“Don’t ever pull this shit again,” he tells me, hard eyes helping to deliver how much he means it. “The formal dinner. The fucking outfit. If it’s for you, that’s one thing. But this wasn’t, so it sure as hell wasn’t for me, either.” My hair falls free from confinement, and I shake it out around my shoulders. “And when you doubt yourself again or forget who you are even for a second, you come to me. I’ll remind you that you’re Jenna Fucking Carling. Every. Single. Time.”
