Isabella’s POV
April and I sat cross-legged on the floor of my living room, surrounded by what felt like a mountain of wedding magazines, fabric swatches, and half-empty cups of coffee (all drank by her, by the way). The chaos was overwhelming, but April seemed to thrive in it, flipping through pages with the enthusiasm of someone who lived for this kind of thing.
“Okay, so don’t need a venue since the wedding is going to be here,” April said, tapping her pen against a notebook filled with scribbled notes. “But we still need to figure out the dress, the flowers, the catering, the guest list, the music, the—”
“April,” I interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her. “You’re making my head spin. Can we just… take this one thing at a time?”
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
