Forty one

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 everything I had once dreamed for myself.

I gulped down the cocktail rapidly.

The call ended, and my mother re-entered the room, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She looked at me, her exp