SOMEONE'S POINT OF VIEW
Odette adjusted her robe and smoothed a hand over the silk sash, the fabric so soft it felt like it might melt between her fingers. She'd barely had time to process her own reflection before the room shifted again — a polite knock, and then in came the cavalry.
Two makeup artists, their rolling cases clicking over the marble, greeted her with warm smiles. Behind them, photographers in sleek black outfits moved with quiet precision, already snapping candid shots of the room. Their lenses caught everything — the sheen of the chandelier light on her hair, the way her bare shoulders glowed in the morning sun, the elegant chaos of bouquets and ribbons spilling across the armchairs.
Odette sat at the vanity, her back straight but her pulse quick. "Just breathe," she muttered under her breath, not realizing one of the photographers had caught it — and smiled.
