Dawn
The dressing room is busy with other brides space rushing around trying to prepare well in advance. I grab Wendy’s arm and lead somewhere no one can hear us.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper to her.
“I don’t know. I thought you prepared yourself for an outcome like this one.” She whispers back, and I shoot her with a death stare.
“Are you being serious right now?” I ask her.
“I don’t even know what you did to the dress. I thought you would spill paint on it, something like that,” she says, and I pinch my lips.
“I snuck into the designer's room and changed the measurements she made. I erased the real numbers and added my own, which were smaller than what she wanted.”
“You did what?!” Wendy explains, and I quickly shush her up.
“You keep quiet,”
“Who even does that?
