Eight
Every girl dreams of her wedding day. In my head, I saw myself standing on a beach.
No, wait. Scratch that. That was my sixteen-year-old dream.
As a twenty-four-year-old woman, I saw myself standing on a hilltop overlooking a body of water; probably a lake. I didn’t wear white. Even though I could because, well, I qualified. But it was not the best color on me.
Instead, I wore a light purple, princess-cut gown. The bodice was strong enough to manage my girls. It cinched at the waist and then flowed down my curves giving me a semblance of an hourglass shape. I had a ton of tendrils curling around the nape of my neck. I wore a tiara because my fiancé had a habit of calling me his princess.
But it was a wedding which meant there were some unpleasant parts. My mom would manage the w
