Dawn tilted her head and considered the question before answering. Her middle sister’s no-nonsense approach to honesty was one of the things Lila loved about her, since she could always count on Dawn to tell her the truth no matter what.

“I’d say you were trying your hardest to look like the opposite of a princess.”

Okay. Maybe she didn’t always love the honesty.

“I do not. The opposite of a princess is a pauper. I don’t look like a pauper.”

“No, just like the evil villain who created all those paupers in the first place.” Dawn laughed and unfolded herself from the carefully made-up bed. She left all kinds of creases and crinkles behind, but it would have been fruitless to complain. Lila had been complaining for almost three decades, and it never seemed to make the slightest difference.

As if to prove it, Dawn sidled up next to her and placed her chin on Lila’s shoulder. Everything about the two of them spoke of shared DNA—the wide-set brown eyes, the sandy-toned skin, the way their lips lifted at the corners—but most of the similarities stopped there. Dawn’s dark-brown hair was tousled, her chunky sweater carefree, her personality both those things combined.

Lila was, well, Lila.

“The dress wasn’t that bad. I thought you looked sweet. Like a cupcake with frosting and sprinkles and fairy wings on top.” Dawn grinned. “By the way, what’s Prince Charming’s name again? Buick Buick? Porsche Porsche?”

Lila sighed. It was never a good idea to tell her sister anything related to men. She had a tendency to make mayhem out of molehills. “His name is Ford Ford, and he’s going to be here with Emily any minute. I’m serious about this, Dawn. I need to look prim and untouchable.”

And, she didn’t need to add, like a woman who’d never even heard the word waltz before.

Dawn tugged the bottom of Lila’s beige jacket and brushed off her shoulders, even though there hadn’t been any time for the suit to gather dust in the five minutes since Lila had pulled it from the deepest recesses of her closet. If she remembered correctly, she’d bought the thing to wear to her college admissions interview. She’d gotten into her first choice school with it, but she’d vowed that nothing short of an appearance in criminal court would get her to wear the sartorial monstrosity again.

Criminal court or a day spent in a handsome man’s company, apparently. In Lila’s world, they were basically the same thing.

“I haven’t seen you this nervous since that time you got caught stealing chalk from the principal’s office. Relax. I’m sure no one even noticed what you were wearing.”