Commodore slowed at a stop sign and his dark brown gaze was pointed. “The idea is to find all of those qualities in one person—rather than needing multiple women to fit the bill. That’s where my son went wrong, and I’m not going to let my grandson make the same mistakes.”

He didn’t have to elaborate for me to understand that I would be one of those mistakes.

“I’m sure you’ll do a much better job molding Lincoln in your image now that you’ve learned from those mistakes.”

Instead of continuing through the intersection, he asked me another question. “Is that what you’re going to do, Whitney Gable? Learn from your mistakes?”

I turned to stare out the window so he didn’t see the tears burning my eyes. “I’m damn sure going to try.”

Finally, he hit the gas and we turned. “You would’ve had an uphill battle if you’d tried to make it work. Everyone would’ve been against you. His family. Your family.”

“Isn’t that what life is about? Fighting an uphill battle when it’s worth it? And what’s more worth it than fighting to be with the person who makes you excited to wake up every day?”

“You sound like a wise girl, despite the fact that you’ve made some questionable decisions.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“Indeed we have, Ms. Gable.”

We made the rest of the drive in silence, mostly because there was really nothing more to say.

When Commodore pulled up in front of my parents’ house, it was completely dark, for which I was thankful. That meant my dad wouldn’t be coming out with a gun to try to kill the old man. Lord only knew what he would think if he saw Commodore Riscoff giving me a ride. Undoubtedly, he’d come to the very worst conclusion imaginable.

I reached for the door handle and paused. I needed Lincoln’s grandfather to know one more thing. At least, my pride needed him to know.

“I never wanted to be with Lincoln because of his name or your money. Whatever we had, it was despite both of those things.”

I didn’t wait for an answer before I climbed out of the SUV and headed inside, dripping wet and clutching my burning wrist and my tattered pride.

Forty-Three

Whitney

Present day

“What is this color, anyway?” Cricket flips up the tag on a gray dress I’m holding. “Mercury? That shit is poisonous, and you’re not wearing it at my wedding.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought I got to pick whatever I wanted.”

“Not if it’s toxic. You need something like willow, or meadow, or clover.” Cricket sweeps her hand toward another section of the rack.

“So, what you really mean is that I can pick anything as long as it’s green?”

Her lips quirk up. “You know green would look stunning on you, and I’m a bit of a forest sprite myself.” Her brown hair flutters around her shoulders as she twirls.

“How about you pick the color you want me in so I don’t screw up your plans, and I’ll pick the style.”