7
Lila’s POV.
The boutique smelled like steamed silk and perfume. Soft music. Softer voices. Racks of white on white, like snow you could wear. Mom was already glowing before we walked in. She kissed both cheeks of the owner like they were cousins. I followed with the garment bag I didn’t need, sipping the lemonade they hand to nervous brides.
“This is the one I told you about,” Mom said to the consultant, patting my arm. “My daughter. She’s here to keep me honest.”
“Honest,” I echoed, and smiled. I was here to cause problems.
The consultant, a sleek woman named Mira, led us to a private nook with a round mirror and a velvet stool. She clipped Mom into the first dress. It was classic. Sweetheart neckline. She looked beautiful. She cried a little. I handed her tissue like a good child.
