Iva sat on a plush couch, trying to feel relaxed as Griselda touched her face at intervals, fixing either a powder or an earring.
The young bride was clearly tense with the way she moved her fingers nervously. Iva had never considered herself to be worth being anyone's wife. She actually wouldn't have imagined wearing a dress and telling her vows to a man. In her most fanciful thoughts, nothing of that nature had ever hit her.
Not even once, when she considered taking Layla as her own child.
"No need to be afraid," Griselda, who noticed the nervousness, said. "Lord Ryver is a good man, and he really loves you just the way you are."
Iva pressed her lips. "I know... I'm just scared I don't fit someone of his status."
"Oh, shut up, child," Griselda said, patting her back. "You're fit, very worthy of a man like him. I actually don't see anyone taking that role if not you." She applied the last rouge powder on Iva's pale cheeks, then moved back.
