Arabella

I sat on the high stool, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I almost didn’t recognize the face that stared back at me. My hair had been styled to perfection, with a few tendrils framing my face. There were a lot of women fussing over me.

One of them was flicking a brush over my cheeks, while the other was pinning a curl in place on my head. I wore a gorgeous white beaded dress with a long train.

I didn’t pick it; Marco did. His eyes grew wide when he saw the dress, and someone slipped a small heeled silver shoe on my feet.

I should be...