The love of my life—one Mr. Matteo Scali—is a possessive man, but it's just the right amount of possessiveness. The way he glares at his perceived romantic rivals gives me tingles. Where he's going overboard, however, is with my clothes.

He dressed me for every important occasion we attended to date. Maybe the fault is mine too, since I just let him take control. But hear me out! I was never a fashionista. Plus, the pandemic hit the brakes on formal outings, so I sauntered around in jeans for most of our engagement.

Today, however, Matteo's tiny-weeny flaw comes to bite me in the ass. There is this one dress for a formal occasion I have to choose without him. Not just any dress. The monumentally important dress. And a groom can't see it until it's too late to change out of it.

Maybe picking a wedding dress on an unlimited budget is a good problem to have, but I bite my lips standing in front of a rack that stretches for miles. What would Matteo choose?

I've rejected anything snow-white, of-white and ivory, pearl-studded, lace-frosted out of hand. It's not me, not Bryn Williams, let alone the future Bryn Scali. There you go: I've eliminated 95% of the shop's contents.

But what, what would Matteo prefer me to wear for our wedding?

This crème brûlée meets dandelions, or that mermaid turquoise galore? Maybe lavender and mint, because I'll look good enough to eat? Am I right or am I not right? Why does it have to be so hard to pick an ultimate dress on an unlimited budget?

I know, I know. Great problem to have, cry me a river. But I just... I want Matteo's eyes to flash amber the way they do when he loves what he sees in front of him: me.

Focus!

Easier said than done... I'm better at multitasking than sticking to a single thing. This flaw/asset of my squirrel-chasing brain makes me an ace in my professional life, but with choosing a wedding dress, the single most stupid, gorgeous, insane—

Gosh, I think I'm sweating.

When my phone buzzes, I grab it like it's a lifeline.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

I turn my back on the wedding-dress-specialists and wander down a lane formed by the clothing racks. The heavy, inflated skirts of the gowns cage me in so badly, the chirpy voice on the phone is like a breath of fresh air.

"Hi, Bryn! I'm Nina, Steff's assistant."

Smile curves my lips. "Hey, Nina."

The name, Nina, is a highlight on the list of people assisting me on my wedding journey. Up to this moment, Stephanie-s, Susan-s, Sam-s, Sarah-s, not to forget three Sara-s without the h, surround me.

Nina sounds like someone younger than me too, for a change. "We have awesome news for you and Matteo!"

I can use some awesome news. "Let's have it!"

"Steff's been sitting on this great venue for weeks, waiting for it to change hands and all that. And it finally did! She's on the way there now, so that's why I'm calling. She's big on not using her phone while driving, right?" Was that a giggle on her end of the line? Nice!

"Right."

I grip the phone tighter. Finding a suitable venue for Bryn & Matteo's nuptials would have been tricky even without the pent-up demand created by the pandemic. With it, the difficulty increased exponentially. On top of it, our circumstances can't be truthfully explained to strangers, even if they're wedding planners.

"What did Steff find?"

"A vineyard estate in the Napa Valley. It's wild. Steff wants you there for a walk through right away to see if it works for you. Like, the first pick before it goes on-line and booked up solid."

My breath catches. It could be the break we were praying for. A perfect venue! "I'm on my way."

"Super! I'm texting you the address. Just call Steff once you're at the gates!"

My phone pings with the address in the Google maps. The girl is efficient, smart as a whip and a ray of sunshine.

"On my way! Tell Steff to sit tight if you hear from her!"

"You bet!"

Still smiling, I trudge back to the room with a dais and mirrors where I was supposed to model the potential dresses.

"Sorry, Susan!" Yes, Susan-s are everywhere on the wedding circuit! "Sorry, Susan, I need to chase down a venue before it disappears."

Susan knows the rules of the game: dresses are many, venues are few. She beams like I've just announced my preference for a $50,000 wedding gown. "Oh, Bryn, what a stroke of luck! Go, go! We'll reschedule, no problem. But, my dear, I think that sea-foam has your name on it."

Seafoam? And here I'm, calling it pale mint all morning long. #AAF0C1 as we, the digital artists, call it. I squint at it with my only eye. With that plunging neckline Matteo will like it, no doubt. But will he love it?

And speaking of Matteo! I dial his number, while simultaneously murmuring the blood oath to think about the short-listed dresses to Susan.

Matteo picks up in the middle of the first dial-tone, sending my heart aflutter. What am I agonizing about? My man will love me in sea-foam, in turquoise, in the egg-yolk yellow... he'll love me if the shade doesn't suit my complexion at all. He'll always love me!

"Matteo, you won't believe what just happened!"

"What happened?" The words pop out of him, sharp as knives.

Really, Scali? That jumpy? I don't get in trouble nearly as often as I used to since meeting him, so I pout. "Relax, lover, it's all good news."

I fill him in on Steff's exclusive and my intention to drive from L.A. to the Napa Valley right away to see the place.

I finish with: "That might be it!"

A pause stretches on his end.

"But," he says thickly, "but it's your first free weekend after crunch-time."

"Tell me about it."

My team has been working from dusk to dawn for two months fixing the AAA game title. Dragging the title out of the uncanny valley was a hard, yet rewarding experience. See, Matteo is not the only 'fixer' in our family. On the downside, this commission exhorted its toll on our already tenuous work-life balance.

"Sweetie, I've been looking forward to a luxurious do-nothing day with you." I sigh into the phone.

His rich chuckles tell me enough about his plans for our great do-nothing time to go weak at the knees. I hate missing out on all that goodness.

"So, so sorry!" My voice drops half-an octave, suddenly husky. "But this sounds like the magical place that could host the who-is-who of the L.A. underworld, and my friends, coworkers and family, while keeping my parents in the dark about who you really are."

"What do you mean?" He feigns indignity. "I'm just an average boxing gym owner."

"Yeah, yeah, a vanilla boxing gym with a very diverse clientele." I roll my eyes, even though he can't see me. "Do you want to get married or not?"

"More than anything." I can just see him chewing his lips. "Go get us the venue."

"Love you, love you, love you!"

"Love you more, but I have to go now. Something's come up at... ahem... the gym."

"I bet you aren't even blushing," I murmur.

He laughs, then whispers, 'love you' one more time and hangs up.

I bask in the afterglow of this exchange until I drive past Santa-Barbara. The azure bay sparkles to my left, red-tiled roofs march to my right and the palms sway their fans in the breeze. I have driven along the coast plenty of times, so the driving monotone settles in despite the scenery. My GPS promises I should arrive at the estate a little after the dinner time. Nina has confirmed that the place would put me up for the night, so no need to reserve a hotel.

With nothing to worry about, the dresses float to the forefront of my mind as I brake, gas and signal.

Sure, I shouldn't be driving distracted, since I don't have vision in my right eye, but those damn dresses! It's a hard pass on the sea-foam, because if Susan liked it for me, then I don't. She'd outfit me in white, wrap me in lace, sprinkle me with pearls, if she could. If the sea-foam is the closest thing to that, then nope.

So, the question becomes: lavender or champagne-and-goldenrod-yellow?

Six hours later, as dusk settles over the vine-lined hills, I'm no closer to calling the winner. I love everything about lavender, except it's lavender.

The yellow number warms my heart, and it goes with my red diamond engagement ring, but the frills? The ruffles? They're swirled into a rosette the size of a flying saucer on the left hip of the dress. Yet, the sheath would hug my breasts and slim down my waist. Matteo wouldn't be able to ignore the fit like this.

Silk would glimmer in either electric or natural lighting. Goldenrod is an exaggeration of the color's intensity. It's more noble. The waves of yellow tulle stream from the waist at the gown's sides and back, while the matching champagne tulle drapes its front to about ankle length. All that transparent stuff meets at the dumb ruffles... Can I live with those damn ruffles?

Maybe, I can add red amber jewelry, because Matteo's eyes are amber and—

Ouch!

My depth perception and night vision play a dirty trick on me. I didn't spot the danger jumping out of the violet dusk in time. I stomp on the brakes, knowing a split second too late it's the wrong thing to do when an obstacle barrels at you at 30 miles per hour.

My car swerves, but, fortunately, stops before shooting into the ditch. I climb out of it on shaking legs.

After the squealing of the tires and my scream ringing in my ears, it's eerily quiet. There's no traffic at all on the side-road leading to Steff's hidden gem. The crescent of the half-moon is translucent in the sky. Silky-smooth tarmac winds between the hills in lazy curves. Trees on both shoulders rustle in the warm breeze. Stars should spill out soon.

It's so peaceful and beautiful beyond what the cone of my headlamps illuminates for me.

With shuffling, geriatric steps I approach the bloody barrier. Vomit rises up my throat, so I press one hand to my mouth. Locking it in, I guess. My other hand, as if controlled by AI, pulls up the text messenger.

Bryn: Scali, something ain't right.

Only after my numb thumb hits send, I remember Matteo has to work tonight. Dammit!

Magically, Delivered then Read appears below my text.

I suck on my teeth, staring at the screen until it's clear that there will be no immediate reply. I'm on my own in the night with... this.