No Longer Your Painted Muse
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Summary
On the day we met to discuss the wedding, my parents wore clothes they had bought just for the occasion.
We sat in the private dining room of a high-end French restaurant, waiting. Three hours passed before my fiancé, Elliott, and his parents finally showed up.
The moment his mother, Victoria, sat down, she pointed at the bowl of wild mushroom consommé in the center of the table and looked at my mother.
"Freda’s mother, dear, would you mind ladling some soup for me? This silk dress is custom Valentino. I can't risk getting a drop of grease on it."
