The Perfect Dress

I sat rigidly on the edge of an ornate sofa in the living room, my fingers wrapped around the small bird necklace Marco had given me. The metal was warm from my skin, and I pressed it against my chest like a talisman, like it could somehow protect me from what was coming. Across the room, Giovanni lounged in a leather chair with an iPad, scrolling through something with the casual disinterest of a man who had nothing but time. Occasionally, his dark eyes would flick toward me, and every time they did, my stomach twisted into knots. Around them, wedding dress designers flitted about like exotic birds, their hands gesturing dramatically. Ten dresses hung on a pristine white rack, each one more elaborate than the last. This was it. I was actually going to marry him. "Is something wrong?" Claire asked softly, appearing beside me with two glasses of water. "No," I lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just nervous." It was more than nervous, but I lost the will to fight anymore. A tall