I stared at the woman in the mirror, but I didn't recognize her.
The dress was a masterpiece of architectural lace and hand-stitched silk, a custom $150,000 piece from a designer Kieran had flown in specifically from Milan. The bodice was encrusted with thousands of micro-diamonds that caught the morning light, shimmering like a layer of fresh snow over my skin. It was heavy—not just from the weight of the fabric, but from the weight of the name I was about to officially take.
D'Angelo.
My hair had been swept up into an intentionally messy bun, soft curls framing my face to soften the intensity of my makeup. The artist had gone for a "Sultry Donna" look—deep, smoky eyes that made my gaze look piercing, paired with a nude lip and a glow that highlighted the slight, secret fullness of my cheeks from the pregnancy.
