My jaw locks.
He’s not wrong.
I will lose myself.
If that’s what it takes.
Because he doesn’t understand.
Men never do.
Whitney saved me.
More times than I can count.
And now she’s gone.
I owe her everything.
I owe her the truth.
And I won’t stop—even if the truth takes me down with her.
Chapter Eight
McCullough and I just got back from New York City!
Our dresses are magic—fitted bodices, flowing trains. I feel like a princess every time I put mine on.
I’m so thankful Mom let us take the plane alone and didn’t insist on coming. Instead, she called Christian—her designer—and told him to take care of us.
I huff a soft breath through my nose.
That sounds like her.
I could tell McCullough was worried about paying for her gown, but Mom—like always—handled it before it could become a problem. She wanted us to focus on the fun, not the cost.
McCullough’s face after the fitting was priceless when Christian told her the dress had already been paid for. Fifteen thousand dollars—and that doesn’t even include accessories.
I found a vintage Prada. Apparently some actress wore it to the Oscars in the ’90s, but I didn’t recognize her. Mom gave me a twenty-thousand-dollar budget, but how do you put a price on vintage?
The alterations alone pushed it over, thanks to my size-zero waist—but honestly? Worth every penny.
I can practically hear her voice—light, breathless, delighted.
Before everything got complicated.
McCullough had sticker shock the entire weekend. Cabs, dinners, Broadway tickets—everything made her do a double take.
At first it annoyed me.
A faint, broken smile pulls at my lips.
But the more the city overwhelmed her, the more I loved watching it happen.
I feel so lucky to have her. She’s the only person I know who’s uncomfortable with wealth in a way that feels… real. Refreshing.
With her, I get to be normal.
