The weeks leading up to the engagement party moved faster than I expected, filled with the particular chaos of Eleanor Voss deciding to do something "properly" which meant no detail too small to be interrogated, no vendor too accomplished to escape her exacting standards.
"She called the florist twice today," Lena told me, sliding a tablet across the kitchen island with an expression of long-suffering amusement. "To discuss whether peonies read as 'triumphant' or merely 'pretty.' I don't fully know what triumphant peonies look like, but apparently we're getting them."
"Of course we are," I said, laughing despite the exhaustion creeping into my week. Between the party preparations and my own collection heading into its final production push, I'd started falling asleep some nights mid-sket
