“I’m afraid,” Layla admitted on her third tequila sunrise, “that I’ll miss the chaos. That marriage will feel like a beautifully decorated cage.”
Cheers erupted. Layla forced a smile, adjusting the custom veil that read Mrs. Jenner-to-Be in pink glitter.
“You okay?” he asked.
Silence. Then her childhood best friend, Mina, raised a glass. “To cages with good lighting.”
“Tradition,” Sloane said, unbothered.
And that was the moment Layla Jenner knew—amid the glitter and the mezcal and the ghost of her former chaos—that she wasn’t losing herself.
