*Ines*
“Are you ready ?”
I regard the colourful interior of the pavilions that has been put up for the special day and the piles and piles of flowers brought in to celebrate my marriage.
I think about Maceo, standing with the priest at the altar.
I think about the guests, all more-than-three-hundred of them, all waiting for me to enter on my father’s arm.
And I think about Jackson, who has surely read the advertisement in the newspaper.
“Ines”. Beatriz repeats. “Are you ready ?”
I wonder what Beatriz might do if I say no.
Beatriz is a romantic.
Impractical.
She would probably tell me that I do not have to go through with it, that it does not matter that we are standing ready to walk down the aisle, or that the president himself is seated there along with the other guest
