The private dressing room at the bridal store is just as lavish as the store itself. White tulle curtains hang on the walls, and a tiered, crystal chandelier glitters overhead. Hairstylists, makeup artists and tailors wait with their blowdryers, makeup brushes and pins.
Andrea sinks into the styling chair and lets her long, chestnut hair fall down her back. The stylist weighs it in his hands and twists it around his fingers. He piles it on top of her head and then lets it fall down again.
“I have the perfect style for you,” he says. “Something understated and simple that will show off your gorgeous neck.”
She nods and closes her eyes. Ever since the k********g two days ago, she hasn’t been able to sleep more than a few hours. Between the pregnancy, the stress of the wedding and Andrew’
