Some say that our lives are defined by the sum of our choices but it isn't really our choices that distinguish who we are . . . it's our commitment to them. In an arranged marriage, love is a luxury; friendship is not.
(Oliver Q./OC)
"Our lives . . . are complicated. But I'm willing to figure us out. If you are." - McKenna Hall, S01E16
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My dress was from Vera Wang's White collection.
A flattering corset gown with embroidery clusters and tiny seed-pearls cascading like iridescent stars over my hips before melting into the smooth skirts of my wedding dress.
And it was mine.
With my mother at the bridal boutique, and only a passing idea of what I was even looking for . . . it's true what they say; I would know it when I saw it and it was the simplicity of its design that drew me. Subtly directing the eye to hips, waist, breasts without ever making you feel that you were looking.
Effortlessly sexy.
No veil. I was adamant about that.
My mother hadn't argued but she did ask me why not and my answer hadn't changed in the three weeks since: because I'm going into this with both eyes open. A symbolic gesture, I doubted anyone would notice, or care, but this was important to me.
Three hours at the hotel salon and at the mercy of a team of stylists and their quick, knowing hands had my blonde hair layered and curled, held in place by pearl-studded pins and at some point, I was sure I was going to wake up . . .
. . . because that couldn't possibly be me framed in a silver-gilt mirror like a princess in a fairytale.
I traced the curve of my cheek, marveling at the soft flush only just pinking my skin. Glowing. I was actually glowing.
"Don't you dare cry," my sister said, appearing behind me in the reflection "you'll ruin your eye makeup."
I wrinkled my nose, laughing a little. Elisabeth – Liz – slid both arms around my waist, holding loosely.
"Have you seen him at all, today? He's even cuter than in his picture."
"Cute," I said. "What is he, twelve? The man's hot."
"Hot," she agreed. "Drop a bead of water on him and watch it sizzle, Ames. You know the honeymoon's the main event and with a body like that," her voice eased into a sultry purr, "shouldn't be too hard keeping the wedding sheets warm. Do us a favor," oh, god "void his warranty."
My face flamed – flamed – and Liz looked inordinately pleased with herself. "Oh, come on. Like I wouldn't notice the quality grade triple-A side of beef strutting around in a tux? I'm wed, not dead."
True. Also true that Owen, busy tending to their newborn while Liz was here with me, really would not appreciate his wife drooling over her sister's groom minutes before the wedding. I didn't say that.
