In the bridal suite, Vessara sat perfectly still on the velvet chaise, her fingers splayed across the layers of tulle and silk that pooled around her.
The dress was a masterpiece. Every stitch had been placed with intention, every fold designed to make her look like something out of a dream.
But Vessara felt like she was suffocating.
Susan knelt before her, adjusting the hem of the dress, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Breathe, my child," she murmured without looking up. "You're going to pass out if you keep holding your breath like that."
Vessara exhaled shakily. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Mia said from behind her, hands working through the loose waves of Vessara's hair. "You're vibrating like a tuning fork. I can feel it from here."
"I'm getting married," Vessara said, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did.
Susan looked up, her eyes soft with understanding. "That's usually the goal of a wedding, darling."
