The door swung open without a knock. Kira walked in, took one look at me, and her face soured.
“Wait… you’re wearing that?” she said.
“Yeah. Why?”
She circled me like a critic. “Megan, it’s too bright. Too attention-grabbing. Did you even think about how the guests will feel standing next to you?”
I laughed. “Kira, it’s my engagement party.”
She snapped back, “This isn’t a runway show. People are coming to celebrate, not to be outshined by you.”
My jaw tightened. “This is my night. I’m not dressing to manage your insecurities.”
Her eyes went cold. “You always pick something that makes everything about you.” Then she added, sweet and fake, “If you’re going to be that extra, I might need something similar. I don’t want to look plain next to you in the photos.”
“You’re not copying this dress,” I told her. “And yes, I’m wearing it.”
She smirked. “Relax, I’m just joking.” But the look in her eyes said she absolutely wasn’t.
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