There was something about that last morning of freedom before entering into the shackles of marriage.
Something that rang with a sense of finality.
The dress hung heavily on her frame, dainty flowers threaded in her upswept hair. In a half-hour's time, she'd no longer be herself…she'd be his bride.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled at herself in the mirror as the final touches were placed on her dress and hair, touch ups made necessary from the ride to the church.
In a half-hour, she'd kiss him before man and God, proclaiming herself his bride until death did them part.
She turned and nodded to her maid of honor. She was ready.
As she placed her hand on her father's arm, he beamed at her with pride and she swallowed bitter bile, her answering smile wan.
As they began their trek down the aisle, her eyes connected with warm brown and she couldn't help but to compare him to her…and despair.
Each step led her closer to her destiny, the life she must lead. The life she was supposed to want.
Why, then, couldn't she get the image of that wicked smile out of her head?
Why could she still feel those tender, loving fingers?
Shoving aside her feelings, she forced her smile wider and accepted her husband's hand. The sooner she thought of him that way…the sooner she'd accept it.
She had to.
- end -