GavinCrazy how time flies.
Seems just yesterday that Il was slipping the ring on Torrie’s lithe finger, turning all her fear into joy. Seems just yesterday that we were sitting down with our domineering wedding planner, arguing about venues and dates, about how I want to have a best man but Torrie doesn’t want a maid of honor.
But it has been six months now, and our wedding is tomorrow. Torrieght is the rehearsal dinner.
As our limo takes us to the church, I repeat the words to myself in my head, unable to quite believe them: My wedding is tomorrow. Torrieght is the rehearsal dinner.
Torrie squeezes my hand.
“I love you,” she says.
The limo has a mirror ceiling revealing a secret view of the cleavage of my wife-to-be, a cup-holder for roses for my wife-to-be, and the woman herself.
