I Do

Chapter 17 - Beautiful Stranger

July 26, 2013

8:31 PM 

“There. You’re finally ready.” Clara says with satisfaction, stepping back as she finishes the last tweak to my mask. She spent the last eight hours preparing me for the evening, which begins in twenty nine minutes. Nausea begins to swirl in my stomach, though partly may be due to the fact that Clara had to sew me in to my ball gown. 

“Are you sure about this dress?” I ask her with concern, patting my increasingly numbing form. 

“Look for yourself.” 

I stand from the chair Clara nearly tied me to for the last few hours. My legs are wobbly, not helped by the strappy heels she forced me to wear. Holding her arm for balance, and very much questioning how I’m supposed to go running around in this get-up for the next three hours, I waddle over the the mirror. 

When my eyes make contact with the mirror, I’m stunned.

“Wow. I look...” I stutter, failing to come up with a suitable word for my appearance. 

“Your sister told me how much you love The Little Mermaid. I hired a friend from Venice to create the pink gown Ariel wore in the palace, except in your signature color. He did an excellent job, I must say. And so did I.”

“I..I love it. Thank you!” I pivot as quickly as I can in this confining, albeit beautiful, dress and wrap my arms around my future mother-in-law. 

I keep my arms wrapped around her shoulders for a few seconds before she playfully shoves me off. 

“Enough mushy stuff. You have a husband to find.”

I sigh with repentance and slowly pull away, smirking knowingly as I should’ve anticipated that move from her. Clara has the best intentions, yet she manages to uphold the persona of being a very important woman who doesn’t hug, apparently. 

“Yeah, yeah. Keep a good eye on my baby, or I’ll be doing more than denying hugs.” I threaten, pointing an accusing finger at both my future mother-in-law and my baby, using her toe as a pacifier. 

Rolling her eyes, she shoves my shoulder, sending me to the door. Stumbling in my very, very high heels, I shoot her a half glare/half appreciative and apprehensive smile while I make my way to the door. Outside, two men dressed in costumes complete with epaulettes, extend their arms indicating that they’ll follow me to the ballroom where the gala will take place. 

“Thank you.” I say, walking forward, although slightly uncomfortable as I know my every step is being surveyed. I feel almost royal as I place one foot carefully after the other, all too aware that one false step will result in the demise of my grandiose appearance, therefore being utterly humiliating. 

I step into the elevator, being careful to lift my skirt so that it doesn’t become caught in the doors, and accidentally rip the seam or something equally horrible.