Chapter 6 Dress Fitting

Isla POV

I sat in the passenger seat of Ronan's car, watching the streets slide past the window.

The wedding dress fitting was today and I had been dreading it all week.

Being this close to him made my skin crawl in a way it never used to. I kept my eyes on the window and my hands in my lap and tried to look like a woman who was simply quiet rather than a woman who had watched him press her sister against a car door three nights ago.

"What's with the attitude?"

I turned. He was glancing at me, dark hair falling across his forehead, jaw tight.

"It's nothing," I said.

He scoffed. "You've been ignoring my texts and calls all week."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "What have I done that's so terrible you can't even pick up the phone?"

I almost laughed.

What have you not done?

"I was busy," I said.

Which wasn't a lie - Gerald had been making my week miserable for not completing his extra work, and the rewrite was still sitting on my desk, and somewhere between all of it I had been quietly planning a second life.

"Work has been demanding." I added, adjusting my glasses.

His knuckles went white on the wheel.

I stiffened in my seat.

I had forgotten this about him. Or maybe I had chosen not to remember the way his anger arrived suddenly, without warning.

The wall punching. The table he flipped. The ducks he threw rocks at. He had never touched me. But who knows what he is capable of.

I focused on my breathing.

"I didn't beg for this marriage, Isla." His voice dropped low. "You did. Your parents gave me a mouthful about the proposal. The least you can do is answer my calls."

I nodded out of habit.

Then I caught myself.

No. Not this time.

"I can't be available twenty four hours a day, Ronan." I said, keeping my eyes forward. "I have a job. A career. The same career that's funding this fitting today."

He almost sideswiped a car. The driver honked at him as he's almost crashed into him

"What did you just say?" He turned to look at me, face darkening, a vein visible at his temple.

I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. My face turning paler by the second

And then his phone buzzed.

The sound cut through the tension.

He glanced at the screen.

Vivi ❤️

He picked up without another word to me. His whole face changed; the anger smoothing out almost immediately, his voice shifting into something warmer as he answered.

I turned back to the window.

For once in my life I was grateful for Vivienne's timing.

But I had learned my lesson. Don't provoke Ronan when he's driving. Don't provoke Ronan at all.

I could feel my hands shaking in my lap. I pressed them flat against my thighs and stared at the passing streets and told myself firmly that I was not going to cry in this car.

I was scared of him.

That was the truth. I had spent six years dressing up as something else. Calling it his passion. His intensity. His high standards.

I was just scared of him.

--

We arrived at the boutique and Ronan got out without opening my door. I was used to it.

I looked up and felt my stomach drop.

My parents were already there, standing by the entrance with Vivienne between them, all three of them laughing at something like a photograph someone had planned.

I exhaled slowly.

I was not ready for this.

My parents. My adopted parents. The people who had loved me once until Vivienne arrived and I became the before picture in a story about someone else.

I watched my mother touch Vivienne's arm, laughing, and felt something old and tired move through my chest.

I got out of the car and walked toward them, arms folded.

Vivienne spotted me first. She turned with a bright smile and pulled me into a hug before I could brace for it.

"What took you so long to get out of the car!" she said warmly against my shoulder.

"I got motion sickness," I said flatly.

Ronan raised a brow at my lie. But I ignored him.

My parents hadn't greeted me. I stood there for a moment waiting before accepting that it wasn't coming.

My mother looked me over. "What's that expression? You don't look happy to be here."

"Just tired from work," I said politely.

"Well." My father straightened. "You could try to look a little more excited. It's your wedding fitting."

"She thinks she's too good for all this," Ronan muttered, already moving toward the entrance without us.

I pressed my lips together.

My mother's eyes cut to me immediately. "What is that face? Is that how you treat the man you're about to marry? You should be grateful-"

"Mom." I kept my voice even.

She kept going. Leaning closer, voice dropping into disappointments. "Don't you dare let a good man like that slip away because of your attitude. You should be on your knees thankful-"

Good man, I thought. Right.

"What exactly is your problem today?" my father said.

"She had a long week at work." Vivienne stepped in smoothly, her voice gentle and certain. "Let's not get involved in her and Ronan's little disagreement. Today is supposed to be about Isla."

What a two face bitch

My father looked at her with the specific warmth he reserved for her and nodded. "You're so thoughtful."

My mother glanced at me dissatisfied before turning back to Vivienne with a smile.

"And so much gracious," she said lightly. Almost to herself. "Unlike some people we picked up off the street."

I blinked.

The words landed the way they always did. She always made sure to remind me of that.

My mother was already smiling at Vivienne. Unbothered.

"Mom," Vivienne said softly, a little laugh in her voice. "Come on. Today is Isla's day."

"You're right," my father agreed.

They moved toward the entrance together, the three of them, and I stood on the pavement for a moment in the morning light.

Picked up off the street.

Said at a wedding dress fitting. Said with a smile.

I put my shoulders back and followed them inside.

Vivienne appeared at my side almost immediately, pressing a small gift into my hands. A ribbon tied box, neat and pretty.

"I saw it and thought of you," she said warmly.

I opened it.

A tin of loose leaf tea. My favourite blend. The exact one. The one I had loved since I was sixteen and never once mentioned to anyone.

I went very still.

She had always done this. In my first life Vivienne had kept my tea quietly restocked for years. Every tin replaced before it emptied. Every blend exactly right. I had never once questioned it.

I had called it love.

My hands were perfectly steady as I looked up at her.

How many cups. How many years. How many times had I wrapped my hands around a warm mug and drunk whatever she put in front of me without a single thought.

"Thank you," I said.

Vivienne smiled. Warm. Familiar. The smile I had trusted my entire life.

"Of course," she said softly. "You're my sister. I'd do anything for you."

I looked down at the tin in my hands.

I believed her once.