Max found her that evening sitting on their bedroom floor, surrounded by wedding magazines that appeared to have erupted across the carpet. Glossy pages with beautiful centerpieces and luxury costumes formed a jumble of white, ivory, and pastel colors that appeared to mock her rising sensation of overwhelm.
"How many different flowers exist in the world?" she inquired, her gaze fixed on a magazine spread depicting seventeen different bouquet alternatives.
"Too many, apparently," Max explained, carefully stepping past the magazines to sit alongside her on the floor.
"Elena says we need to secure a location immediately because the best ones are booked a year in advance, but I'm not sure what kind of wedding we want. Bigger or smaller? Traditional or modern? Spring or autumn? Church, garde
