ELLA
Liam's face went pale when I told him.
We were sitting on the bleachers overlooking the empty track field, our usual spot when we needed privacy. The afternoon sun beat down on us, and it was warm and indifferent to the turmoil churning inside me.
I had waited until lunch to find him, needing time to process everything before I could put it into words, but now, those words hung between us.
“A dress fitting,” Liam repeated slowly, as if saying it again might change its meaning. “They actually brought someone in for a dress fitting.”
“A designer from the city. Madame Olivier.” I laughed, but there was no humour in it. “She measured every inch of me like I was a piece of furniture she was upholstering.”
“And you just let her?”
The accusation in his voice stung more than I expecte
