1
ASPEN
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD—AUGUST
Freshman Year
I’ll never forget the first time I saw a bride. I was seven years old, and my uncle was getting married, but all I really cared about was the pretty new dress I’d gotten to pick out for the occasion. I’d always loved playing dress-up and covering myself in sparkly things, but that day felt different. There was no pretending that I was in a castle, no using my imagination to create a fantasy world of wonder.It was real.
The venue was gorgeous, taking place in an old church with stained glass windows that bathed the room in rainbows. There were flowers in every direction. Colorful fabrics draped across the back of the pews and down the length of the aisle. I was convinced that I’d entered a real-life fairy tale.
The bridesmaids were beautiful, although I was confused why they’d all chosen the exact same dress. My gut dropped when the flower girl entered, though. I was pissed off that another girl about my age got to be a part of the ceremony, in a prettier dress than mine, while I was stuck in the crowd. Jealousy coursed through me in a way that I’d never known; meanwhile, she didn’t even seem to be enjoying the experience. I wanted to run into the aisle, shove her out of the way, steal her basket of petals, and show everyone that I could do it better.
Luckily, before I had any time to execute that horrible plan, everyone stood and turned to face the doors at the back of the church. I managed to peel my attention away from the girl I wanted to forcefully replace just in time to see the doors open to reveal the most stunning woman I had ever seen.
Her dress was made of satin and shined in a way that called out to me, begging me to touch it. The strapless neckline was daring for our southern state’s typical dress codes, so it was completely unique to me. Rhinestone embellishments covered the bodice, and she had a full-blown tiara holding her veil in place. I wanted to curtsy, convinced that I was in the presence of royalty for the first time in my life.
I’d met my soon-to-be-aunt, Sam, before, but she had always come across as sort of plain, boring even. I didn’t recognize her at all as the ethereal beauty seemingly floating down the aisle toward my uncle.
Later on, when my mother finally convinced me that thebride was truly Samantha, I was completely amazed, in awe of the dress and the magic it must contain to have transformed her into a real-life princess.
I’ve been obsessed with weddings ever since, specifically the dresses and that magical feeling only the perfect wedding gown can inspire. Not so much the wedding itself. While other little girls might dream of finding their prince charming to marry one day, I’ve always been far more interested in the brides than the man they’re walking down the aisle to. Father would rather I die than end up with a woman. Can’t win the support of his conservative Georgia voters if he’s got a lesbian as his only child.
Honestly, I’m not that torn up about it. I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. It’s not like I’ll be having a wedding of my own anytime soon.
The wedding dresses, though, I still want. I’m going to design them and inspire that sense of magic in others. I’m aware that magic isn’t real, but that feeling of being special very much is. Every bride deserves to feel like the most beautiful woman in the world on their wedding day, and it’s my dream to be the one who creates the gowns that make them believe it.
That’s why I’m so excited to be earning my degree in fashion with a minor in business. My parents just left after moving me in and taking a few staged photographs that were likely requested by my father’s PR team.
I’m finally free of their fake bullshit and constant attempts to control every little detail of my life. They’ve putin a lot of money and effort to turn me into their idea of what a House of Representative’s daughter should be, even if I know I'll never truly fit that description.
Thank fuck they don’t care what I major in. My father thinks I’m only here to earn an MRS degree, but that obviously isn’t happening.
“Knock, knock. Are we officially free?” Arthur asks as he pushes open the door to my dorm room, looking around like my father might be hiding in the tiny space.
“It’s real,” I confirm, grinning conspiratorially at my best friend as he sits down at my desk, the only option other than the bed.
“About damn time,” he exclaims. Arthur is the son of my father’s campaign manager, and if I believed my father actually cared about other people enough to have friends, Arthur’s dad would be his closest one. Our families have done everything together for as long as I can remember.
Thankfully, he’s one of the few people I could stand in our posh private schools growing up, so I didn’t mind always being around him. Art’s straight and doesn’t have anything about his sexual orientation to hide from his parents. Heishiding the fact that he’s very liberal, though, and that’s probably just as bad in the eyes of our fathers. Obviously, I am too, and we’ve been counting down the minutes until we could finally move out and be on our own.
We’ve always planned to go away to the same school, which our parents were thrilled about, but that’s only because they want us to end up together. They’ve had thiswhole plan of how we’ll get married and be some political power couple, and when my father retires, Arthur will replace him with his dad running his campaign.
That’s not happening for so many reasons.
For now, though, we aren’t ready to rock the boat. We’re going to focus on earning our degrees and enjoying the first true taste of freedom we’ve ever known.
“Have you heard from your roommate yet?” he asks, and I check my phone again before answering. She moved all her stuff in yesterday, but texted me that she would be out all morning to give me space to move in. We haven’t actually met in person, but Sage and I found each other in a social media group for freshmen needing roommates, and after talking a bit to determine that the other was normal enough, we agreed to pair up.
She posts a lot of inspirational quotes on her socials, and the few texts we’ve exchanged had far too many emojis and exclamation marks for my liking, but I’m sure that’s just an online thing; no one is actually that happy all the time.
Arthur fills me in on how meeting his roommate went, and I go over my schedule for the hundredth time. The door opens once again, and I glance up, figuring Sage must finally be here. I’m mentally preparing to say hello to my new roommate when all the air is sucked out of the room. My lungs stop working entirely when my gaze meets the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.Are they contacts? Are people actually born with jade green eyes?
I saw her photo online, but the pretty girl I rememberfrom the profile picture seems so dull compared to the radiant woman standing before me now.
Her long blonde hair is curled, and a section is tied back with a light pink ribbon that matches the flowing sundress she’s wearing. Her smile is dazzling, and I’m aware that she’s talking, probably introducing herself as she looks between me and Arthur, but I can’t focus on anything other than how soft and pink her lips look as they move to form the words. She bounces over to the side of my bed where I’m sitting, and I finally register sound as she says, “I’m a hugger if that’s alright,” before holding her arms open in my direction.
I have never once in my life described myself as a “hugger,” but I scramble out of my bed like my ass is on fire because the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen is offering to wrap her arms around me, andnotreturning her hug right now sounds like the worst decision I could possibly make.
