The right choice

I am left alone looking at myself in the mirror. Pink cheeks, bright brown eyes, cold sweating hands, a white wedding dress, a tiara in my hair, and an aching stomach. I look beautiful and completely freaked out.

I turn around once more and see my friends, Sophia, my mother and mother-in-law join the countless guests behind the house in Barcelona. The football field is different now without the white lines demarcating where there are no chairs for the guests, an altar made of pergola and fabrics and the rest of the decoration—all simple. I sigh once again that everything is so simple, that it doesn't “smell like money”.

My heart leaps when I see Hunter. I narrow my eyes at the distance between the house, and the reasonable steps it takes to reach the ceremony space. I can see that it's just the graffiti-coloured suit with a white shirt inside, and soon it disappears from my view. Seconds later, my cellphone notifies me of a new message.

“I love you, but don't be late because I'm going