at her hair, pressing harder against her mouth and with a small moan, Savannah had to admit that maybe, it was mostly the second thing.

Afterward, Savannah lay satisfied in her wife's arms, both of them naked above the covers.

"I'm glad you took the day off," she said lazily, her fingers gently mapping the smatter of freckles across the bridge of Brynn's nose.

"Some of us know how to pace ourselves," Brynn agreed, cradling her close, her hand sliding over the curve of her belly between them.

"Thank god," Savannah sighed. "You do make good use of your time."

They talked about Brynn's days in the studio, Greta, their friends, the music that Savannah was dying to hear. No music had ever moved her more than the incredible album Brynn had made during the long year that they'd been apart.

"And how was Cassidy?" she asked, with a trace of anxiety. "Is she behaving herself in the studio?"

"It's the strangest thing." Brynn propped herself up on her elbow to gaze at her. "But I think Greta…likes her?"

"Greta doesn't like anybody," Savannah denied.

"I know. But her and Cassidy just seem to gel, somehow. I know, it's weird."

"They're literally both the prickliest people I know." She felt slightly put out that despite their extensive professional relationship, Greta had never once demonstrated a hint of warmth towards her and here she was, seemingly being charmed by her little sister, of all people.

"Kindred spirits." Brynn shrugged. "I'm also not sure if she has a bigger crush on Noah or on Coral."

Savannah smiled.

"They're both pretty great. They'd be good for her."

"Yeah, so that's the thing. She really seems keen to learn. From all of us."

"Learn what?" Savannah was skeptical.

"Music," Brynn said simply. Savannah snorted.

"She wants to use all your connections," she corrected. "You heard her. She thinks she can just wave the sibling card and magically invoke a career."

Brynn paused.

"I actually think she's serious," she told her. "And I also think she secretly cares about music for music's sake."

"She hides it well," Savannah said drily. Brynn gazed at her thoughtfully.

"She hides a lot of things well," she pointed out. "I suspect there's a lot going on beneath that prickly surface."

"I wish she'd just tell me," Savannah sighed. "She's so angry with me that she won't even confide enough for me to make amends."

"You know, I honestly think she's trying to, in her own way. Little digs here, little jabs there. A revelation, followed by withdrawal. Might be the only way she knows how."

"Do you think I should try to get her professional help?" Savannah worried. "She's been through a lot and there's clearly something going on."

"I think," Brynn kissed her forehead, "that there's time enough for that. I think you should just keep trying to reach out for her. Not as someone taking responsibility for her. Just as her sister."

Later that afternoon Savannah sought out Cassidy, finding her in the third floor music room. It was a large comfortable space, and through the window the main view was of the branches of a hundred-year-old oak tree. The leaves cast a dappled light across the floorboards, making her feel like she was hiding in a vast green cocoon. It was Savannah's favorite place in Nashville to write. The room housed her guitar collection, a handful of cushy armchairs, and a beautiful vintage piano. She found Cassidy on the piano bench, her fingers caressing the keys without playing a single note.

She jumped when Savannah lightly knocked on the open door.

"Sorry," Cassidy said, sitting bolt upright.

"What for?" Savannah asked. "You can be in here whenever you want."

Her sister shifted on the piano bench, swinging around away from the keys.

"It feels very… yours," she said. "All the instruments."

Savannah sat in the armchair opposite.

"They're for anyone to use," she reassured her sister. They sat quietly for a moment.

"It's like sitting in a treehouse," Cassidy said softly after a while. "It's the most peaceful room in your house. It actually feels private."

"I like that about it too."

"Then why live in a glass house?" her sister regarded her with a frown. Savannah laughed.

"It feels like being outdoors," she explained. "Besides, there's thirty acres and a stack of tall trees between us and the road. It's still private."

"You're kind of weird," her sister said after a while. Savannah couldn't hide her smile. It was the most sisterly thing Cassidy had ever said to her.

"Yeah, well, you're related to me," she pointed out. "I suspect you're probably kind of weird too."

For a moment, Cassidy almost smiled back.

"Did you want something from me?" she said instead.

"I was just thinking," Savannah tried, "that you literally arrived with a knapsack. I wanted to know if you wanted to go on a shopping trip with me. Get some more clothes and whatever else you need?"

Cassidy considered for a long moment. Savannah practically held her breath.

"What, is it embarrassing for you, your sister schlubbing around in old clothes?"

"No," she said quietly. "I actually really like your style. If you're happy, I'm happy. But if you need more than four dresses and one pair of shoes, then we could just go have a fun day out together."

Cassidy's expression closed.

"I'm good," she said. "But thanks." She picked up her book and began to read, shutting her sister out once more.