13
Gwen had imagined her wedding ever since she was a little girl. Those dreams became less and less with each year that passed. Now in her early thirties, she had to laugh at herself. She was wrapped in a sheet and accessorized with cowry shells. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets. They also dangled from her hair. This was far from her vision. But it was perhaps a little more romantic and a whole lot more than she ever thought possible.
“You are so beautiful,” Saba said when she secured the last shell. “Ian is going to have the prettiest bride.”
Gwen felt her face heat. She was never given to blushing, but somehow the situation felt too intimate. For so long she had been on her own, and she never once minded it. But now, simple words of praise and friendship made her horribly self-conscious
