ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
Two months later, I stood in the bridal suite watching Isabelle adjust her veil for the hundredth time.
"Stop fidgeting," I told her. "You look perfect."
"I look like I'm going to throw up."
"Yeah absolutely. But a beautiful throw up."
She shot me a look in the mirror. "Not helping, Elena."
Grace started fussing in her carrier. I picked her up, bouncing her gently. She was three months old now and had the worst timing. Always deciding to be fussy during important moments.
"Here." My mom appeared and took Grace from me. "Let me handle her. You help the bride."
Isabelle's dress was stunning. White lace with a long train. Her hair was pulled up with small flowers woven through it. She looked like something out of a magazine.
"I can't believe this is happening," she said.
"You're the one who said yes."
"I know. I just... what if I trip? What if I forget my vows? What if..."
