The women’s fiction novel I’m working on has the protagonist planning her wedding.
Here’s an excerpt from it:
Marco then pulls the green velvet box from his back pocket and kneels on one knee before me. Does he have to be so dramatic? Looking around the room, I see anticipation on people’s faces. Bridget meets my gaze and smiles, her eyes glistening in the light. The idea of having her as a mother-in-law thrills me. Even more, I realize, than being married to Marco. What is wrong with me?