My Posh idiot (BOOK 2)

90💞

Hey, this is the last chapter and I would like to write it in third person. Yes it will be a big shift from writing in either Iman's and Alistair's pov but I really want to write this last chapter the best that I can.

I hope you enjoy this much anticipated joyful chapter x

Sorry for typos in advance x

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"However, it took one turn in the mirror with my bouquet, to forget just that. To remind myself of why I was getting married on this very day and why I chose him"

The mirror still standing strong in her bedroom, held the reflection of a woman who was going through a timeline, as if it was visually presented to her on a wide screen.

As scary as it may seem, it felt like she was watching a flashback of her last moments on earth, but really it was every bit of good and bad memories she had with Alistair. From the very moment she came across his annoyed set of green eyes, to his now soften ones.

It was truly a bittersweet experience she was going through.

Iman exhaled, as her shoulders shook so she could remain more relaxed.

She looked like a princess. For just a second she could've sworn she saw her five year old self in her many Disney princess gowns and heels she knew damn well she couldn't walk in.

As the glow of the sun reflected of Iman's bronzed skin, she twisted slightly in the ivory wedding dress, getting a better view of how she looked on the side in the mirror. The dress was built for luxury, with a soft touch of a beautiful ending of a fairytale- Iman's reimagined version of Cinderella.

Starting off with the minimalist straps that were attached onto the corset bodice, on the front of the corset was delicate beading scattered beautifully on the front. The white beaded design seemed to mimic ethereal flowers that would be seen in enchanted forests.

Iman ran a tulle gloved hand that was adorned with the same patterning as the front of her corset, down her basque waist. The bodice flowed into her ballroom gown skirt, enough to feel like a princess but not too much to feel like the dress was a costume. It was enough volume throughout the pleated skirt to not shy away from Iman's love to always show off her silhouette.

Iman shifted back to facing the front again. She looked perfect. Not a spec out of place. A complete opposite of her life, but she was at peace. True peace.

Her hair was braided in a Fulani style, with a middle part and small strands that were loosely curled to give her the boho look and also to not make her feel bald headed. Requested with urgency by Iman. As she had a full head of hair, it made no sense to add french curls. The rest of her hair was straightened, then curled loosely, which were pinned with a crazy amount of bobby pins.

Iman used the remaining time she had left to admire herself in the mirror, before hearing an abrupt knock at the door.

"Come in" Iman called out. She was now back to starimg at herself innocently in the baroque framed mirror as if she didn't spend minutes giggling and getting lost within the beauty's of peace of herself.

The door slowly creeped open, soon noticing that it was Iman's father who had came in to check on her, before walking his child down the aisle.

Upon his arrival, Iman could let go. Still holding onto a bit of nerves, but smiles knowing it was her dad.

Malcom had never seen his daughter in her wedding dress. It was the first time he was ever left speechless. It was hard to leave him gobsmacked in a good way. Only his daughter could ever have that effect on him.