Belle's POV
A week had passed since the confrontation with Dave’s mother, but it felt like a lifetime. Each day dragged on, and with every passing hour, I felt more and more like I was slipping away from myself.
The days blurred together. I spent most of my time idly, staring out the window or sipping on cocktails that did little to numb the ache in my chest.
And this cool breezy evening, I was doing just that. Nursing a drink in the sitting room, when my mother’s voice cut through the silence. She was on the phone, speaking in rapid Italian with a designer about the wedding dress the Scott family had ordered for me.
My wedding dress. I scoffed at the absurdity of it. It was supposed to arrive soon, and I would have to go for fittings, try on the gown that symbolized the end of ever
