A burning sensation crawled from my throat into my cheeks.
Every conversation I had ever had about Arthur’s money flashed through my mind.
The vacations I had casually mentioned wanting.
The renovations I had suggested for his supposed mansion.
The way I had insisted that I preferred a summer wedding because Europe would be beautiful afterward.
The questions I had asked about trusts, property, inheritance taxes, and whether his wealth was tied up in investments or liquid assets.
I had believed I was being subtle.
Apparently, I had not been subtle at all.
My mother covered her mouth.
My father’s expression hardened.
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