What bothered me was how Joyce treated anyone who couldn’t afford expensive things.
One afternoon, she arrived at our house carrying another new purse.
“Limited edition,” she announced proudly. “Only two hundred of these were ever made.”
I bit my tongue.
“Wow,” I said, admiring its suspiciously crooked logo. “And you managed to get one. What are the odds?”
Joyce smiled.
“Well, darling, some people simply have connections.”
I bit my tongue.
Apparently, those connections didn’t include a decent quality-control department.
My breath caught.
On the morning of the wedding, Paige helped me into my dress, carefully fastening every pearl button.
When I turned toward the mirror, my breath caught.
The lace fell beautifully, the waist fit perfectly, and those tiny pearls shimmered whenever I moved.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered.
“Don’t start crying,” Paige warned. “I spent three nights on those buttons. If you ruin my makeup with a group hug, I’m charging you.”
