“…And then my mom said she wants to review the seating chart before I finalize it. As if she hasn’t already micromanaged every single detail.”
Harper groans, tossing her head back against the salon chair while a stylist sectioned her hair. I smirk, watching her struggle to keep still as she vents.
“I mean, at this point, she should just wear the damn wedding dress herself.”
“She would if it wasn’t off-the-shoulder,” I tease.
Harper gasps. “Oh my God, you’re so right. She’d love that.”
I laugh, shaking my head, feeling at ease for a moment only to recall what happened the previous night and settle into that hollow space again.
Harper and I have been at the salon for almost an hour, getting ready for her pre-wedding photoshoot, and so far, she’s cycled through her mom’s interference,
