The Dress Fitting

The bridal boutique was nothing short of extravagant, true to both our families being rich. Every inch of the space screamed wealth, from the crystal chandeliers to the gold trimmed mirrors. The staff moved with quiet efficiency, their smiles perfectly polished and their voices soft and professional.

The place smelled of fabric, expensive perfume, and something floral, probably one of those scents they sprayed in fancy boutiques to make everything feel luxurious. The air inside was light and filled with soft chatter obviously from other brides and their entourages. We were escorted to a private room and I felt like I was moving in slow motion, detached from everything around me. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I tried on too many dresses but nothing pleased them.

"This one isn't working either," I muttered, stepping out in yet another gown.

My mother pursed her lips. "Turn around," she instructed and I did.

The dress was lovely.