Celeste stared at the mirror like it had personally offended her.

“I look like a piñata.”

“No,” Lisa said, tilting her head. “A very sparkly piñata.”

The dress was a monstrosity of pink tulle, glitter, and inexplicably—feathers. Bright. Pink. Feathers. They jutted from the shoulders like wings on a disgruntled flamingo.

“I’m going to kill someone,” Celeste muttered, lifting the skirt and finding more glitter underneath. “This isn’t the gown I ordered.”

“Oh, I ...