By the time midnight rolled around, I was convinced that Sugar had either lost her mind, or was secretly plotting to kill me through sheer exhaustion.
“Again!” she clapped her manicured hands like some demented ballet instructor, her diamonds sparkling under the chandelier light. “But this time—more sway in the hips, darling. You are not Marigold, the peasant with a limited wardrobe. You are Margaux, the scandal of every dinner party. If you do not look like you are plotting someone’s social downfall with every step, you are failing.”
I groaned, dragging the hem of yet another satin monstrosity down the grand staircase. This one was gold, glittering like I had just mugged the sun. “I swear, this dress is trying to eat me alive. If I trip and break my neck, you can just tell the king it w
