DEMETRIA

A few days later . . .

“Girl, you’re glowing. Look at you!” Anastasia shrieked the second I stepped through the glass doors of the boutique. Her voice carried over racks of satin and lace, earning a side-eye from one of the consultants in black heels.

I laughed, cheeks warming. “Glowing? Please, it’s just jet lag mixed with too much gelato.”

“Uh-uh,” she wagged her finger, strutting over in her oversized sunglasses. “That’s not jet lag, babe, that’s the ...