Done with the Bride Act

1.

I’m standing in "Blanc," a couture bridal shop in Beverly Hills, for my final fitting.

In two weeks, I’m supposed to marry Preston Cole in what the tabloids are calling the "wedding of the century."

This Vera Wang gown was custom-made for me, but the chest and waist are so tight I can barely breathe. It’s as suffocating as the fake socialite world I’ve been living in.

I slip into the dressing room to fix the damn corset when I hear the hushed, sharp whispers of a few socialites outside.