I was operating on pure nerves and waterproof mascara, wrapped in a satin robe and gripping a garment bag like it was the only thing keeping me standing. Our driver for the weekend, Marcus Hill, waited by the curb beside a black SUV with tinted windows. He had been assigned as “family transport”—efficient, quiet, the kind of man who did his job without inserting himself into anyone’s business. I slipped into the back seat and began scrolling through the schedule my mother had texted me at 5:42 a.m. Hair at…
Read MoreThe Ride Before the Wedding That Changed Everything
