The floor-to-ceiling mirror in the VIP suite of the city's most exclusive bridal atelier revealed every flicker of unease on my face. The couture gown I'd waited 12 whole months for was caught tight around my hips, swollen slightly from the ovulation shots. No matter how hard the seamstress pulled, the zipper refused to budge. Edmund Carter, my fiancé, leaned back against the velvet sofa and sipped his espresso, perfectly composed. "Don't force it, Tessa. You'll warp the fabric, and it'll ruin the line." He glanced over at the corner where Celeste Landon—his childhood first love, still willowy and flawless—sat watching us. "Celeste just got back from overseas, and she needs a showstopper for tonight's charity gala. The measurements would fit her like a glove. Let her borrow it for the night." The shop staff exchanged astonishing glances. Edmund stepped in front of me, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze soft with the practiced tenderness I'd once fallen for. "Your hormones are all out of whack from the fertility treatments, and you've put on weight. If you walked the red carpet in this, the tabloids would tear you apart. "Be a good girl and take it off. I'll have the atelier remake a looser version in your current size tomorrow." I'd given up my career as a principal ballerina to give him a family. And now, even the wedding dress I'd dreamed of my whole life was being handed off to another woman. I held his gaze for several seconds. No tears, no trembling lip. I just grabbed the invisible zipper at my back and ripped it down. The gown slipped off my shoulders and pooled in a heap of silk and lace at my feet. "No need. If it fits her so well, she can keep the dress. And she can keep you right along with it."