Chapter 12
KAYLA
Tuesday evening
“Is the tie absolutely necessary? Feels like a hangman’s noose.”
“In some cases, it is,” the stylist I hired winks at Deacon. “One groom called it ‘walking to the plank with flair.’”
I chime in from behind. “At least you’ll make a pretty corpse.”
The fitting room of the downtown Christian Dior store grows smaller by the second as the employees impatiently wait for the doors to close. An hour ago, purse dangling, shoes half-hanging on, I led the way as three New Yorkers rushed inside the doors before store-closing, the newest of the two introduced to a new world of marble floors and luxury designer clothing the second we step in.
The bright white walls are a stark contrast against the hot June sun setting behind the city horizon, and I can’t remember
