Maeve

Myla pulled the thin straps of her dress over her delicate shoulders, reaching down to smooth the fabric over her belly. “What do we think of this one?” she asked, doing a little twirl.

Gemma looked over at her, a tube of lipstick in her hands. “Oh, I think that’s the one. Green is definitely your color, My.”

Myla smiled, fluffing her bouncy black curls as she bent closer to the vanity mirror. “Have you decided what you’re wearing ...