That night, we finally made it to the hotel. The next morning, I awoke in a bed of my own, and after Rashid and I enjoyed a relaxing, delicious breakfast together, the rush began.

The next few days passed as one blur of activity: dress fittings and dance lessons, talks with his mother and our wedding planner. So much happened that I barely had time to see Rashid, let alone address my feelings for him.

Meanwhile, every day, my voicemail got fuller until, two days before the wedding, it got filled up entirely. That night, I finally checked it. The first few messages were as expected: my manager freaking out that I had been serious when I’d told her I was taking two weeks off and would not return indefinitely, my mom and dad sending their love and worries, and then, finally, Nadia.

“Hey there, stranger.” Her snarky voice came through the speaker as I played the message, and I felt myself cringing. “So, you’ve officially disappeared and aren’t returning any of my messages. You better call me, now. I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you.”

It took me a few minutes on my bed, breathing deeply, before I could bring myself to call her back.

“Lacie! Where the hell have you been?”

At the sound of her voice, I paused. For a second, I considered just hanging up, blocking her, and never speaking to her again. But then, her irritated sigh came over the line, and I knew. I had to do this.

“I’m in Zayed-Kharan.”

“The Middle East? No way! What happened? Did you get fired? And why didn’t you call me?”

“No, I didn’t get fired. Although I’m not sure I’ll have my job when I get back home.”

“Well, why are you there, then?”

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“I met a man. He’s a prince and he’s invited me here to marry him.”

For a few moments, there was no response. Then, came the short, high-pitched bursts of laughter.

“Hahaha! Oh Lacie, you crack me up.”

When I said nothing, gradually, the penny dropped.

“Lacie, you aren’t serious…you don’t mean…”

“Yes, I am. I don’t know when I’ll be back, to be honest.”

At this, Nadia flared back up.

“Oh, really? And I don’t suppose you thought of my wedding in a few months, now did you? No, you were just so desperate to find a man that would have you that you jumped at the first one who said “hello” to you. God, Lace, I knew you were lonely, but this…”

I waited until she was finished, until her insistent angry voice had dimmed.

“You want to know what I think?”

And, as she was about to tell me, suddenly, the words flowed out of me.

“No, Nadia, I don’t. I don’t want to know what you think. I’ve spent half my childhood and way too much of my adult life hearing your thoughts about every single one of my choices from my other friends to the socks I wear. And you want to know what I think? I think you’re a stuck-up, hateful woman who never has anything nice to say to anyone, and one who I’ve let rule me for far too long. And so, yes, Nadia, I guess you could say that I won’t be making it to your wedding.”

There was a shocked pause, then her voice came over the line once more.

“Lacie, I swear to God—”

“Goodbye, Nadia.”

And then, I ended the call.

For a second, I was in shock. Then, as the reality of what I’d just done sunk in, I leapt up and skipped around the room. Every time I passed the ornate mirror, I paused to say the words to my face, to look at my reflection as I said them.

“I did it, I did it, I did it!”

And I was so happy, so jubilant, and felt so powerful, that I made a terrible mistake. I called them. My parents.

Someone I didn’t recognize picked up on the first ring.

“Lacie.”

“Mom, is that you?”

The hoarse, half-whisper hadn’t sounded like her at all.

“Yes, I… You haven’t gone through with it yet, have you?”

“No, I’m going to, but it’s tomorrow.”

“Oh. And our messages?”

“I’m sorry, I…I just didn’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay, my sweet girl.”

Her voice was so understanding, so heartbreakingly resigned, that I could have cried right then. I didn’t, though. No, the tears came a minute or so later, when Dad came on the line.

“Your mother won’t say it to you, Lacie, but I will. What you’re about to do is wrong, hands-down, wrong. It’s wrong for you, and it’s most certainly wrong for your mother and me. She’s gotten worse, you know.”

His words twisted a knife in my gut, but still, I couldn’t believe it.

“No. No, Dad, no, she…”

“She’s gotten worse, Lacie. She’d rather die than see you unhappy because of us. So, please, if you love us, don’t marry that man if you don’t love him. Come home.”

Now, the tears had come. They were streaming down my face, onto the receiver.

“Whatever you decide, we understand, honey. I just wanted you to know what was really happening over here.”

Dad’s voice was gentle, understanding, just as Mom’s had been, in a way that made my tears pour down more.

Just as I was about to respond, to gasp out how sorry I was, he gently said, “Goodbye, Lacie.”

And then, he had hung up and I was heaving with the words I still didn’t know, still couldn’t voice. Because I didn’t know—if this was the worst decision I’d ever made, or the first right one I’d chosen in a while. If I was dooming myself to a strange life of lonely regret or choosing one of exciting happiness and limitless potential.

Hanging on the door was my wedding dress, the beautiful lace, sequined gown I’d found after trying on what had seemed like hundreds of dresses with Rashid’s mother. Now, staring at it, remembering how the kind woman had gently asked me questions, then reassured me of my future with Rashid, I felt guilty.

Who was I to marry anyone, when I wasn’t even sure it was the right thing to do? It was worse than wrong—it was cruel to marry someone when I wasn’t sure of my heart.

The longer I stared at it, the more the dress called to me, as if in its intricate design was the answer to my dilemma.

Finally, I had no choice. I unzipped the delicate dress, careful to move the stubborn zipper slowly and not let it catch on any of the swirling tufts of fabric. Stepping into it was easy enough; it was zipping it back up that was difficult. I held my breath and yanked the zipper up. It hit the top with a jolt, sending me stumbling to the mirror.

There, still breathing deeply from the effort, I gazed at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror was beautiful. Her red-rimmed eyes were still streaming tears, but in a strange way, the tears matched the clear, sparkly jewels on the dress. The gown fit as if she’d been born in it, with every curve and line following those of her own body. And, this woman, this beautiful woman, was me. As I stared at her, she and I realized the same thing, simultaneously: I wasn’t ready for this.

A great trembling overtook my whole body and I raced out of there, my legs taking me to a destination even I didn’t know. The house was dark and I tripped, but didn’t fall. Only when my hand connected with the door at the end of the hallway did I know where I had been headed.