Margot bends her head toward me. “At least after today, you won’t have to deal with those chucklefucks.”

“Shhh!” I say, suppressing a smile. Kurt and Theodore are nice, but they’re also loud and kind of rude. It’ll be good not to worry about what they’re saying to the girls at ballet anymore. A clock on the wall chimes, announcing midday. There’s less than an hour until the ceremony. My nerves sizzle like strip steak.

“Nervous?” Margot asks.

“A little. But I bet Mr… I mean Zachery, is nervous too.”

Margot scowls. “First of all, who cares? Second of all, you still call him ‘Mr. Parker?’”

“Sometimes! He’s intimidating, I guess.”

“Bullshit. It’s because your nanny calls him ‘Mr. Parker.’”

My body temperature ticks up a notch. “Margot, for the millionth time, Zia Teresa isn’t my nanny.”

“No, she’s mom’s housekeeper.”

I look over my shoulder. Mentioning mom always makes me feel like she’s going to show up and scream at someone. Probably me. But the room is as friendly and mom-free as ever. “Zia Teresa is my friend,” I tell Margot. “And she’s yours too. Do you remember how she helped out when you threw up on mom’s chintz lounge?”

Margot clicks her fingers at her makeup artist, Helen. “Hi? Yeah, can you bring me more champagne?”

Helen purses her lips, but she puts down her eyelash curler and leaves. I wince. It isn’t like Margot to be rude, but she’s scared, and I have no idea how to help her. If Zia was here, she’d know how to calm Margot down. She knows how to do everything. I wanted her to come to the wedding, but mom refused. “What would people think, having a servant at a formal celebration?”

But Zia—Auntie—Teresa isn’t just a servant. She was my father’s housekeeper when he was young and when my real mom died giving birth to me, Zia Teresa bottle-fed me and read me stories, and sang to me in Italian. She’s tiny, less than five feet tall with a beautiful, wrinkled apple face and the sharpest, funniest tongue in the world. She smells like DNKY’s Be Delicious and Pond cream and Newport menthols, even though I always ask her to stop smoking. For her not to be here today… It’s just wrong.

Anita pats my shoulder. “Okay, baby girl, almost done. We just need setting spray.”

I close my eyes and Anita blasts me with so much wet mist, I’m surprised I’m not dripping. I imagine being sealed in a cocoon, a clear plastic barrier so that when Mr. Parker kisses me at the altar, he won’t really be kissing me. But when I open my eyes, I’m not in a cocoon. I’m just me, but shiny.

Beside me, Margot sips her fresh glass of champagne, her face gleaming with the same setting spray. She looks fierce and gorgeous. I reach out and touch her arm. “You look beautiful, M. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Margot sighs. “I wish daddy were here. If he were, this wouldn’t be happening.”