At five she started to get ready, to her it was a farce, she didn’t want to spend any time alone with the volatile, angry thug that was soon to be her husband.
Her wedding dress designers had arrived in the day, asking what she wanted. They nearly fainted when she had said off the rack, Grandmother had been annoyed and after the designers had left, she warned Gabby about being rude. But she had simply shrugged and walked off.
Standing at her wardrobe now she was, unsure of what to wear. Somehow, it seemed over night, it had garnered a life of its on and the plain, comfortable clothes she had arrived with have been pushed to the side in favour of what looks like an assortment of expensive, plush clothes. A range of fabrics, colours and designs hung in front of her, all neatly displayed.
