Isabelle #2
She grinned. “Oh, thank you.” Then her eyes went wide.
“Oh, I was wondering if you guys wanted to get to know the groomsmen ahead of the wedding?
You know, avoid that awkward first meeting at the rehearsal dinner?
" She rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “Kim, you already know the best man pretty well, actually. It’s Xavier.”
Kim's smile turned secretive, knowing.
“And since Sebastian literally has no friends—”
“Hey!" I heard Sebastian protest in the background.
“–Xavier volunteered his friend who recently moved to town. Now what was his name again?” She tapped her chin, pretending to think, and my heart started sinking.
"I've got it! Femi Davies. We met at the party actually.
Lovely guy. Very charming. And I think I saw you talking to him at the table, Isa. "
My heart didn’t just sink. It plummeted.
Kim’s eyes suddenly widened with understanding. “Isabelle, do you guys have history?”
Ugh… Please don’t make me repeat this story. Please don't make me explain how Femi Davies broke my heart into so many pieces I was still finding shards of it in unexpected places.
“Something like that.” I kept my voice carefully neutral. “But it was a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter.”
“You seemed to be really popular last night,” Aria continued, oblivious to my internal crisis. “I saw the way Matteo was looking at you. He even asked Sebastian about you. And you know how your brother is. He grumbled about it the whole ride home.”
“Wait… who is…” And suddenly I remembered. The wine guy. Matteo. Sandy brown hair, warm eyes, calloused hands. He was looking at me? I’d completely forgotten about him.
Aria had it wrong, though. There was nothing there. He was just being friendly. Italian people were friendly. It didn't mean anything.
“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I said.
“I saw it too,” Kim offered, which didn’t help at all. “He seemed like quite the catch. Very attractive. And that accent…”
Oh, God. I needed to get out of this conversation right this minute before they started planning my love life along with the wedding.
“I have to go, you guys. I have um…” I wracked my brain for something, anything.
“I have a client tonight. Meeting about a custom piece. Very demanding client. Can’t be late. ”
“Wait…” Aria suddenly said. “Before you go, can you make it back to New York next Sunday? I was hoping we could all have a sit-down to start planning the wedding officially. Venue tours, cake tastings, the whole thing.”
Back to New York. Where Femi would be. Where I'd have to see him again, probably multiple times, because we were apparently both in the wedding party now.
I nodded, sealing my fate. “Of course. I wouldn't miss it. Bye, guys!”
I left the call before they could try to convince me to stay, before they could ask more questions about Femi or Matteo or my complete lack of a love life.
Well, damn.
I’d resolved to completely avoid Femi by all means possible. I had a plan. Stay in London, focus on work, let time and distance do their job. I'd thought that if I remained in my own world, carefully constructed and controlled, then all would be well.
Little did I know that the universe was busy making plans to thrust us together. The universe, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
A part of me wanted to regard this as fate. Maybe our paths crossed for a reason. Maybe we were being thrown together because we were meant to be with each other and the eight years that we were apart was just the prologue to our real story.
I shook my head, banishing the thought. Sleep, I needed sleep. I was beginning to sound like a crazy person and we couldn’t allow that.
By morning, I would have forgotten all about Femi Davies.
I didn’t forget about him.
He was the first thing I thought about when I woke up the next morning. And the worst part? I wasn’t just thinking about him, I was thinking about the way he felt pressed against me. The taste of him. The sound he'd made when I'd kissed him back.
Ugh… I was in so much trouble.
Thoughts of him followed me into my office. I rubbed a hand across my face as I stared at the sketch I’d been working on for over an hour.
I’d managed one line. One. Single. Line.
I had no idea if it was supposed to be a dress, a skirt, a blouse, or a jacket. The design refused to take shape, the pencil felt wrong in my hand.
My assistant, Meg, appeared in my office doorway with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Delivery for you," she announced in her crisp, efficient way.
"From who?"
"No name on the order. Just a card."
That made me look up. "No name?"
She stepped aside, and a woman in a florist's uniform entered carrying the largest, most elaborate bouquet of flowers I'd ever seen. White roses, pale pink peonies, delicate sprays of something that smelled like heaven.
It was elegant. Expensive. The kind of arrangement that required forethought and a very generous budget.
"Where do you want them?" the woman asked, struggling slightly under the weight.
"I..." I stared at the flowers, my throat suddenly tight. "The table. By the window."
She set them down with visible relief and left. Meg handed me a small cream-colored envelope and retreated, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her.
I opened the envelope with shaking hands.
It was lovely seeing you. Dinner? —F
The handwriting was familiar. Neat, precise, with those distinctive loops. He'd always had beautiful penmanship. Another thing I loved about him, one of the many details that had made him seem almost too good to be true.