The morning of the event feels like waking up with a knot instead of a stomach.

Mary has been fluttering around the house since dawn, her heels clicking like a countdown. Every time she passes my room, she flings the door open without knocking, just to “check” whether I’m presentable. As if she’s afraid I’ll run away before she can auction me off to the highest-ranking bachelor.

She didn’t say it in those words but she didn’t have to.

The dress hanging on the back of the chair ...