She was always fashionably late, and was certainly not going to change stripes this late in the game.
They could all just await her presence. After all, wasn’t this supposed to be her big day?
She poured another sherry, and returned to the debate of veil or no veil. It felt as if her entire future happiness was dependent on this decision.
Her mother felt the veil was gaudy. The seamstress who had created it was understandably biased in its favor.The dresser had an opinion but no one asked it of her.
She gazed at her reflection, and contemplated herself from her own superior taste. The veil felt right, but some adjustment to the angle was needed.
She set her face back into its public expression and unlocked the boudoir door, ready at last to enter into her future.