Book 6: Groomzilla

Tatiana

A tacky, overly poofy white gown hangs on the back of the bathroom door next to the full-length mirror. I take a deep breath and drag a hand down my face. How the fuck am I getting out of this?

I hoped I’d have more time to escape, but this day has come more quickly than anticipated, and now, here I am. The fuckers got me to the church on time.

“What do you think?” one of the maids who will be helping me get dressed asks, a timid smile on her face.

Arching an eyebrow, I say, “I think I’d be better suited to black.”

She laughs nervously and pulls the fancy frock down off the hanger. I have to assume this contraption cost thousands of dollars and was designed by one of New York’s biggest names in fashion.

It’s a death trap to me.

It would look so much better with a spray of vomit across the front.

Telling myself I need to focus, I listen to the maids prattle on about how they’re going to do my hair and makeup and