My reflection wobbles in the wavy glass as I shift on the cushion. Drats. The daisies I tucked into the braid at my crown have wilted. Not exactly the look I was going for. If I pick them out now, there’s no guarantee I’ll get them all. I’d rather a bevy of sad flowers in my hair than have it look as if I rolled around in a field and accidentally picked up some floral hitchhikers.

The driver rolls to a stop in front of a sandstone cottage with fern-green sills and shutters. Blooming vines climb the corners, stretching green and purple fingers toward the thatched roof.

My mother always promised to bring us here, but Father wasn’t quite as keen. Although he attended university in Rosehill, his heart has always belonged to the mountains.

I rub at the familiar pinching sensation in my chest. If only she could have made it back, just this once.

The carriage door swings wide, and I step down onto a slab of stone curving toward my aunt and uncle’s arched doorway.

When I thank the driver, his lips tip into a smile beneath his bushy gray mustache before he rounds the carriage to collect my trunk.

This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The beginning of the rest of my life.

Not everyone gets to reinvent themselves at twenty-five, but I do.

And I don’t plan on squandering the opportunity.

The cottage door bursts open, startling me out of my reverie. A woman flies through the gap, the colorful ribbons adorning her stark-white curls trailing behind her like a rainbow. It might have been ten years since I last saw Nia Quill, but I’d recognize that crazy, cackling laugh anywhere.

I open my arms and plant my feet, bracing for the collision. She hits me so hard that we nearly end up in the ferns lining the path. She smells of jasmine and laughter and that mystical sweetness that clings to childhood memories.

“I cannot believe you’re really here!” she squeals, drawing back, her shapely brows lifting and her gaze sweeping from my slippers to my gown. “And look at you. Your hair is so long!”

“I know.” I had planned on cutting it before coming, but we only have one salon in Gravale and it’s only open once a month.

Nia’s snowy curls bounce as she shakes her head. “It’s stunning, Kerris. Truly. And the color. I would kill for this shade.”

The lilac hue washes me out in the winter, but a few days in this glaring sun should remedy that.

Nia’s smile widens, showing off the smallest gap in her front teeth. “The men of Rosehill will be falling over themselves to court you.”