CHAPTER FIFTY
LINA
T he day before Savannah’s debut fashion show, she asked me to come to New York City with her to be on-site for her Ralph Lauren campaign shoot.
Kara has already been in the city since last night because of fittings, so she’s meeting us there. And in all honesty, I have no idea where there is.
In fact, I’m shocked we’re going into the city at all. Every Ralph Lauren photoshoot I’ve seen has been outside on a fancy estate, with horses and a western-glam vibe.
I definitely don’t see us getting those types of pictures in the middle of the city.
For almost the entire train ride, Savannah has been on her phone.
The past few weeks, big fashion networks have begun to catch wind of the possible collaboration, even though it hasn’t been announced to the public.
And because of that, Savannah’s been working hard to make sure it stays under wraps until the campaign, which has involved making a lot of deals.
We’ve been together nearly every day for the past two months. She’s become what we consider an honorary roommate at the apartment, and I’ve gone to her sorority house quite a few times.
“Where exactly is the campaign going to shoot in the city?” I ask when she gets off the phone yet again.
She sets her phone in her lap, crossing her legs. Even now, she looks straight out of a Vogue spread, with her pink, houndstooth-patterned tweed dress and white stiletto heels. It’s something Paris Hilton would wear, and Savannah pulls it off just as well.
“We’re not doing the campaign itself in the city, just the catalog shots and blank-slate modeling in a studio. Later, we’re going to Montauk and doing the actual campaign on the water. A lot of them will be on a yacht, too.”
It’s overwhelming. Even just being here with her. I can’t imagine being in Savannah’s position—having to manage all this while running her growing fashion network and still attending Yale full-time.
Her drive is as admirable as her closet. I’ve learned very quickly that she’s not just a girl who wears cute clothes and talks about fashion.
She’s building an empire. People know who she is.
A girl even came up to Savannah on the train, fawning over Savvy by Savannah , telling her how much she admired her. Of course, Savannah smiled and talked to her for as long as she could before her phone began ringing again.
Most people would act like it’s nothing. Savannah doesn’t. I watched the way her smile lingered long after the girl walked away.
“They’re sending a car to pick us up at the station, and Kara is meeting us there,” she tells me. “The studio is in SoHo, right above a super pretty gallery. Super minimal, all white with lots of natural light. The pictures are going to turn out gorgeous.”
My eyes widen, stunned. This is a normal day for Savannah. Cars waiting to take her to SoHo before a photoshoot on a yacht.
Meanwhile, I feel a bit like the intern in a coming-of-age movie, fumbling the papers and forgetting the CEO’s coffee order. Straight out of The Devil Wears Prada.
It’s obvious I don’t fit into this atmosphere, but Savannah has fit me perfectly into her life. She invited me, so I’m going to be here for her in every way I can.
“Have you thought any more about my offer?” She raises a blonde eyebrow at me, giving me a soft smile with her perfectly glossed lips.
My stomach bubbles with nerves I rarely feel. I glance out the window, as if the passing buildings would give me the answer I’m looking for.
“I have,” I say slowly, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t see why you would want me in the campaign. You and Kara are used to this, and this is important, Sav.”
Savannah doesn’t miss a beat. “You are exactly what this campaign needs.”
“Someone who has no idea what they’re doing? Who has never modeled?”
Since this morning, she’s been begging me to be a part of the photoshoot. At first, I laughed in her face. Then I realized she was being serious. To me, it makes no sense why she would want me to be a part of it. She doesn’t seem to think there’s any other option.
“This is my collection, Lina. It’s my choice how I want it to be represented. It’s more important to me that it’s something authentic—something fun and showcasing friendship. Me, you, and Kara can make it that way.”
The train slows, pulling into the station before I can reply. Her words are still echoing, even as we stand to leave.
“Just think about it on the way there,” she says, grabbing me by the arm. “And know that I want you to be a part of it. You have the perfect look, Lina, and when people see you, they’re going to want to know who you are.”
* * *
In a gorgeous studio in SoHo, Kara and Savannah change in and out of outfits from Savannah’s collection.
Cameras shutter around them constantly. Savannah explained to the crew right away that she didn’t want any part of the campaign to feel staged or sterile. She wants behind-the-scenes photos included as well.
I stay out of the way, standing near one of the garment racks while watching Kara and Savannah capture every person in the room's attention.
Every piece that is pulled is so clearly curated by Savannah. From the dresses to the sweaters. Chic, glamorous, and so utterly her.
She beams while a stylist zips Kara into one of the pleated skirts, laughter flowing between them between takes.
It doesn’t feel anything like what I would imagine a campaign shoot to be like. There’s no director screaming orders, telling the girls to pose a certain way. Instead, it feels like a dress-up party.
At one point, a makeup artist offers Savannah a touch-up, but she politely declines, saying, “Let’s keep it real.”
Of course, she’s wearing makeup. I’ve never seen her without it—that’s the kind of person she is. But she’s not going to reapply lip gloss or powder after every round of photos.
A fan blows her platinum blonde hair away from her face. She smiles while looking away from the camera while wearing a pale blue knit sweater and form-fitting white trousers.
It’s effortless.
Savannah Sinclair constantly looks expensive, to the point where you can’t even be angry at her for being some kind of spoiled socialite, because at least she’s doing something right with it.
Between her Dior handbags, Jimmy Choo heels, and Chanel sunglasses, everything she wears looks like it came straight off a runway model.
Now, she’s the one designing for runway models.
And when she decides to take a small break, slipping out of her outfits and into a silk, champagne-colored robe, it’s almost like she can feel me trying to sink into the background.
“Are you okay?” she asks, approaching me.
I nod, though I’m not sure how convincing it is. “Yup. Just trying not to trip on a cord or make anyone’s life harder.”
She shoots a pointed look at me. “Lina, I didn’t ask you to come here so you could sit around and watch. Why don’t you try something on?”
When I open my mouth to protest, she grabs my wrist and says, “I have outfits I’ve been saving for you.”
“Savannah—”
“Just try them on,” she urges before giving me her signature puppy-dog eyes. “For me?” Her voice is calm and full of certainty.
“Savannah, I wear sweats every day.”
Even looking down at the outfit I’m wearing now, it’s nothing special. Low-rise jeans. A button-up long sleeve.
Her hands grasp both of my shoulders, pulling me in closer. “First of all, you have amazing style when you’re not wearing sweats. Second of all, who gives a fuck if you wear sweats? It doesn’t mean you can’t wear cute clothes when you want to.”
Then she digs through the rack behind me, pulling out a hanger with a cable-knit, zip-up sweater on it.
“Plus, I’m not going to make you do a photoshoot in something you would never wear.
” Holding it out to me, she says with full conviction, “I designed this with you in mind. I want you to wear it.”
It makes me want to do this. Not for the cameras, but for Savannah. The girl who has become my best friend and whose eyes light up when I nod.
“Yes! Okay! This will go perfectly with jeans and one of the pairs of boots in my fitting room.”
There’s always been something so distinct about my friendship with Savannah. Something I haven’t found anywhere else.
Savannah has felt like the friend who wandered into my life at the perfect time. She didn’t ask for any space; she just stepped in and filled the cracks.
From the moment I really became friends with Savannah, there was something familiar that I couldn’t quite name. At one point in my life, I was just like her. Minus the glitz and the glamour, I was the fun, outgoing, popular girl who laughed easily and floated through life.
I never thought I’d be that girl again. I thought I’d lost that part of myself for good.
Yet somehow, Savannah has breathed a new life into the version of myself I’d been quietly mourning—just her presence has been enough to show me what I was missing out on.
It’s the life I feel rushing through me, settling deep in my bones as she grabs my hand, pulling me to run beside her toward the fitting room. Pure joy pulses through us as we laugh all the way down the hallway.
And in moments like these, it makes it glaringly obvious that Grant and Savannah coming into my life has been one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
It feels like I got up from a table of people who had been ignoring me all dinner, only to stumble upon an empty seat at a completely different table.
And when I sat down in that seat, they didn’t just make room; they fully embraced me, filling me with happiness and livelihood I didn’t know could exist. I went from being a placeholder to an actual guest.
Savannah and Grant have saved me from the all-consuming sadness that held me hostage for the better part of a year.
After two people hollowed me out, they swooped in at the perfect time, proving just how life-saving love can become.