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They all had questions on top of questions. Flowers and seating and timing and songs and ushers and this and that and that and this.
It was all so overwhelming. Geneva had to remind me of my answers seconds after I’d given them.
But the end result is beautiful. Four hours as the focal point of an army of hair and makeup artists left me glistening like something ethereal.
Van and Marilyn had created an intricate vine of French braids that wove and threaded through one another. My makeup was mostly natural, with a little extra oomph around the eyes and deeper color on my lips. It’s fairytale bride with an edge, and I approve wholeheartedly.
Now, the last piece of the puzzle is the dress.
It took half a dozen fittings to get the gown to lie just right without revealing my small but growing baby bump. The work was worth it. The crepe and chiffon float like they’ve never heard of gravity, and the off-white color with pale blush detailing glows like the deepest part of a pearl.
Not strictly speaking traditional, but I kind of like that about it. This wedding isn’t strictly speaking traditional, either.
The last week has been a flurry of final stage planning.
It’s also felt like the beginning of the rest of my life.
Being with Kolya—really, trulybeingwith him—felt like the relationship I’d always hoped that Adrian and I would one day mature into. A week of waking up in his arms, of making soft, slow love in the dawn… I didn’t know it was possible to love and be loved like that.
Of course, the one shadow hanging over me is my sister’s sour face. She pretends to be supportive, but in odd moments, I’ve caught her dark looks, her worried glances.
I just don’t know what she’ll do about them.
The door opens and the silence is punctured by the snip-snap of high heels and a whole lot of confidence. Milana walks in looking like a Grecian goddess in a Vera Wang gown that includes a full-on cape. The dress is a dark, rich purple and the cape is a shadowy black that matches her dusky makeup perfectly.
“You look amazing,” I tell her, breathing in the subtle cloud of Chanel number five that billows around her.
She tosses her head to the side playfully. “You should be dressed by now.”
“Sorry, I was about to. Then I got lost in the silence.”
“There’ll be silence enough after the wedding.” When I frown, she laughs. “That was in no way a dig at marriage. I just meant you won’t have to deal with all this wedding hoopla.”
I smile. “No offense taken.”
“Let me help you into the dress.”
I shrug off my lavender robe and get to my feet. I stand there in a nude lace bra and matching panties that don’t cover much of anything.
Milana gives me an approving nod before floating the dress in front of me so that I can step into it. It takes her only a few moments to zip me up and twist me around to face the full-length mirror.
“There,” she says, pushing my hair over my bare shoulders. “Now, that’s a fucking bride.”
I laugh. “Do you think he’ll like it?”
“He’ll like anything you’re in,” she assures me, brushing out my skirts just a little before she moves to stand in front. “You should know your parents are out there.”
I frown. “Are they seated?”
“They were hovering a little down the hall, so I assumed they wanted to see you. I pointed them in the direction of the ceremony hall. They can wait their turn.”
I give her a grateful smile. “Bless you.”
“Do you need a little liquid courage before your solo walk down the aisle?” she asks, pulling out a tiny little silver flask from a fold in her dress.
“I’m pregnant, Milana,” I remind her.
She rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s not from me; it’s from your future husband.”
