Her eyebrows shot up. “A gown? You mean like a wedding dress?”
I blinked, unsure what she meant. “Well, yes. It is a wedding.”
Amanda laughed awkwardly. “Oh! No, of course. I just… I assumed you’d wear something more understated. You know, something age-appropriate. Maybe a cream suit or a simple dress. You don’t need to do the whole ‘bride in white’ thing again.”
Her tone was light, but her words stung.
“I’m not trying to relive my first wedding,” I said gently. “I just want to feel beautiful. Isn’t that what every bride wants?”
She gave me a thin smile. “Of course. I’m just saying—sometimes less is more, especially when you’re… mature.”
Mature. That word hung in the air like a bad perfume.
I laughed it off, but it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
A week later, I went dress shopping with my best friend, Helen. She’s known me since college, the kind of friend who can read my mood just by looking at me.
After trying on half a dozen dresses, I found it—the one.
