Misty
Lavender fans out the skirt of an impossibly pink gown. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as she kneels, adjusting the hem.
I’m swimming in a sea of bubble gum. It’s not even my best color. It does nothing for my skintone, or my hair, or my eyes.
But this color has always been mine. And somehow, Cole knew.
I smooth my hands over the tight waist, the boning, the satin fabric that flares out at my hips. It’s a real ball gown–fluffy and extravagant. I’m already a princess, but right now, I actually feel like one.
“My mom would flip if she saw me in this,” I say with a huff, my throat closing around the words. How many times have I promised myself I’d stop crying? A hundred? A thousand?
“In a good way, or a bad way?” Lavender asks, rising to adjust the poofy sleeves that t
