Next were the wedding dresses. More racks of dresses but this time, the choice of color was between ivory to white, the fabric from satin to tulle, and the style from strapless to full sleeves. I shoved my emotions aside and forced myself to look at them as what would fit the narrative rather than what the little girl inside me had always dreamed her wedding dress to look like.

It made the task easier. Less personal. Especially when the folder on my desktop already had saved images of dresses I thought I’d pick from to marry Paul in the near future.

Then came the glam squad. A team of hair and makeup and manicurists waiting to dote on my every need. All I really wanted were two things: to have some silence and solitude so I could prepare myself for what was happening in a few hours and to see Jase.

It’s like we signed the agreement to do this and we haven’t really talked since. Sure, we’ve exchanged texts about a few things over the past few days, but without his charm and his dimpled smile that convinced me this was a good idea, I’m silently freaking the fuck out.

But I got what I asked for. I’m alone. The room has emptied, the solitude I was seeking now here, but with it came the anxiety the silence brought with it.

“Deep breath,” I murmur as I look in the floor-length mirror and my reflection looking back at me.

The dress is gorgeous—and not the me I thought I was. Sounds funny, but true. I’d never thought I’d select a column of soft ivory like this. It complements my curves with a fitted bodice without being overstated, and the back is open so that the fabric pools just above the swell of my ass. My hair has been pulled up and soft tendrils frame my face so that it looks styled but not overdone.

Nerves rattle in a way I didn’t expect. So do my thoughts.

I’m getting married shortly.

My mom’s going to kill me when she finds out I excluded her from this moment.

My life is about to get exponentially harder and easier all in one big swoop.

I invited this development. I agreed to it.

I take a deep breath. It’s too late to back out now—way too late—and yet cold feet are a real fucking thing.

On any given day, I’m plain on the Los Angeles scale of beauty—because yes, the land of fame and dreams is different from the rest of the world—but when I look at myself now, I feel beautiful. Maybe I’m allowing myself the grace to feel this way, to admit to it, and maybe Jase and his attention, despite his “normal” comment, are allowing me to see myself in a different light.

A more positive one.