I knew my mom and dad supported my career and my goals, and they embraced Holden. They wanted what was best for me and I believed marrying Holden was best.

As I fastened the necklace, I vowed to be a better daughter and actively, regularly—more than once a month—show my parents how much I loved them. To do a better job of including them in my life.

As much as I dreaded having a party, I knew that was the first step. My mom could help me plan it. My parents could celebrate with us and feel included. In the end, I would live through it just fine and everything would work out.

Another twinge of nerves sprung up regarding Angelica, but she was the one who’d set forth ridiculous requirements, and after her phone call this morning, I wondered if she was beginning to realize it.

In a less than robust voice, she’d requested that I take a video call with one of the governmental higher-ups in the Peruvian city we’d be building in early next year. Apparently Angelica had set up the meeting two weeks ago, before her whole life had changed, and it was of the utmost importance that one of us was available for it. Gloria had reminded her she’d be on a family vacation next week and wouldn’t be available.

I’d assured her I would take the call and had bitten down on pointing out that this job wasn’t always compatible with a family. After all, she’d soon find out I’d made my own family of two official.

I refused to feel guilty for what I was about to do. She was the one who’d changed the rules after twelve years.

Necklace fastened, I gazed at myself in the mirror and finger-combed the waves in my hair one last time. I took out the lip gloss that was a shade bolder than I was used to and applied it. As I pressed my lips together to even out the gloss, I shut down any lingering doubts.

I was doing this. I’d made up my mind days ago. Over the course of the week, I’d decided to go all out.

I’d ordered this dress online, had it express shipped, thanked the heavens when it fit. I’d swallowed my self-consciousness when I’d seen how low the neckline dipped, because a girl only got married once, if that, and if her wedding dress showed a tiny bit of skin to her groom, so be it.

I’d managed to find a photographer who could show up for a half hour and take a few shots of us outside of the courthouse, which luckily was somewhat picturesque, with its old columns, tall, imposing doors, and majestic concrete exterior stairs. At least it wasn’t an ugly, institutional-looking 1950s building. The historical aspect would make it a fine backdrop for our wedding pictures.