PENELOPE
My chest felt heavy.
Not in the physical sense—the weight of the dress, the veil on my hair, the way the pins pulled at my scalp.
Today was my wedding day, and I had never felt less like a bride.
Jess flitted around the bridal suite, doing what she did best—talking, fussing, trying to lift my mood and be dramatic.
"Okay, listen," she said, hands on her hips. "At the very least, you have to admit you look drop-dead gorgeous."
Looking back at my reflection, the dress was elegant, exactly the kind of thing my mother would have approved of—but I couldn’t help but feel that it was wearing me, not the other way around.
Jess sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “You look like you're walking to your execution.”
“Aren’t I?” smiling at her through the mirror.
"You're being
