My Knight

Chapter 3

The day is finally here. It's time for my rehearsal dinner, and to be honest, I'm almost excited. It's been a secret desire to have a family to pass the land and ranch onto. I might not be a spring chicken anymore, but I'm not an old woman about to keel over with age either. I shake my head with a sarcastic chuckle, it's not like I don't have time to worry about having a family. Pushing the thought out of my head, I head back towards the house. Having made sure to finish my tasks early, I can now start to get ready.

I'm not all that excited to squeeze myself into that damn dress. It's a nice dress, just not really sure if it's made for a woman with wide hips and thick thighs. I'm a big boned woman that's toned. Lot's of curves that I'm proud of. Every woman is beautiful, no matter the size, shape, or color. You can be skinny as a twig or big as a tree. Beauty isn't exclusive. Turning the doorknob I have to glare, as I pull my hand away sharply.

I hate having fake nails on, or whatever they are called. Mine are fairly short, I don't know how other people work with long nails. Shaking my head I try again, this time opening the door without any pain. I glance down at the french manicure, I can admit that it does look pretty. The white nailpolish almost seems blinding against my tan skin. Walking inside the quiet house I head up the stairs. My father is out doing something with the Ranch hands, working to get work finished up quickly.

Everyone is pretty excited about the party, or the dinner. Whatever this is going to be, I'm still a little nervous about it all. I think the jitters are finally starting to drive themselves home. I don't know what I'm expecting, it's a rehearsal dinner. A weight starts to form in my belly, at this point it's driving me made. I trust my gut and it says something is off. So many people are just trying to say that I'm paranoid, but I don't think that's the case. Groaning I step into my room, and start to shuck off my clothes from the day. Dropping everything from my pockets on my dresser.

Walking into the bathroom I turn on the shower, letting it heat up. Brushing my hair I finally jump in, my thoughts swirling around my head. Maybe I do just need to go ahead and cancel the wedding pull back. Shaking my head I wash my hair, going through the process of a shower. Sweat and dirt rolls down the drain, swirling at the bottom of the shower before disappearing. Shutting off the water I step out drying off.

Pulling on my robe I start the not so fun part of getting ready. Keeping everything fairly simple I start a french braid, brading the top and leaving the rest hanging down. Adding some eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss I call it a day. Not really wanting to look like a clown. I've never been one able to pull off eyeshadow or blush. I grab the thong that had been given to me to wear, the soft blush pink color looking nice, not my first choice but hell it works. I then turn my attention to the bra that they had selected for me. Yeah, that ain't gonna work.

I'm one of those women who have a chest, my breasts aren't exactly perky or can go around wearing strapless. My breasts have weight to them, and sticking them in a freaking strapless sticky tape crap just ain't gonna fly. I am lucky enough to have a white lace bra that shouldn't clash too much with the dress. Not that I care all that much anyways. Giving a shrug I pull on my heels, feeling like if I even attempt to bend over in the dress a seam will pop, I don't have any other white dress to replace it with. Come to think of it, I don't have any dress to replace it with.

I'm more of the jeans, boots and a pretty top kind of girl. Not tonight I suppose. Shaking my head I squeeze myself into the dress and look in the mirror, I hate to admit it. But the dress looks really good, it isn't my normal - not even close. Looking over the outfit I once again have to admit that Jill and my mother knew what they were doing putting it together. Looking at my exposed ink, I have to let out a chuckle. The dress gives me a soft sweet look, then I look down at my busted knuckles with the harsh black ink. The image does get a little blurred. Turning around I look over my shoulders, moving my hair out of the way.