She’d fallen asleep on the floor, no doubt assisted by wine and despair. Crawling onto her hands and knees and slowly getting to her feet, Belle groaned at herself. Her dress was so crushed she’d be lucky if it ever ironed flat again. Her face felt lumpy and, sure enough, ...
She realised she was clutching the jacket to her chest, her fingers digging into it, just like they’d been digging into Michael’s back in her vision. She forced herself to put it down in her lap, but couldn’t quite let go of it yet. ‘Hmm.’ Aunt Gertrude looked at her with ...