The doors open grandly.
I’m walking down the aisle; in white, surrounded by white, with smiling faces and camera flashes everywhere. Eyes and lenses follow me; the whispers fall away into a hush, and the air blossoms with the scent of fresh flowers and mixing perfumes.
A soft, enchanting classical orchestra plays.
I keep my gaze straight, my feet planted firmly on the floor, and with each step, I grow more anxious.
I don’t know half and quarter of the people here. I search the crowds for Marcelo, but I don’t see him. His sister and Beta Darren however, are situated by the front seats.
Everyone stands.
The pews are full of faces that smile back at me as I steal glances at them. My own smile is plastered in place. I play the perfect bride because my father’s hand is around me, remindin
