Forty three

Belle's POV

The ride home with Dave was suffocating, the silence between us thicker than the humid night air. I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze, keeping mine fixed on the passing streetlights that blurred into a hazy mess. I wanted nothing more than to disappear, to escape this nightmare that I’d willingly walked into—or had been pushed into, more like it.

The evening had been a parade of fake smiles and hollow congratulations, all of it making me feel like a mannequin on display rather than a bride-to-be. My thoughts were spinning, tangled in a web of doubt and dread, when Dave finally broke the silence.

“Belle,” he said softly, leaning in closer as if he could melt away the cold distance between us with just his voice. “I know tonight was a lot. But I’m here for you, okay? We’re in this together.”

His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away, my fingers curling into a fist on my lap. I could feel him hesitate, and then he tried again, his hand brushing ag