Leila's POV
The Dior gown clung to me like it had been stitched from clouds and secrets. Never in my life had I ever draped on a custom-made Dior and if I don't get pinched any second from now, I’d pass out.
White silk and hand-sewn pearls shimmered in the morning light filtering through the grand suite's French windows.
The veil spilled down my back in frothy waves, heavy with embroidery that must have taken months to craft, and the diamond tiara perched on my head was so dazzling it almost mocked me.
It was perfect. Too perfect for a wedding that wasn't real.
Zara adjusted the veil one last time, stepping back with narrowed eyes. "Damn, Leila," she breathed. "You look like a queen. Not even a princess. A whole queen."
I forced a smile, my palms sweating inside the delicate lace
