Becoming the Whiskey Princess by Toni Aleo Page A

grin on his face, he moves his thumb along my jaw before kissing me softly. Pulling back, he says, “No, Amberlyn, you’ll be my queen.”

I always thought when I stood in a wedding dress that my mom would be beside me.
    That she would be crying and fussing over how beautiful I looked. That she would hate a dress but love another and ultimately help me choose the dress that was made for me. We would cry and hold each other because we were so happy. Then we would go to lunch and talk about more details, about my groom and how Daddy would have loved him. Since my father died when I was younger, I had accepted that he wouldn’t there to walk me down the aisle, but then we decided that mom would.
    Now though, I had no one to do it.
    I hadn’t even thought about that until I looked at myself in the mirror and took in everything I was seeing. The dress is gorgeous; of course, we are in the finest wedding shop in Dublin. So I expected nothing less. Especially as the owner herself picked it out since it was up to O’Callaghan standards. It has more jewels and sparkles on it than the sky has stars. It is a strapless top with a skirt like Cinderella’s. It’s the twelfth dress I’ve put on, and it’s stunning, but I hate it. I don’t know if I hate it because I really do or if it is because my mom isn’t here to help me pick out my dress.
    Every girl should have their mother with her on the day she picks the dress that will begin her forever.
    But I don’t.
    Coming up behind me, Mrs. O’Callaghan looks me over, taking in every detail as she nods slowly. She’s done this with every gown and each one I’ve hated.
    “What do you think, Mrs. O’Callaghan?” the owner, Michele, asks, but why is she asking her? Why does it matter to her? It’s my dress! And she hasn’t asked me once what I think. I just shake my head and walk away. Meeting Fiona’s gaze in the mirror, I can see she shares my sentiments, and I know she is on the brink of losing her shit. She’s kept her mouth shut on my account, but even I am getting frustrated. My aunt is on top of the world being able to have tea and talk with Mrs. O’Callaghan; I doubt she even notices that I am upset. And I hate how angry that makes me. Everyone, minus Fiona, is more worried about what Mrs. O’Callaghan thinks than me.
    And I’m the bride.
    “She has the perfect body for this. I love it. I’ve loved all the dresses though. The only thing that worries me is her wound. Surely it will be heal by then, yeah? Think we can cover it with some makeup?”
    “Oh, yeah, I’m sure so,” my aunt says and my blood starts to boil.
    “I’m proud of my wound. It’s a constant reminder of how much I love Declan.”
    Mrs. O’Callaghan gives me a sweet smile. “Of course, my dear, but it isn’t very pretty.”
    “So? It’s a part of her,” Fiona says, and I see my aunt pinch her thigh. “Ow!”
    “Shush,” Shelia says, giving her a look, but I couldn’t agree more.
    “They are right, but it doesn’t matter if you like it, Ma. It’s Amberlyn’s dress, her body,” Lena says as she crosses her arms over her chest. It’s the first time she has been even remotely involved. She’s mostly been playing on her phone.
    “Oh of course, Amberlyn, my dear, what do you think? Is this the one?”
    Meeting her gaze in the mirror, I say, “No, I hate it.”
    Michele gasps, so does my aunt, while Fiona smirks and Lena shakes her head. Mrs. O’Callaghan looks at me in total disbelief, and I slowly step off the platform, tears stinging my eyes as I go back to the changing room to take it off. Slamming the door behind me, I kick the skirt out of my way and let my hands drop to my sides.
    I just miss my mom.
    Tears start to roll down my cheeks and I suck in a deep breath, trying to hold them in, but it isn’t working. When a knock comes at the door, I know it’s Michele coming to help me out of the dress, but I need to be alone.
    “Amberlyn, can I come in?”
    It’s