God, I really hope they’re props.
“Your dress,” Matvey whispers in my ear. “Good job.”
I melt all over. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Pinch me. Like, right n—ow!”
Unsurprisingly, the pain sparks from my ass. Of course he’d aim there. “Feeling awake yet?” Matvey teases.
I stare at my dress strutting down a world-class runway, the tenth of ten finalists. I listen to the crowd go wild. I watch the model carry that mountain of torn tulle like a princess answering a call to arms halfway through the happiest day of her life.
“Yeah,” I murmur in a daze. “Yeah, I think I am.”
And I’m never going back to sleep.
“You realize they also have water, right?”
“Yes,” I gasp, then down the third champagne flute in a row. Not because I’m celebrating early—because I’m losing my freaking mind. “Thanks fo
