90 DAYS WITH BELLA.
Tried and failed.
When she came out, steam clinging to her, hair damp and skin flushed from the heat, I realized for the hundredth time that day that I was in dangerous territory. Not because of her beauty. No, I’d seen beautiful women. Bella was something else. Something that made the room feel smaller.
She padded out in pink pajamas ridiculously soft, ridiculously innocent and I nearly laughed. This woman who had stood in front of an entire chapel, unflinching, who had stared me down like a rival, was now wearing pastel pajamas with little satin bows.
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