I stepped into the next store with Mia, instantly feeling more at home in its selection.
This was more our style—less royalty, more personality.
What followed was a whirlwind of fashion chaos, a full-on montage of trying on outfits, laughing until our stomachs hurt, throwing exaggerated looks of horror at certain choices, and just enjoying the absurdity of it all.
One dress looked like it belonged on a haunted porcelain doll, another outfit had so many unnecessary buckles it could double as battle armor, and the sheer amount of questionable fabric choices had us shaking our heads more times than I could count.
By the time I was peeling off the latest disaster, Mia struck.
She held out a gown—and not just any gown, but one fitting for tomorrow’s celebration.
I blinked, staring at it.
