My mother intercepted me before I could find a seat. “Cecily,” she hissed.

Joanna’s gaze traveled from my drugstore makeup to my scuffed heels. Her lips pressed into a thin line of disgust.

“You couldn’t find anything nicer to wear?” she asked.

“This is what I have,” I said quietly.

“Well,” she said, adjusting her diamond bracelet. “You’ll be at table twenty-seven, near the service entrance. Try not to draw attention to yourself.”

“Of course,” I whispered.