Nevara
By the time the bridal consultant finished pinning my dress for alterations, the tailor had marked three different tuxedo jackets and measured Drake twice because he insisted one shoulder was “more photogenic than the other,” and Elena had somehow managed to finalize floral selections, rental confirmations, and enough paperwork to qualify as its own government department.
My feet officially hated me.
I slipped my shoes off the moment we stepped into the hallway outside the fitting room.
“Oh…”
Drake glanced over immediately.
“What?”
“My feet.”
I wiggled my toes against the cool marble floor.
“They’re staging a full-scale rebellion.”
He laughed.
“I’d say they’ve earned it.”
“They absolutely have.”
I flexed one foot experimentally before setting it back down.
“I am very,
