“OH MY GOD, MOM. YOU look...you look...”
“Amazeballs, right?” Marla suggested. “She looks fantabulous, fabtastic and entirely edible, if I do say so myself.” She leaned against the island in the kitchen with a soft and gooey smile, her eyes twinkling in happiness. “Harry is gonna die!”
Her mother stood before her, nervously swigging from the neck of the champagne bottle, draining the remaining few drops. “Are you sure the pins aren't too much?”
Sophie clasped her mom's hands to stop her fidgeting with her hair. “It's perfect, Mom. I mean it. You look like a queen.”
“Sweetheart,” her mother whispered, pulling her in for a hug. Before she could wrap her arms around her mother, Marla erupted with a screech.
“No! No hugging. No touching. No ruining your look!”
“Alright, alrig
