The moment I’m alone with the assistant, I hurry over to where she stands carefully placing my veil on a coat hook in the corner of the fitting room.
“Please! You have to help me,” I whisper in a hushed, urgent whisper. “They’re holding us against our will. The other girls and I are captives."
For a moment I actually think the girl might actually help me. Her sweet, timid expression is replaced with something akin to shock, and she stares at me in wide-eyed bewilderment.
"Help me," I whisper. "Please."
She looks startled for a few seconds, but then she seems to collect herself and she looks down at her feet, avoiding eye contact with me.
“I’m only a fitting room assistant,” she says. “My job is just to carry clothes for you and to help you change into your dress… nothing else.”
Wh
