Celeste stared at the mirror like it had personally offended her.
“I look like a piñata.”
“No,” Lisa said, tilting her head. “A very sparkly piñata.”
The dress was a monstrosity of pink tulle, glitter, and inexplicably—feathers. Bright. Pink. Feathers. They jutted from the shoulders like wings on a disgruntled flamingo.
“I’m going to kill someone,” Celeste muttered, lifting the skirt and finding more glitter underneath. “This isn’t the gown I ordered.”
“Oh, I know.” Lisa flipped through her phone. “Your actual dress was intercepted at the courier station. A ‘messenger’ claimed they were delivering it personally. We found a torn sash with rogue pack markings in the alley.”
Celeste let out a sharp laugh. “So the rogues swapped my wedding gown for a glitter bomb.”
Lisa snapped a photo.
