The Wedding
“Oh, Thorin. Thank you so much.” In front of the full-length mirror, Imara admired herself in the silk and lace wedding dress he bought her.
“You don’t have to thank me. I needed an excuse to go to New Orleans, anyway.” Two fingers dug around his watch pocket, then removed a small bag and placed it in her palm. “Father Michael sends his love, by the way.”
“Wasn’t that sweet of that angel!” After she tucked the sixpence in her shoe, she peeked down at herself and brushed off her waist. “What do you think?”
With a grin, he slid his hands up her arms. “There was never a more beautiful woman on her wedding day, I’m sure of it.”
A shot of nervous air blew through her red lips as she shook out her hands. “I’m full of nerves.”
His big hand patted hers while Thorin led her down the hall. “Relax.”