Romans & histoires Mother Of The Bride Updos

Uncle Stephen would arrive tomorrow for the pre-wedding bash, and everyone was excited, mostly Mom. The next evening, Aunt Carol and I readied her for the pre-wedding party. “Leave your hair down for once, Jess. You look beautiful!” “Yes, Mom. It suits the dress.” I set her hair, leaving it hanging around her shoulders. “Now, a little makeup will complete the look.” “A little. Don’t overdo it.” Mom panicked, having stayed away from it all her life. Dad wanted a glamor queen, while my mom was the stark opposite. So it surprised me when she agreed for the first time in her life.

" her mom added. Only if she knew the truth. "Your father will be here in no time to walk you down the aisle. I'll send the workers in to get you ready." Her mother dropped a kiss on her right cheek and exited the room. The bridal stylists came in quickly after she left. They helped Amy get in her wedding gown, did her make up and styled her hair. If they noticed her damp mood, they remained silent and went about their duties.

Her eyes raked down my form and she smiled. “It's not what I envisioned for you on your wedding day but you're lovely in whatever you wear,” she sighed and started lifting the sides of my hair. “Gabby, grab me my emerald studded hair pins! We must create a masterpiece,” she stated firmly. Bringing me to her vanity I sat while both women fussed over my hair. A knock on Monica's door brought all our eyes to it. “Everything is ready, ladies; we are only waiting for the bride,” my father’s voice bellowed from outside the door.

Add my diamond studded heels and I looked like the most elegant, classic, sexy bride to walk down the aisle since the last queen’s wedding. Why was mom making such a big deal about this? It’s not like it’s my fairytale dream wedding with my fated mate. That would be something happy to celebrate, not this farce. Alpha Donovan knocked on the door, letting himself in. “It’s time,” he firmly stated. “Oh honey! You’re going to steal his breath away in this! I’ll see you out there,” mom dabbed at the tears escaping the corners of her eyes as she left to go find her seat.

I told her, she looked perplexed. "Maybe we'll talk at the ceremony. That's all I can promise for now. I just got my life back on track, I don't want to.. jinx anything." She said and untied my hair. She allowed my long curls to fall from the hairtie and wet it with a bottle. "So, we should trim off the dead ends, and then I can do a really pretty updo. Then we should do some shopping and maybe catch lunch. If mama's ex is in town. I'm gonna make him turn his head tonight." I couldn't help but giggle in response. The ugly parts of her personality had already been washed away during her sobriety and the funny mom I remember, has come back to the surface. I sat quietly while my mother worked,

Everyone hurried to get in place for the wedding. I was the last to leave the room, finding my mother waiting with a smile. I doubt she thought this day would ever happen either. I’m her oldest but the last to get married. Oh well. She’s probably the only one that doesn’t quite fit the vibe that the rest of the wedding party is wearing. But far be it for anyone to try and dictate what she should wear. It’s a lovely mother-of-the-bride style pantsuit in a soft shade of purple. She was told purple, and that’s what she picked.

Heather sidled up beside me, wrapping her arm around my waist. “You’re not really upset, are you, Dad? We wanted to give you a party.” I kissed her head. “Never, my girl.” Then I frowned. “No colors in your hair?” Heather loved wild streaks in her hair, changing them to match her mood. She shook her head. “I haven’t had streaks for a bit. I wanted my hair natural for the wedding pictures. You don’t like it?” I pressed a kiss to her head. “I love your hair now or when it was colored. The blue was a personal favorite.”

The fabric stretched beautifully over my bump, accentuating it in the most elegant way. Over it, I layered a lightweight cream trench coat, left open for movement. My heels were low—chic, nude kitten heels that gave me just enough height without stress. Simple gold jewelry. Hair in soft waves. Clean, glowing makeup. Effortless. Powerful. Pregnant—but still very much that girl. My mom? She understood the assignment immediately. She wore a structured wine-colored blazer dress from the brand, tailored perfectly to her figure, with gold buttons running down the front. Her heels were classic black pumps, and her hair was styled in a sleek low bun.

touching it, licking it, preparing it with toys, but he'd sworn a vow, that he wouldn't claim my tightest hole until I was officially a Vanderbilt. I was almost done putting on my wedding dress, a bespoke creation of lace and silk, when the heavy oak door of the suite opened, then clicked shut. For a moment, the room was filled with the soft, hushed rustle of expensive fabric and the scent of rare lilies. My mother stepped forward, her eyes shimmering with awe and maternal worry. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the delicate lace of the cathedral-length veil, pinning it securely into my golden curls.

Everything was mine. And soon, everything would be complete. The wedding preparations were moving along smoothly, each detail falling perfectly into place. The dress, the venue, the guest list—it was all exactly as I wanted it to be, better than anything I had ever dreamed. It would be a spectacle, an event of elegance and grandeur, the kind of wedding people would talk about for years. My mother had insisted on helping with the arrangements, though she had her own opinions on what was appropriate for a woman in my position. I let her believe she had influence, let her make her little suggestions, but in the end, I made the decisions.