The designer boutique in Manhattan looked like something out of a fashion magazine—all white marble, crystal chandeliers, and clothes displayed like museum pieces behind glass cases. I’d tagged along on what was supposed to be a quick shopping trip for Roni to find something for an upcoming family event, but the way she was staring at a particular rack of dresses suggested this might take longer than planned.
“These are the new Valentino pieces,” she said, her voice carrying that breathless quality she usually reserved for discussing royal scandals or pharmaceutical stock prices. “Limited edition. Only twelve made worldwide.”
The dresses were beautiful in that understated way that screamed money—flowing silk in jewel tones, with hand-beaded details that probably took months to complete.
