“No, you’ve got your something old and something borrowed,” I say, pointing at the dress and the jacket. “The flowers can be your something new. We need to find you something blue.” She laughs, fiddling with the sleeve of the jacket. “What was your something blue at your wedding?” My smile falters as memories of the day flash in my mind—the heat of the sun on my shoulders during the outdoor ceremony, one too many glasses of champagne at the reception, dancing until my feet blistered. “My shoes,” I reply softly. “Oh, that’s brilliant.” Rachel hurries around the corner. “Mom basically has her
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