Educated and tender-hearted Flora Fairchild impresses client after client by working in a successful wedding company in the state of Florida as a bridal stylist to make any and every bride feel like a princess and queen when her and her employees ar...
It has been fourteen years since I envisioned myself of being a bride. Now, at the age of twenty six and a half, I still am destined to achieve that goal after my marriage is officially taking a long slumber in its final resting place. Exiting the room with a grin of victory, the clacking of my heels echo in the building as I make my way to the double doors. Unfastening my umbrella while my hand grips onto the knob where I am being greeted by the heavy drops of water violently hammering on the cobblestone as the peak of the light belonging to the renewable energy casts a light in my path in Punta Gorda, Florida. As I make my way to my car, I sense my phone vibrating in my hand as I read a text from my boss that she needs me immediately.
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Two and a half hours later...
After driving from Punta Gorda to Palm Beach for two hours, I park my vehicle in front of the house or should I say, villa. I eject myself out of the vehicle and lock all of the doors prior to walking to the door in addition to entering the household that reminds me of one of those villas and mansions you see on the HGTV show, House Hunters. The colors of beige, gold, and white accenting the living room as well as the dining room that is compatible with the white polished flooring of tiles that leads you to the pool that looks like a fountain in the backyard. "Oh, thank goodness you're here, sis!" My oldest sister, Terri sighs so relieving and her arms throw in defeat as the click of her heels make contact to the floor.
"Terri, what's going on?" I query with my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"We have a code of 10-23; we have a menstrual bride who made an accident on the back of her dress and she needs a new dress... as soon as possible." Terri reports. It is not new to me that my sister and I use codes for weddings like number codes for cops. Terri accompanies me to the bridal boutique for the brides to try out a collection of wedding dresses from all over the world. Terri swings open the door for me to catch a glimpse of a young woman in her early to mid twenties kneeling beside the white linen tufted ottoman in distress. Black streams travel down her face and she makes this squealing wince sound that makes me kinda cringe a little.
Her eyes widen while she raises herself from the carpet. "Finally, you're here!" The young woman sniffles while she wraps her arms around me, enclosing me in her embrace. "I made an accident on my wedding dress all thanks to my time of the month taking place before my wedding and the second day of my period ruined my beautiful dress!" She weeps, cradling her wedding dress in her hands like a baby.
"Don't worry, umm," I hum, sustaining to know what her name is. "Oh! My name is Anastasia." Anastasia introduces and takes her hand out for me to accept and shake. "Hello, Anastasia. My name is Flora and I will be your bridal stylist for the day." I greet with a genuine grin. Terri hands me the clipboard with a sheet of paper for me to read the bride's profile. Hmm... As I scan from word to word, the more intrigued I am with this specific bride.
