EMILY GRAYSON'S The final touches took nearly another hour.Every curl was adjusted with painstaking care. Every crystal was checked to ensure it caught the light perfectly. My veil was smoothed, my train carefully arranged, and the last traces of powder were brushed delicately across my skin.No one rushed.Today deserved perfection.One by one, the stylists slowly stepped back, silently admiring the masterpiece they had created.Finally, the head stylist smiled, her eyes shining with satisfaction."Done."The single word settled over the room like a blessing.For a heartbeat, no one spoke.Slowly, I rose from the chair.The cathedral-length train of my gown flowed gracefully across the polished marble floor, whispering softly with every step. Intricate ivory lace shimmered beneath the warm morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows, while thousands of hand-sewn crystals scattered tiny stars of light across the room each time I moved.One of the assistants approached carefu
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