"Honey, we'll be late!" Olivia heard her father's voice erupt from downstairs, firm but patient.
"Just a minute, Dad!" she called back, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted her dress. She wasn't ready—not yet—for the world to know.
If they did, the questions would be merciless.
"Are you seeing someone already?"
"Is the baby Dylan's?"
"Did his marriage push you to move on?"
Olivia rolled her eyes just imagining their bullshit.
She wore a soft blue flared dress that fell gracefully around her knees, understated but elegant. Around her neck, she fastened a delicate silver necklace—simple. Not the one Dylan gave her. That one lay buried at the bottom of a drawer, and she refused to wear it in public. It bore his initials, and the last thing she needed was someone whispering, "Isn't that Dylan's? You're clearly not over him."
