Prologue
Prologue
" A re you sure this is what you want to do, Sole?"
I ask myself, louder than I meant, and my words echo off the walls.
With its canopy sleigh bed and beautiful white furniture, this bedroom is a dream. It's a well-lit, reader's paradise, where I spent most of the peaceful nights of my life. But there's only so long you can look at the majestic bed or the round plush chaise, where I fell asleep reading, until reality crashes in. So I turn my gaze to my reflection in the mirror and the woman I barely recognize as myself — one walking the path I swore I would never tread.
"? Estas Segura ?"
I look the part for today in my flawless makeup and designer long-sleeve white gown. The Italian lace kisses the skin down my arms, and the silk slides softly against my body. The contrast between the rich brown skin I inherited from my mother and the pristine white material goes together in a way I never expected. My lips lined and painted, in the Blurred Berry shade, resemble a natural pucker.
Even my tight, unruly curls are softly pushed back by a diamond headband. Like a princess from my childhood dreams, I'm ready for my picture-perfect moment. The photos will tell a story of two people in love, smiling for quasi-unscripted moments.
Am I sure I want to do this?
No. Because this is not what I want to do.
This is what I must.
And when you must, whatever you decide, becomes the right decision.
When the knock on the door comes, a voice I don't recognize answers as my own, "Come in."
The door opens slowly. My soon-to-be husband is there, looking like the perfect complement to me in his black tux. The prince has arrived. And my stomach plummets.
"Are you ready?"
No. But I nod, stand from my chair, and cross the room to take his offering hand.
The rest of our lives begin tonight.