Marlowe
The bridal shop Nova had insisted on booking sat in a considerably fancier part of town than I usually frequented, all soft lighting and hushed, reverent atmosphere that made me feel distinctly out of place standing there in my usual work boots.
"You look terrified," Nova observed, watching me eye the racks of dresses with obvious unease.
"I don't know anything about this. I know engines. I know how to negotiate alliance treaties. I do not know the difference between silk and satin, apparently, based on the confused look the attendant just gave me."
"That's what I'm here for." She squeezed my arm, warm and reassuring. "You don't have to know any of it. Just try things on, and tell me what actually feels like you, instead of what you think a bride's supposed to look like."
Marl
