It’s a sparkly number that somehow makes me look like a constipated fairytale princess. Too New Jersey, if that makes any damn sense, and as a half-Italian, avoiding any Jersey Shore comparisons is vital to me.

Which probably means I’ll have to come back another time to try on even more gowns. Abi and Archie might kill me if I make them sit through this again, but I need their help and want someone to celebrate with when I do find The One.

Because I will.

Against all odds, I found a husband-to-be, a venue with an opening for our short-notice ceremony and big reception, and I will find a dress that makes me feel special for my big day.

Abi adjusts my bra straps, beaming at my reflection even though she already told me this dress is ridiculous and Archie made a rather harsh comment about my being ready for Wedding Day: 90s Vegas Style with the amount of bling thrown on this thing.

“When do you want to come check out the invitations?” Abi chirps. She co-owns a local specialty floral boutique and is handling all of my flower arrangements personally. But as my maid of honor, she offered to do the invitations as well.

Shit.

“Oh, yeah, sorry! I’ve been so busy with work and dress hunting, I totally forgot about that! When do you want me to come by the boutique to see them? Colin and I have a breakfast date tomorrow morning to talk about the wedding, so we could rearrange and come by the shop instead. But Archie and I have a job lined up right after—”

“With Bitch-ella, the Ice Queen,” Archie interrupts with a mutter that I can’t really disagree with, but I give him a side-eye that begs him to at least try to be professional about the client.

“So, we’d have to be fast,” I finish.

Abi purses her lips thoughtfully as she places her hands on my hips, moving my body slightly to the side and staring at my shape in the mirror. “No way. You two do a breakfast date, and we can figure out a time when it’s not a rush. Tomorrow’s Friday, so maybe we can do it after work and then grab drinks?”

I nod, ignoring the flutters of butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so nervous all of a sudden. I mean, yes, there’s a lot to do and not much time to do it in, but everything’s going to plan, just like I hoped.

Papa.

Colin.

The wedding.

I should be on cloud nine. Yet, these butterflies don’t feel like good, happy flutters. More like a tornado of responsibility, expectations, and nerves.

Abi turns me, eyeing me thoughtfully. “You good? Everything all right, Vi?”