“You are a vision, dear,” Katakuri greeted his bride-to-be. The day of the Tea Party had finally arrived; the two were waiting on the ninth floor to be taken to the altar on the roof of the château where they would be officially united as husband and wife.
Wyleen blushed behind her veil, “You clean up quite nicely yourself.” Katakuri was wearing a magenta suit over a black dress shirt. His tie and boutonniere matched the color of Wyleen’s dress. She didn’t want a crisp white dress, but opted for a cream or custard; she didn’t remember which one she had picked. The neckline and accents were black lace on the dress, and her bouquet held carefully in her nervous hand was the same kind of flowers Katakuri had left at her bedside all of those nights ago.
“I would rather see you undressed, how
