I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. At least not the delicate red lips, or the winged cat eyes, or the impeccable skin with a touch of blush. Ruth was more ambitious to get me looking great than feeling great, and my nervous level hitched up with every layer of “beauty” she adorned on me.
“You should look like this more often,” Ruth says, holding a clip in her mouth and working on my hair.
I still can't take in how I look. Still can't accept the image of my reflection. The dress itself is a wonder. What was Alistair looking for when he selected it at the mall? Did he picture me in it? The fabric feels like I’m swimming in satin, in a pool of vibrant red reaching my ankles. Thin straps support the heart-shaped neckline, and chills spread across all the exposed skin on my chest and sho
