Penelope sat at her vanity. She was still; her outward appearance calm as maids fussed over her, doing her make-up and hair and nails. Staring at her reflection she felt anything but beautiful. Not as a bride should feel. And her phone call from Joan last night kept her up, thinking and mulling over what the message meant.

"Mother, I feel stupid."

( What makes us different, makes us beautiful. )

Going to the Theatre with Edward's parents turned out better than Penelope had assumed it would. Still awkward, but not even close to a disaster. Waiting for her coat, she didn't see Max step up behind Edward and help him into his.

( He couldn't give her what she wanted. )

Sitting on the far corner of her bed, Penelope had an open box of Ho Ho's resting on her lap, George Rockham's The Dreamer, at her side, face down. She'd been reading for a little while even though she knew the book from beginning to end, each and every word. But her mind wouldn't keep to the images and passages easily. Her ring, the shiny ( Read more... )

Saturday -

"Just give him a chance, Penelope. He's here for a reason and let him try, sweetheart. Please? Think of my happiness. Of yours?"

"I know, mother. But--"

Jessica cut her daughter off. "Let him try. Now go in there and be pleasant. It's not your nose, remember that."

( I'm a monster! )