The bourbon bride, p.1
The Bourbon Bride, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Adrian R. Hale
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Sarah Kill Creative Studio
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Edited by KC Enders
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Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recorded, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from the above author of this book except for the use of brief quotations in the review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
For anyone who has ever thought they weren’t quite enough — you are.
Playlist
“You’re On Your Own Kid” — Taylor Swift
“Whiskey” — Devin Dawson
“Take Your Time” — Sam Hunt
“Dark Side” — Bishop Briggs
“I Am Easy To Find” — The National
“Good Girl Gone Missin’” — Morgan Wallen
“Getaway Car” — Taylor Swift
“Welcome To Atlanta” — Jermaine Dupri, Ludacris
“Waiting Game” — BANKS
“All Of The Girls You Loved Before” — Taylor Swift
“Power Over Me” — Dermot Kennedy
“Dress” — Taylor Swift
“Don’t Blame Me” — Taylor Swift
“Truly, Madly, Deeply” — Yoke Lore
“King Of My Heart” — Taylor Swift
“Weeping Willow” — Warren Zeiders
“Mastermind” — Taylor Swift
“Glory” — Dermot Kennedy
“I Did Something Bad” — Taylor Swift
“Lose Control - Strings Version” — Teddy Swims
“Bigger Than The Whole Sky” — Taylor Swift
Content Warning
This story contains explicit sexual content, profanity, mild violence, and topics that may be sensitive to some readers.
Contents
1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-one
22. Twenty-two
23. Twenty-three
24. Twenty-four
25. Twenty-five
26. Twenty-six
27. Twenty-seven
28. Twenty-eight
29. Twenty-nine
30. Thirty
The End...?
The Bourbon Bargain Blurb
The Bourbon Bargain Chapter One
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Keep In Touch
Also By
one
Paige
If being fed to the wolves will guarantee my freedom, I’ll gladly offer myself up as a sacrifice every time. That’s the only reason I am wearing a poofy white dress and standing on the threshold of an antiquated tradition to please the woman who dictates every stage of my life. It’s always a possibility that this will be the last demand and I will finally have the control I so desperately crave for my own life. Or it could all be wishful thinking. It’s a gamble I take for the potential reward, even when I more often than not end up disappointed.
“You ready, sweet pea?”
I look up into Daddy’s lightly wrinkled face and give him a nervous smile.
Am I ready? Heck no. I just spent thirty minutes hyperventilating and trying not to get nervous sweat all over the bodice of this vintage Christian Dior dress.
I’m so not ready, I could easily slip out of Daddy’s reach and pull a Homer Simpson becoming one with a hedge to disappear.
In fact, I would rather strip naked and swim in the fountain at Forsyth Park than walk down those stairs.
I sigh. I’m so far from ready, but this debutante ball is rolling and Mama will murder me, with a sugary sweet smile on her face while she does it, if I don’t walk down these stairs into that party right on cue.
“Of course. Lead the way.”
It’s not that I’m worried about walking in heels or a giant dress; cotillion classes cured that in my teens. I’m also not worried about being in front of a large audience; Mama cured that issue by forcing me into a short-lived pageant career and untold volunteer hours leading history tours in period-correct clothing.
No. What I’m actually worried about is being the daughter my mama wishes I were. The perfectly poised, sweet as sugar, obedient little doll she can dress up, who’s willing to follow every instruction to the letter. That’s the daughter she has always wanted, and I’ve always been a little too quick to object or question her, a little too opinionated and desperate to find my own way.
“You look beautiful, my darling. Your mama and I are so proud. Thank you for doing this.”
Daddy gives me a quick squeeze and holds out his arm for me to take. He understands my desire to not be here at The Abyss, making my debut to society like a proper Southern belle, yet we’re both just pawns in Mama’s society chess game and have no say in the matter.
I lift my chin and put on the expected demure smile. My white gown rustles with my steps as we descend the stairs into The Abyss and look out at the sea of black-tie and ball gowns.
I leveraged the unusual location for my debutante ball, insisting that it had to be here or nowhere if Mama was going to make this happen at all, and she finally gave in, which is a miracle in itself. It’s the most exclusive nightclub in Savannah, at the very least, which seemed to pacify her indignation at not using our family’s historic antebellum home-turned-boutique-hotel called The Mansion. That would have been her preference, as it would show me off along with our property which is the jewel of Savannah. Unlike the tarnished rhinestone I often feel like, given Mama’s frequent criticisms.
Mine is the last ball of the season, Mama insisted. It’s done up even more lavishly than the over-the-top affair Margot Declan, the mayor’s eighteen-year-old daughter, put on last month. I declined to be a part of the International Debutante Ball in New York in January, so Mama made her one chance at showing me off count. It’s a waste of money if you ask me, but there are some things I can’t convince Mrs. Caroline Thackery Fairchild of, and my not debuting was one of them.
“Look at all the gaudy wealth in one room, Daddy,” I whisper through my perfect smile like a ventriloquist. Fun fact: Mama made me study ventriloquism when she was pushing me to do pageants as a kid. I put my foot down with the dummies, but it didn’t stop her from purchasing one anyway. I finally gave that creepy thing away to the granddaughter of my favorite doorman at The Mansion a few years back.
“You’d think they would have something better to do than gawk at the spinster deb on her entry to society.”
Daddy chuckles next to me. “My darling, you are not a spinster. You’re just stubborn and wanted to push your mama to her brink when it came to the timing of this event.”
At twenty-one, I’m ancient in the debutante scene. Mama wanted me to be the epitome of a proper Southern belle and make my debut at eighteen, but I managed to push it off to the last possible year, using my time as a college student as my excuse. Even Daddy was willing to fight on my behalf against Mama’s wishes for that outcome. It’s true I wanted the best my education could give me, and attending charity functions or balls and parties every week would just distract me from my studies. Make no mistake, as soon as I graduated last May, she already had a planner filled with events, balls, and charity functions I was required to attend leading up to the fall debutante season.
“Presenting Miss Paige Kore Fairchild, escorted by Mr. William Edward Fairchild,” the emcee announces as we hit the bottom of the stairs.
I curtsy and we take a stroll around the room, presenting me to those in attendance like a juicy morsel offered up for all. A ball of dread tightens in my stomach as I feel the scrutiny from the gathering of the Southern social elite. I’m a bit player in this game, shown off as a pretty possibility for some eligible bachelor under the guise of tradition. The band strikes up a waltz and Daddy leads me through the steps flawlessly. I’ve been in dance classes for over a decade to ensure I wouldn’t embarrass Mama on just such an occasion. Faces blur as we whirl around the floor, but I still feel the stares and it makes my skin crawl. I tighten my smile, using it as my armor.
Necessary evils, I think to keep from bolting right out of the room. It’s necessary to keep Mama pacified if I want to live a reasonably free life.
“Not so bad, right, sugar?” Daddy says through his own tight smile.
Like me, he prefers not to be in these very public showcases, but he’s also at the mercy of Mama and proper Southe
“I’m going to find your mama and make sure she doesn’t bother you the rest of the night.” He kisses my cheek and beams proudly.
I smile back. “Now the hard part is over, so the real party can begin,” I reply, accepting a champagne flute from a waiter. He shares a secret smile with me, kisses my cheek, and turns to go. I watch as he leaves and expertly cuts off Mama as she heads toward me. He redirects her to greet guests and I’m free from whatever critique she had for me from my trip around the ballroom. I probably missed a step or didn’t smile brightly enough.
I sip my champagne, barely holding back from chugging the entire glass. Relief courses through me when the music volume increases and the people in attendance begin to lose interest as the free booze flows. Savannah high society has a minuscule attention span, and though I’m the heiress to a multimillion-dollar empire, I’m not exactly hot gossip or so very different from many others in the same position. My family name and combined assets keep them hanging around, always waiting for me to screw up royally, but I’m boring. I play by the rules, I make my parents proud—most of the time—and I would never so much as dare to taint the Fairchild family name. I know what would happen if I do, as some cousins twice removed have experienced. There’s more than one reason I’m the sole heir to the family fortune despite having a large family tree.
“Paige, that dress is gorgeous! I thought you would have to wear something horrible your mama picked out ages ago.” I turn to the familiar voice and smile at Alex, my best friend.
I smooth the poofy white satin skirt of the dress. “Mama may have a lot to say about my life, but she gave me the choice of three of her own picks, and this happened to not be one of them.”
I stifle a giggle thinking of the fight we had at the dress shop when I insisted on the vintage gown rather than a brand-new cupcake gown she had in mind. The dress and the location were the only parts I insisted on, using the small amount of leverage I had with Mama to get them. Everything else, she picked out, despite dragging me through every planning meeting and pretending I had a say in anything.
“That tux really suits you,” I say, hugging Alex. “The haircut is truly the cherry on top. Thank you for coming all the way from New York. I know you’ve been busy.” I brush a lock of curly hair off Alex’s forehead.
“Do you remember when we would play dress up in the attic at The Mansion, and I always went for the old suits and you picked the pretty dresses? It’s like we’ve come full circle with that, but we actually fit in the clothes this time. Funny how no one figured me out sooner, right? I gave so many obvious signs that I was a dude, despite being in a lady’s body.”
Alex is my childhood best friend, the one ally I’ve always had, whether it was making mud pies and having tea parties in the garden of The Mansion or making it through the scathing social scene of our private school intact. Alex was the girl who I knew got me, who defended me, and who stood by me when my good name was dragged through the mud. But Alex has been transitioning over the last two years. He’s dropped the feminine in search of the masculine he craves, beating back the righteously cruel and judgmental South to finally feel like his true self. While Alex has been supported in New York, the transgender lifestyle is still new to the upper crust of Savannah, as seen in the disapproving stares I catch from a group of people near us, who immediately begin whispering to each other. I turn Alex slightly so he can’t see the looks he usually does his best to ignore.
“Did you see Liliana Bailey? I think she pilfered her grandma’s entire jewelry box tonight with how much bling she’s draped in.” Alex nods in the direction of the aforementioned woman glittering with jewels.
You can take the woman out of the man, but you can’t remove the urge to gossip from the Southerner.
“Hush. You know she likes to play dress-up. She’s just never learned the art of subtlety.” I look back at… well, she’s not exactly my friend. She’s more of a frenemy.
Besides Alex, I have a loose group of acquaintances I’ve grown up with due to our families all being in the same social circles. They flow from friends to enemies at any given moment depending on what gossip they want to share or believe. Liliana has always been on the other side of friendship, and she’s one I watch out for due to her proclivities for viciousness.
Liliana is hanging on Garrison Daniels’s arm like she wants to keep the bachelor locked in her clutches. I shake my head, glad I’m not having to fend off either of them tonight. Both have been incredibly cruel to me in the past. While Liliana likes to play nice to my face while stabbing me in the back, I only allowed Garrison to show me his true colors once, and he still gives me the creeps. I prefer to stay as far from him as I can, which has been easy with him away at school for the last seven years. Seeing him back here in Savannah makes me nervous.
I spent much of my high school years holding my head high when I was the center of vicious gossip and labeled first a prude, then a slut. Double standards were rampant in our social circle and apparently, I shouldn’t have turned down popular senior Jason DeWitt, a notorious player, but then gone out with his friend, Garrison mere weeks later. I wouldn’t sleep with Garrison, though he employed tactless and much unsexy prodding in his attempt to get me to change my mind. Despite my continued negative answers, he got impatient and gave me a bunch of drinks at a party and tried to have his way with me when I was stumbling drunk. It’s not an unusual story, unfortunately, and it could have gone from bad to worse.
Thankfully, Alex thought to come looking for me when I was gone a little too long on a bathroom run. He opened the door just as Garrison was pushing down his pants and I was passed out on the bed. Later, I found out that Alex kicked Garrison’s butt, literally, and knocked him over so he could help me out of that room. Thank goodness for a friend who actually cared about me, because I could have been another awful sexual assault statistic had he not.
Too bad my friend Liliana started a rumor that I was a sloppy drunk and she had heard me ask Garrison to go upstairs that night to deflower me. She spread the vicious rumor that I had brought it on myself all because she was mad he’d asked me out instead of her, I imagine. Garrison didn’t think he had done anything wrong and never once shut down the gossip mill or explained he never had the opportunity to do the deflowering, which just kept the rumors circling that I’d lost my virginity while drunk at a party.
I was too embarrassed to tell anyone but my mama and Alex what had really happened. Alex wanted me to report Garrison to our private school, Savannah Prep, and then the police. Mama said nothing had technically happened, “thank the Lord almighty,” and I should just be glad to move on. She shushed me when I got more and more upset over the next few weeks as the rumors got worse, and finally demanded I never speak of it again.
So I didn’t. Instead, I dealt with the stigma of being a sloppy drunk slut for the rest of high school. It didn’t matter that I never went to another party or even considered dating, I remained the butt of their jokes and stories that began with remember when Paige lost her virginity at a party freshman year. If they only knew how far from the truth that was. I look again at Liliana and Garrison, who is pulling his arm away from her without much grace.
“They deserve each other,” I say under my breath, but Alex hears me.
“You’re a better person than I am, and a helluva lot more forgiving, too.”
“I wouldn’t say forgiving, exactly, but I am glad not to be in their crosshairs at the moment.”
Alex takes a drink of champagne and swishes it around as if to wash his mouth out.
“I don’t have the patience for the people who pretend to be friends only to gain access to privileged information, then sell you out faster than your mama’s strawberry rhubarb pie at the Junior League charity bake sale.” This is spoken from too-recent experience.
When Alex was still using she/her pronouns and only starting to transition to he/him, there were a few very unkind people, including Liliana, who decided to leak the story to the press in a mean-spirited attempt that hurt Alex’s father. Judge Whitaker is on the supreme court for the state of Georgia, and the conservative majority of the state reacted strongly to the news that he had a transgender son that came out just as his six-year term was up for re-election. Thankfully, the small but mighty liberal voting population in his district helped him win his re-election despite the negative press. Alex had just been a tool Liliana and her like used to incite hate when the opportunity arose.
