TIFFANY
Saturday arrived far too quickly, I spent most of the afternoon convincing myself that I wasn’t nervous. It was not a date, it was wedding preparation, there was a difference, a very important difference.
Unfortunately, my heart didn’t seem interested in understanding that distinction. I stood in front of my mirror, looking at the dress I’d chosen for the evening. It was elegant without being overly formal, and I had kept my makeup simple. I stared at myself for a moment.
“One evening,” I whispered.
One evening with Damian. One evening where I would try on wedding dresses, pretend this entire situation was normal, and remind myself that this was a business arrangement.
Nothing more.
My phone buzzed, it was Damian, “I’m downstairs.” My stomach fluttered, as I grabbed my purse
