“Oh my god, what happened?” Sophie demands, recoiling.

Carmen grimaces and removes her sunglasses. “I’m testing out a new retinol before I include it in my business plan. It’s, uh, not going well.”

“Uh, yeah. That clears up, right?” I ask.

“In about a month, yeah,” she says glumly.

“Well, that should give you plenty of time to heal up for wedding photos!” Marcy says in her brash Long Island accent, clapping her hands for emphasis. Her dark ponytail swings behind her.

Sophie laughs; Carmen adjusts her hoodie to cover another half inch of her lobster-red forehead.

Vivian ushers us toward a larger seating area in the back of the room. When we sit, she passes out binders for each of us. I flip through the laminated pages; they’re the full set of the designer’s current collection. As expected, none of the looks are what you could call subtle. Every dress has a thigh-baring slit, a Swarovski crystal belt, a bosom-boosting corset, or all three. If my mom were here, she’d make a snarky comment about shopping for wedding night lingerie instead of an actual wedding gown. With a pang, I think back to Sophie’s beautifully simple wedding dress, with its chic boatneck and clean lines. At the time, I thought her dress was kind of boring. But now, under the harsh light of Swarovski-crystal reflections, it’s clear—she was stunning. A minimalist’s dream. Meghan Markle had nothing on her.

“Do any of these stand out to you?” Marcy asks, peering over my binder.

I swallow and sweep my arm around the room of glittering gowns. “I mean, all of them are so gorgeous.”

Marcy blinks her long, tarantula-style, clearly fake eyelashes and waits for an actual answer. In my daily life, sure, I dress to stand out. But for me, that’s always translated into bright colors and trendy silhouettes—not glitz and glam and a mile of cleavage. These dresses look like the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show Fantasy Bra with skirts attached.

“But sure, I guess I can pick a few to start,” I add hastily.

Before I know it, I’m wrapped in a white silk robe in a dressing room, waiting for Marcy to bring the first of three gowns. I chose two and Sophie picked out one. Carmen had just laughed, sat back smugly on the couch, and said she couldn’t wait to see me dressed.

Marcy raps once against the dressing room door.

“Come in!” I call, pulling the two halves of the skimpy robe over my exposed thighs.