Diana’s POV
I was a bird in a cage.
A gilded, perfumed, lavender-wrapped bird, fluttering frantically against invisible bars, wings aching for flight.
The gown clung to my skin like a secret. Satin and shimmer whispered against my thighs as I moved. My curls framed my face like a crown spun by angels, and the gloss on my lips still held the sweet, syrupy kiss of cherries. Yet here I was, elbows-deep in a bowl of tomatoes, scrubbing like a scolded child being punished for dreaming too boldly.
Mum loomed behind me, a walking thundercloud in a faded apron. Stirring pots that didn’t need stirring, wiping counters already clean, banging drawers just to hear them shut. A constant hum of movement and disapproval.
I glanced toward the door, pulse ticking. Kelvin could be there already. I had
