“Maybe she should step into it,” Lisa, the passive bridesmaid, suggested.

“No,” Jackie, the stern bridesmaid, answered aggressively. “If she steps in, she runs the risk of stepping on it or getting it dirty. It should go over her head.”

“The woman who sold it to me told me to step into it,” Bee said thoughtfully. “And these floors look perfectly clean to me. But…maybe Jackie’s right. Let’s go over my head, just slowly.”

When Bee had asked for help getting into her dress, a task that would require the aid of two people, Hannah opted to stay with Dawn, whom Hannah assumed would want her own lady-in-waiting during the dressing process.

Dawn’s gown was not like the other bridesmaids’ dresses. It was similar in that it was a black halter with an empire waist and plunging neckline, but unlike Hannah’s uniform, Dawn’s dress had an ornate bow at the waist and a small satin train in back. Hannah had never seen a matron of honor dressed differently from the other bridesmaids. She wondered if it was a southern wedding tradition or a new fad. With nothing to do but chitchat, she dared to ask Dawn about her attire.

“I didn’t realize the matron of honor wore a different dress. Is that how they do it down south? I’ve never seen that before.”

“Where I grew up,” Dawn said slowly, emphasizing her Reese Witherspoon drawl, “maids of honor were encouraged to distinguish themselves.”

“Where did you grow up?” Hannah demanded, unable to control the tension in her voice.

“In Roanoke,” Dawn answered sharply.

“Where’s that?” Hannah asked, instantly regretting the question, which was bound to be interpreted as an insult.

“In Virginia. Just about two hours from Richmond. Did you miss geography class, honey?”

Dawn flashed one of her debutante smiles.

“I’m bad with geography,” Hannah said, attempting to recover quickly by using the meekest and most feminine voice she could muster. Hannah looked at her phone again, first to make sure that she hadn’t missed a text about Natalie Portman, and then to check the time. There was less than a half hour before the wedding. She exhaled exhaustively and let her eyes float up to meet Dawn’s. “And, Dawn, I—I’m also bad with makeup, so if you want to put eyeliner on me, feel free. You’re the professional.”

“I’m not just a professional, honey. I’m the best,” Dawn said, adjusting her tan girdle, which stretched from midthigh to the complicated halter bra, which didn’t seem to be bothering her at all. All she wore over it was a T-shirt that said “Lady Tar Heel.”

“When I get done with you,” Dawn continued, “Tom is going to be on his knees, begging you for forgiveness.”

Hannah winced at the sound of Tom’s name. She cracked a few of her knuckles.

“I don’t want Tom on his knees,” Hannah said unconvincingly, her voice suddenly shaking. “I don’t want him back. I really don’t care what he thinks. Bee is making too big a deal of this whole thing.”