Whitney is there with me, of course. She is perched on the edge of the bed as if she belongs in beautiful rooms and emotionally charged mornings, as if elegance comes to her as naturally as breath. She is already dressed in her bridesmaid gown, the soft blush silk making her skin glow, her hair pinned just enough to look effortless, her face calm in a way that makes me envy her. Whitney always had that effect on me. She could walk into the center of chaos and make it feel manageable simply by existing inside it.
“Are you okay, McCullough?” she asks, tilting her head as she watches me in the mirror. Her voice is gentle, but there is nothing careless about her attention. “You’ve barely said a word all morning.”
I draw in a breath and let it out slowly, though it does nothing to loosen the knot inside me. I should not be feeling like this. Not today. Not on the morning of my wedding, with the beach laid out like a postcard and my dress fitting exactly the way it should and every detail of the day arranged within an inch of perfection. But Maverick’s words from the night before won’t leave me alone. They circle and circle, a persistent ache I can’t soothe.
“It’s just…” I hesitate, then meet her gaze in the mirror. “Maverick talked to me last night, and now I can’t stop thinking about what he said.”
Whitney’s expression shifts, not dramatically, but enough for me to catch the note of concern. “What did he say?”
I turn toward her fully then, pressing my lips together before I answer. “He has concerns about Bennett. About the way he does business. He said Bennett isn’t someone to trust, that he takes advantage of people, that he makes these airtight contracts so he never has to deal with the consequences when things go bad.”
Whitney lets out a small laugh, not mocking exactly, but dismissive enough that I feel my shoulders tense. She shakes her head, a smile tugging lightly at her mouth. “McCullough, you know your brother worries too much. He’s always been protective of you, sometimes to the point of absurdity. But Bennett’s world is different from his. These kinds of business deals are complicated. There are layers to them, and people on the outside never really understand how they work.”
I want to let her confidence settle things. I want her certainty to become mine. That has always been the easiestthing in the world with Whitney, letting her smooth the rough edges off my thoughts, letting her make what feels murky seem clean and simple. But some stubborn part of me resists.
“But what if he’s right?” I ask quietly. “What if Bennett is doing things that aren’t just aggressive or smart, but wrong? What if people actually get hurt?”
Whitney rises from the bed and crosses the room to me, the hem of her dress whispering softly against the floor. When she reaches me, she places a hand on my arm and gives it the gentlest squeeze. “McCullough, listen to me. Bennett doesn’t do business any differently than any other successful man in his position. They all protect themselves. That’s why they have lawyers, why they draft contracts the way they do. It’s not about cruelty. It’s about making sure no one can tear down what they’ve built just because they’re angry or greedy or looking for someone else to blame.”
Her voice is calm, persuasive in the way only Whitney’s can be, and I can feel myself wanting to lean into it, to let her certainty quiet my own.
“He grew up in that world,” she continues. “He understands it in a way we don’t, especially in a way Maverick doesn’t. Bennett learned from his father, from men who know how to survive in business. That doesn’t make him a criminal. It makes him careful. It makes him smart. Men like that will always upset people, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad.”
I lower my eyes, staring at the pale wood floorboards beneath our feet. “I don’t know,” I admit. “This is all so foreign to me. I didn’t grow up around business talk and contracts and venture capital. I have a basic business degree and I’ve never even used it. After we got engaged, Bennett made it clear he didn’t want me to work. He said he made enough for both of us, that there was no reason for me to add stress to our marriage by building a career too.”
Whitney smiles then, soft and knowing, as if I’ve only just voiced something obvious. “And he’s right. Bennett knows what’s best for you, and honestly, what a gift that is. You don’t need to worry about any of that. Let him handle what he’s good at. You focus on your life together, on being happy. That’s what matters.” She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice deepens slightly, grows more serious. “Do you love him?”
I look up at her, and in that moment all the noise inside me seems to quiet at once. That is the easiest question in the world.
“I do,” I say, and this time there’s no hesitation. “I love him, Whitney. More than anything.”
Her smile widens, warm and relieved, as if I’ve arrived at the correct answer. “Then that’s all that matters. Stand by your man, McCullough. That’s what I believe. If you love him, then you trust him, and if you trust him, you stand by him. No matter what.”
Then she lifts her hand, and the movement catches the light.
For a second I only see the flash of diamonds before my brain catches up to what I’m looking at. The ring is elegant, understated by our standards, but unmistakable.
My mouth falls open. “Whitney.”
Her eyes light up, the calm composure giving way to something brighter, younger, impossible to resist. “Phillip asked me last night,” she says, and now there’s laughter in her voice, a tremor of excitement she can barely contain. “After the rehearsal dinner. And I said yes.”
For a beat, I can only stare at her. Then joy rises so fast it nearly knocks the breath from me.
“Whitney, that’s amazing.” I laugh, already reaching for her. “Oh my God, I’m so happy for you.”
And then we’re both crying. Because weddings and engagement rings and the nearness of so much happiness have a way ofknocking the composure clean out of a person. She folds herself into me, and I hold on tightly, laughing through tears, the earlier tension dissolving under the sheer relief of having something beautiful to feel instead.
“When?” I ask as we pull apart, wiping at my face and trying not to ruin my makeup before the ceremony has even begun. “When’s the wedding?”
She shakes her head, her own eyes glossy with tears. “We haven’t set a date yet. But I already know one thing.” Her smile turns tender then, softer than the excitement that came before it. “I already know who I want as my maid of honor. What do you say, McCullough? Will you stand beside me, the way I’m standing beside you today?”
The emotion swells in me so fast it hurts.
“Of course,” I say, my voice breaking around the words. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
We laugh again, wiping at our cheeks, trying to pull ourselves together while the morning moves on around us whether we’re ready or not. The light has brightened by then, the day pushing forward, insisting on itself, and with Whitney beside me everything seems suddenly simple again. The doubts that had knotted themselves into my chest begin to loosen, washed thin by the tide of her certainty, by the warmth of her love, by the dazzling, impossible ease of standing at the edge of what feels like a perfect life.
Together we walk out onto the beach, the sand cool beneath our feet, the ocean breeze lifting my veil and carrying the scent of salt and sun around us. I draw in one long breath and let it steady me.
