Chapter 43 Sophia
Y ou’d think having a combined bachelor and bachelorette party would be boring, but the guys have forced Damian to take one too many shots, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him genuinely smile. It was unsettling at first—still is. I mean, Damian and fun don’t exactly go hand in hand. But here he is, laughing with a glass in his hand, and I can’t lie—it’s kind of nice to see him loosen up for once. Hopefully, when he marries my best friend, he’ll be able to remove the permanent stick he has stuck in his ass.
Isabella, on the other hand, has been another interesting development. The pressure of being near Matteo must’ve gotten to her, because she’s been drinking herself into oblivion. And to my surprise, she’s actually fun when drunk. She’s been dancing, laughing, and forcing me to take shots with her. Most of the time, I sneakily toss them into a nearby bush when she’s not looking, because, well, someone’s got to keep her tamed, right? It’s hilarious to think I’m the responsible one tonight. Who would’ve thought?
I glance at Matteo, who’s been trying—and miserably failing—to avoid her all night. He looks like he’s locked in an internal battle—either step in to help or stay as far away as humanly possible. Judging by the glares he keeps sending in her direction, he’s leaning toward the latter.
After dinner and hopping into a few casinos, we ended at a club—because we girls insisted we wanted to go dancing. And if there’s something we know by now, the guys are incapable of saying no to us. It’s around one in the morning, and Lorenzo and I have been exchanging looks all night, silently plotting our escape. But before we can act on it, Aria catches us.
“No!” Aria shrieks, cutting through the music as she points a finger at me. “Stop looking at each other like that! You”—she jabs her finger in my direction—“are not leaving. No, ma’am. You guys ditched dinner last night, this is not happening again.” She shakes her head adamantly.
“Red, you’re being such a cockblocker right now,” Lorenzo says with an amused, joking tone, and I can’t help but snort a laugh.
Aria casually shrugs, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “While it makes me happy you two finally figured it out, it’s my weekend?—”
Damian suddenly interrupts, throwing his hands in the air. “Hey! It’s mine , too!” His voice is a bit louder than necessary, making us all turn toward him.
Aria thins her lips, fighting back laughter as she pats Damian’s head like a scolded puppy. “I know, Damie. No need to shout.”
“Don’t call me Damie, I am begging you.” Damian tilts his head back, groaning.
I can’t hold back my laughter. “Jeez, he’s such a lousy drunk. ”
“Oh, you have no idea. This is nothing ,” Matteo mutters from beside us, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“Hey.” Isabella hiccups—another lousy drunk. “If Aria’s nickname is Red, and Sophia’s nickname is Blue...” She pauses, lost in thought, her brow furrowing as if she’s solving a complex math equation.
I glance at Lorenzo, who’s already stifling a laugh.
“Does that make me Yellow?” Isabella finishes with another hiccup, blinking at us in earnest.
Matteo rolls his eyes, exasperated. “God help us,” he mutters under his breath, though I catch a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“What would you call me?” Isabella asks, zeroing her green eyes on Matteo.
Matteo freezes, the rim of his glass hovering near his lips. For a moment, he stares at Isabella, caught off guard by her sudden lack of attitude. Hell, we’re all caught off guard. This is the first time she’s spoken to him without biting sarcasm or that cold edge in her voice.
He lowers his drink slowly, eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure out if this is some sort of trap. “What would I call you?” he repeats, his tone cautious.
Isabella nods, her eyes still locked on his, an unexpected softness in them. “Yeah. What do you think my nickname should be?”
He lowers his drink slowly, a hint of something flickering behind his gaze. His voice is quiet but steady when he finally responds, “Sunshine.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, the drunken haze seems to clear as recognition flashes across her face. “You used to call me that,” she whispers, her voice soft, tinged with surprise and something else I don’t recognize .
Matteo holds her gaze for a moment. “I know,” he murmurs.
We’re all looking at each other expectantly, wondering what the hell is happening right now. Is this the start of a new friendship? Maybe whatever happened between them—something Isabella refuses to tell us—will finally be a distant memory? But then Isabella looks the other way, tensing her shoulders, and Matteo drops his gaze, sighing in resignation, and the brief moment passes.
“Okay.” I clap my hands, stepping forward and snatching the drink from Isabella’s grasp. “You’re officially cut off.”
Isabella laughs, shaking her head as she stands. “Fine.”
Matteo stands, too, a frown forming on his face. “Where are you going?”
Isabella glares at him, and just like that, the tension snaps back into place. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”
“It’s one in the morning, Isabella. You’re not going out there alone.”
“Good thing I’m not asking for your permission,” she spits back.
Matteo rubs his beard, sighing in exasperation. “If you could stop being stubborn for one second?—”
“Wouldn’t you like that?” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“Yes, I very much would,” he retorts.
“I can go with you,” I offer, hoping to ease the tension between them.
“No,” Matteo says immediately, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll go with her.”
Isabella whirls around. “I’d rather be alone.”
Matteo doesn’t hesitate. “Over my dead fucking body,” he snaps, following after her. “There’s no use arguing, Isa. I’ll be going with you whether you like it or not.”
With that, they both storm out of the club .
“Will those two ever figure it out?” I ask.
Lorenzo shakes his head with a knowing grin. “Damian and I have been trying for years now. They’re both way too stubborn.”
Aria waves a hand like it’s no big deal. “Trust me, they will.”
There’s something undeniable about them. When they’re in the same room, they’re like magnets trying desperately to stay apart, yet life keeps pulling them back together. It’s only a matter of time before they stop fighting it.
“Hell will freeze the day that happens,” Lorenzo comments.
“A lot of things can happen. I mean, look at us now.” I shrug.
Aria beams excitedly. “I always knew you two were meant to be.”
Lorenzo wraps an arm around my waist, kissing me on the cheek. “I will forever be grateful the day you walked back into my life,” he says with a sheepish smile.
My eyes find his as I smile at him, my cheeks hurting from how happy I feel.
This is it for me.
He is it for me.
And my heart couldn’t be any happier.
Though we barely slept last night, we had already planned to meet for brunch. Since I’ve been so busy these past few months, we haven’t had our usual Sunday brunches, so it was overdue.
“I’m actually shocked you made it,” I say, watching as Isabella approaches our table. Aria and I have been sitting for about ten minutes, just drinking coffee and catching up.
Isabella slumps down into the chair without a word, sunglasses still on. Aria and I exchange confused looks.
“So...” Aria ventures, unsure how to start.
“Where did you disappear to last night?” I ask. “We never heard from you again.”
Isabella stays silent, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring herself a heavy cup. Slowly, she pulls off her sunglasses and takes a sip. I study her, trying to figure out what’s different about her, and that’s when I see it.
“No.” My breath catches, eyes locking on her left hand.
Isabella follows my gaze and stiffens, dropping her hand into her lap, like that will make me forget what I just saw.
Aria frowns, confused. “What?”
“Isabella Walton,” I gasp, leaning closer. “Tell me you didn’t.”
She grimaces. “Technically, I’m Isabella Carter now.”
Aria’s jaw drops. She’s at a loss for words.
“You married Matteo fucking Carter?” I sputter, staring at her in disbelief.
Isabella pushes her hair back with a sigh. “Can we drop it?”
“No!” Aria and I shout together.
Isabella groans, rubbing her forehead. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”
Aria tries again. “But?—”
“Drop it,” Isabella cuts her off sharply.
I frown, unwilling to let it go. “We deserve to know?— ”
Isabella interrupts me. “This is between me and Matteo. Leave it alone, guys. Please.” Her voice quivers.
Isabella never—and I mean never—shows any vulnerability, so when her green eyes find mine with a silent plea, I nod in understanding.
I sigh, taking a long sip of coffee. “You know, I keep telling you guys we should start brunch with mimosas, but no one listens…”
Aria nods, thinning her lips. “I’m starting to see the wisdom in that.”
“How’s the article going?” Isabella asks, looking at me.
So we’re completely changing the topic.
I nod. “It’s finished. I’m turning it in on Monday when we fly back. I was going to do it this morning, but I left the computer at work.”
“You? Leaving work at…work?” Aria gapes at me. “Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “It was time to take a break for once.”
They don’t know the extent of it all. They don’t know I’ve been doing Max’s job for the past few years. Will I ever tell them? Not sure. I don’t want to give Max any more thought. What he did was unfair, as we all know now, so why keep giving it any thought?
My phone pings with a text.
Lucy (Coworker)
Nice article. Ruthless. I loved it!
I frown, confused.
Me
What are you talking about?
Lucy (Coworker)
Uhm, the article exposing Lorenzo Mancini?
My stomach drops, the nausea hitting me all at once. The girls keep chatting, but I feel like I’m underwater right now, the voices being drowned by the beat of my own heart. With shaky hands, I search Vogue Elite’s website.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, my voice trembling as tears fill my eyes. I scroll through the article, each sentence making me feel sicker.
Aria grabs my phone, her eyes scanning the screen. “Did you write this?”
My hands tremble as I shake my head, and my chest tightens, a suffocating pressure that makes me wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like. I’ve always managed to keep my emotions in check, to stay steady and detached. But now, as my palms grow clammy and my pulse pounds erratically in my ears, drowning out everything else, there’s no mistaking the anxiety gripping me like a vise.
I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a breathless sob. Tears start to run down my cheek, but I’m paralyzed. Breathing is becoming harder by the second, my eyes becoming more and more blurry with tears. Without a word and not caring how people are probably looking at me, I stand abruptly, grab my purse, and run out of there as soon as possible with only one thing in mind.
I need to find Lorenzo.