At one-thirty, a woman approaches us in the chapel parking lot.
She's beautiful—Japanese, maybe early forties, with long dark hair and kind eyes.
She's wearing jeans and a leather jacket with a Reapers Rejects patch that says "Property of Mouser."
"Grace?" She smiles. "I'm Sakura. Shiver told me about you."
I shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."
She's holding something—a white dress on a hanger, covered in plastic.
"I heard you're getting married today. Figured you might want this." She holds it out. "Every bride needs a white dress. Even Vegas weddings."
I stare at the dress.
It's simple but beautiful—knee-length white lace with a sweetheart neckline.
"I... I can't..."
"Try it on. Shiver might have told me your size last night." Sakura's smile is warm. "Trust me, it’ll fit."
Shiver did text me last night and ask my size, but I didn’t even ask him why.
She leads me to a small room in the back of the chapel—the "bridal suite," which is really just a room with a mirror and a chair.
I change into the dress with shaking hands.
It fits perfectly.
Sakura produces a small makeup bag. "Let me help. If you want."
"Yes. Please."
She works quickly.
Light foundation, a touch of blush, mascara, lip gloss.
Nothing heavy, just enough to look polished.
Then she tackles my hair, twisting it into a simple updo with a few loose pieces framing my face. She tucks small white flowers—where did she get those?—into the twist.
"There." She steps back, satisfied. "Look."
I turn to the mirror.
And I don't recognize myself.
I look like a bride.
"Oh my God," I whisper.
Sakura grins. "He's gonna lose his mind when he sees you."
My hands are shaking again. "This is real. This is actually happening."
"Yeah." She squeezes my shoulder. "It is. You ready?"
I take a breath and look at myself one more time.
