She reaches out, fusses with my headband, and pulls away with a smirk. “That’s better.” I frown, moving to grab the fake veil and throw it to the side before she stops me. She tugs her phone from her pocket and flips on the front-view camera, forcing me to look at myself. Atop my mass of dark brown hair sits the headband veil I’d been so excited to wear earlier, and its pink letters now spell out ride to be instead of bride to be. Stef tosses the discarded B to the bar top. “It’ll be like Sex in the City.” “You’re married,” I remind her, handing back her phone. Dating isn’t something I want
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