A dark-haired woman with sleek bangs and a name tag that read Portia greeted us with a professional smile. “Wedding party?”
“Mother of the bride and cousin of the groom,” Michelle said. “And I’m the one making sure no one ends up in teal sequins.”
Portia chuckled and gestured to a lounge with blush armchairs and a tray of chilled waters. “We’ll pull a few options.”
While she disappeared into the back, Mom sank into a chair, fingers brushing the lace hem of a nearby dress.
“It’s strange,” she murmured. “Looking for something to wear to my daughter’s wedding. I didn’t think I’d get this moment.”
I sat beside her, resting my head lightly against hers. “You earned it.”
Her eyes filled, but she didn’t cry. “You think he’ll like the color burgundy?”
Michelle snorted. “Thoren would like yo
