She’s not exaggerating.
The moment we step into the main part of the salon, my senses are overwhelmed. The space is indulgent and polished, with dressing rooms flanked by luxurious velvet couches and towering three-way mirrors that gleam under the soft lighting. At the center of it all is a raised circular platform, clearly meant for brides to stand on, as if perched on display. A silver bucket with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot chills at one side, its elegance almost mocking in the face of my mounting dread. Five young women in matching black uniforms stand in a neat line, their expressions eager and expectant, ready to attend to my every whim.
It’s all a little too much. My gaze darts to Kathy, silently pleading for assistance, and, as always, she steps in without hesitation. She walks fo
