He goes silent, but the mutinous look never leaves his face. Harrison is up to something and I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.

But not right now. Right now, I have to finish arranging the most important date of my life, which is happening in a few hours.

Thirty-Seven

Whitney

Doubts about my sanity plague me as I stare at the clothes hanging in the closet of the suite.

What was I thinking when I told him he could take me on a date? That’s right, I was riding that new wave of power and taking control of my life.

Great plan, Whitney.

I draw in a deep breath and exhale slowly.

It doesn’t matter what I wear. I’m not going to make a big deal about this.

Then again, worrying about what to wear helps me put the million other things I’ve been stressing about out of my head. Like the reporter’s number that Karma may have already used.

Not thinking about that right now.

Right now, I’m going to focus on the fact that I’m going on a normal double date. That’s it. That’s all.

Except I used to be in love with the guy, and every sign points to the universe conspiring to keep us apart. I still have a hard time believing that anything between us could possibly end well. Lincoln says it doesn’t have to end, though, and as much as I want to believe that, the events of the past make it difficult, even with my newfound positive attitude.

His mother will never accept it.

He’ll probably lose everything.

Stop thinking about all the bad and focus on the good. I snap out the order to myself and grab my phone to call Cricket.

“Hey, girl. I’m on a hike and I might lose you. Service is shit out here.”

“What are you wearing tonight?” The question feels so normal and strangely good.

“Are you seriously asking me what I’m wearing on the mystery date? Who are you, and what have you done with Whitney?”

“It’s either worry about clothes or the fact that your sister is probably selling my story to the press at this very moment.”

“Fucking whore. You see why I didn’t want her as my maid of honor? She’d probably try to nail Hunter in the closet and claim she was doing me a favor.”

The sad part about this is that Cricket probably isn’t wrong. Great, a new worry to add to my list.

“Clothes, Cricket. Let’s focus.”

“I don’t know. A dress, maybe? You know if Lincoln’s picking the place, it’s going to be fancy as shit.”

She’s probably right.

“Can you make Hunter ask him where we’re going?”

“What is this, middle school? Ask him yourself. He’s your boyfriend.”

“Lincoln Riscoff is not my boyfriend.”

“Oh, so this is middle school, because you’re denying the obvious. Have you not noticed that you’re staying in a fancy penthouse suite, and it’s all because of him? Oh, and then there’s the fact that he’s letting us get married at The Gables for free because of you.”