miserable drizzle that made Manhattan look like a watercolor painting left out in a

assing thro

covered in clay dust or plaster. She had a small studio share on 24th Street. She reme

t. It was a solo exhibition for a man named David Chen. He had been i

nd here she was, in an Uber, going to try

notification. Pick up wedding

d just given her his credit card and said, "Get something classic." He

here," the

l salon. It was an intimidating limestone building with a doo

t it, nearly turning it inside out. She wrestled with it, feeling f

arpets, white walls, white flowers. It

!" the recepti

ted, sharper than she inte

uinn. Is Mr. Ster

's... d

a quick scan of the empty space behind Harper. "What a sh

per's old studio. There was a podium

sed. The assistants brought the dress. It was a Vera Wang custom. Strapless, endless layers

tight. It pushed her ribs in, mak

Her mother's voice tinny and pixelated

at herself. She didn't look like a pr

ck view. Her phone, sitting

ification fr

ire just po

ing Mia's private posts. But somehow, the algorithm-or

ing the assistant's protest about

man's hand on a steering wheel. A Porsche steerin

six months saving up for it. She gav

My driver for the

asn't in a meeting. He was driving her around in the car Harper helped pick out, wearing the wat

alright?" the assistant as

to the velvet bench. The so

athe," Harpe

snug, we ca

voice rising. "I can'