Alison pinched the soft silk fabric just above the knee and lifted the hem so the toe of her satin Jimmy Choo’s could reach out and gently land on the top step of a very steep, stone staircase.  One hand on the wrought iron banister, she descended the castle steps like royalty, her maids scrambling behind her, bouquets in hand.
“Where’s your photographer?”
“What do you mean?” she answered, aloofly.  “He’s not here?”
“Oh, so I shall have no wedding photos?”