12. Isabelle #2
At the threshold, I glanced back. Matteo stood alone at the table, surrounded by wine bottles and afternoon light, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders were tight.
He raised one hand in a small wave.
Then Femi's hand pressed more firmly against my back, and we were gone.
The restaurant was exactly as promised. Exclusive and elegant. The kind of place where the menu didn't list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
Femi ordered for both of us. Wine, appetizers, entrees. He didn't ask what I wanted, just assumed he knew.
I sat across from him and tried to focus on what he was saying. Something about the restaurant's Michelin-starred chef. A story about the favor he'd called in, making sure I understood how impressive this was. The impressed tone he clearly expected me to adopt.
But my mind kept drifting back to Sebastian's dining room. Matteo's thumb on my lip. The almost-kiss that had evaporated the moment Femi walked in.
"You're quiet," Femi observed.
"Just tired."
"The wedding planning wearing you out already?"
"Something like that."
He reached across the table and took my hand, his grip warm and confident. "You work too hard, Issy. You really must learn to relax properly."
"I relax."
"When? Name the last time you did something just for fun. Not work. Not family obligations. Just pure enjoyment."
The vineyard, I thought. Crushing grapes with my hands while Matteo laughed at my expression. Rain on my face. His footsteps outside my door.
"I can't remember," I said instead, the lie bitter on my tongue.
"Exactly my point." He squeezed my fingers. "Let me take care of you. This weekend, we'll go somewhere. The Hamptons, perhaps. I know a place with an absolutely incredible spa."
"I have fittings this weekend."
"Cancel them."
"I can't cancel fittings for Aria's wedding dress, Femi."
"One day, then. Surely you can spare one day for us."
I pulled my hand back, reaching for my wine glass. "What was that about?" I asked. "At Sebastian's."
His expression flickered, defensiveness crossing his features. "What do you mean?"
"The way you came in. The arm around my waist. The 'darling.'" I set the glass down with more force than necessary. "You don't call me darling."
"Perhaps I should start. We're together, aren't we?"
"Femi."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me with sharp eyes. "I missed you," he said finally. "I came to see you and there you were with the wine chap, looking rather cozy. Forgive me for wanting to be close to my girlfriend."
"I wasn't being cozy with anyone. He was showing me wine. For Sebastian's wedding."
"Of course."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." He smiled, but there was an edge to it. "It means nothing. I'm being paranoid. Ignore me."
I wanted to push. I wanted to ask why he felt the need to mark his territory like I was something he owned, why his hand had gripped my waist so tight, why he'd called me darling like he was making a point..
But his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned.
"Sorry, I need to take this." He was already standing. Work thing—won't be a moment."
He was already standing, phone pressed to his ear, walking away.
I sat alone at the table, surrounded by food I hadn't ordered, wine I didn't choose, in a restaurant I'd never asked to visit.
My phone sat in my clutch. I pulled it out. No messages.
I thought about texting Matteo. Apologizing for the abrupt exit. Explaining that I hadn't wanted to leave. But what would I say? Sorry my kind of boyfriend showed up and interrupted our almost-kiss? That wasn't an apology. That was an admission of something I wasn't ready to admit.
Femi returned, sliding back into his seat.
"Sorry about that. Where were we?"
"You were telling me about the Hamptons," I answered lamely. I just… didn’t have the energy to fake an excitement I wasn’t feeling.
"Right. The spa. You'll love it. Very exclusive. They do this treatment with—"
I shook my head. "I don't want to go to the Hamptons."
He stopped. "What?"
I sighed. Why did I have to explain this to him? He should’ve known about this already.
"I don't want to go to a spa. I don't want to cancel my fittings. I have work to do and I'm going to do it."
"I wasn't asking you to abandon your responsibilities. I was suggesting a break."
"I don't need a break," I said firmly.
He looked affronted hearing my response. "Everyone needs breaks, Isabelle."
"Then I'll take one when I'm ready. Not when you decide I should."
We stared at each other across the table. The candle flame flickered between us.
"Okay," Femi said slowly. "No Hamptons. Message received."
"Thank you."
He paused for a beat. "Is there something else bothering you? You seem... tense."
I was tense. But not for the reasons I could explain to him. Not for the reasons I fully understood myself.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just tired, like I said."
"Okay." He picked up his fork. "Then let's eat. The food here really is exceptional."
We ate. We made conversation. He told stories and I laughed in the right places. To anyone watching, we probably looked like a happy couple enjoying a romantic dinner.
But something had shifted. I could feel it in the space between us, in the way his words landed slightly off-target, in the way my responses came a beat too late.
He talked about his work. I thought about wine spilling on my lip.
He made plans for our future. I wondered what Matteo was doing right now.
He reached for my hand across the table and I let him take it, but didn't squeeze his hand back.
After dinner, he drove me home. He walked me to my door, kissed me softly, lingeringly, in a way that was clearly meant to lead somewhere.
"Can I come up?" he murmured against my mouth.
I shook my head. "Not tonight. I have an early morning."
"You always have an early morning," he muttered, almost sounding petulant.
"Then you should be used to it by now," I said, looking at him pointedly.
He pulled back. Studied my face. "Is everything okay with us?"
"Everything's fine."
"You'd tell me if it wasn't?"
"Of course."
He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Femi."
I let myself into my apartment and closed the door behind me and stood there in the darkness for a long moment.
Starting things with Femi again had seemed right at the time. Familiar. Safe. A return to something I understood.
But I didn't understand this. The disconnect. The way he heard something different than what I said. The way he made plans without asking and called it care. The way he'd gripped my waist in Sebastian's dining room like I belonged to him, like I was his property.
I thought about Matteo's hand on my face. The way he'd asked permission with his eyes before he touched me. The way he'd stepped back the moment Femi appeared, giving me space to make my own choice.
Two different men. Two different ways of wanting.
I pulled out my phone. Scrolled to Matteo's name.
My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling.
Then I set the phone down and went to bed.
Some decisions were too big for midnight. They needed daylight and clarity, and courage I didn't have yet.
But as I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city hum outside my window, I already knew what I was going to do.
I just wasn't ready to admit it yet.