Last week, I posted a photo of my inspiration for the pink dress. And this week, I’m posting the inspiration for the vintage Jeanne Lanvin.
As Weston helps me into the dress, his touch is soft and delicate. I look at our reflection in the gilded mirror—his tall frame in a tailored tux and mine in my soft flowing gown. I can’t help but feel like Cinderella.
He trails his finger along my exposed neck. “You look as exquisite as I’d imagined. It fits you like a glove.” His gaze lingers on me. “I’m glad. I was concerned it wouldn’t be quite right.”
“It’s really me. You chose wisely.”
He wraps his hands around my waist, warming my insides. “I thought something old might be appropriate. I know you love vintage…you’re an old soul.”
I’ve always considered myself an old soul. No one has ever noticed before. No one has ever really noticed me before. For some reason I can’t seem to quite understand, Weston gets me.
And I get him.