Once I was done, I turned to stare into the mirror. The dress was every bit as beautiful as it had always been, but it was a smidgen too big. I’d lost weight these past few weeks. And then there was my face, pale even under the makeup. One way or another, everything would change after tonight.

The door opened behind me, and Mom walked in. As soon as her eyes landed on me, she drew in a soft breath. “Oh, Harper.”

I fiddled with my pearls. “It looks good, right? I wasn’t sure about these sleeves, but with the gloves . . .”

Mom crossed the room in a few strides and rested her hands on my shoulders. “It’s better than good. It’s beautiful.”

And it was. Or it would’ve been if I could stop thinking of it as the dress I might die in. The dress I would be wearing when I screwed this whole thing up and got everyone I loved and everything I knew blown off the map.

I swallowed those thoughts down, trying to smile. “You look amazing, too,” I told Mom. She was wearing a soft pink dress that brought color to her cheeks and made her dark eyes shine. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I turned around to hug Mom before she could notice.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against my temple.

I gave a watery chuckle. “Why? All I’m doing is walking down some stairs and trying not to spill punch on my dress.”

But Mom shook her head and pulled back. “No,” she said, holding me at arm’s length. “Not just for Cotillion. For the girl—no, the woman—you’ve become.”

Now I didn’t have to worry about hiding tears. We were both a little weepy.

“I’m sorry for being so overprotective these past few weeks,” Mom told me. She smelled like Mary Kay makeup and hairspray, and I hugged her again.

“I’m sorry, too,” I told her, and nothing had ever been truer.

There was a soft knock at the door, and when Mom and I turned, Saylor was standing there. She was already dressed for Cotillion, too, wearing a navy dress, with a white rose corsage pinned to the bodice.

“Saylor?” Mom asked, confused.

Saylor met my eyes, and I nodded.

Satisfied, Saylor walked into the room and reached into her handbag. She pulled out the little pot of lip balm. “Hillary, don’t you look lovely?”

Saylor’s smile was bright as ever, and her accent seemed thicker than normal. “Where did you find that dress?”

I could tell Mom was still a little puzzled, but manners trumped confusion. “Nordstrom,” she answered, brushing a hand over the skirt. “I think it’s supposed to be a mother-of-the-bride dress, but I guess that’s appropriate.”