13. Isabelle
The foundation's conference room had been taken over by wedding chaos.
Fabric swatches covered half the table. Invitation samples covered the other half. Aria sat at the head, surrounded by notebooks and color-coded folders, looking like a general planning a particularly glamorous battle.
"The hotel is getting prepped," she said, checking something off her list with satisfaction. "Flowers are ordered. Caterer is booked. Music is sorted." She looked up at the rest of us. "What am I forgetting? There’s always something."
"Sleep," Kim said dryly. "You're forgetting sleep."
"Sleep is for people who aren't getting married in six weeks to a man who has opinions about napkin colors."
Priya leaned forward, tablet in hand, all business. "The shower timeline is finalized. Saturday the fourteenth, two o'clock, at the rooftop venue we discussed. I've confirmed everything with their events coordinator."
"Guest list finalized?" Aria asked.
"Sent to you this morning. Forty-seven confirmed, three pending."
Nalani was typing rapidly on her laptop. "I've drafted the social media plan for the foundation's coverage. Tasteful, elegant, nothing too intrusive. We'll post a few curated shots after the event, nothing during."
"Perfect." Aria exhaled. "What would I do without you two?"
"Drown in fabric swatches, probably," Priya said, gesturing at the table. "Or succumb to invitation-related anxiety."
I sat beside Kim, reviewing the shower details on my own phone. The venue was gorgeous—a rooftop garden with panoramic views of the city, string lights, and enough space for the intimate gathering Aria wanted. Elegant without being excessive.
"I should mention," I said carefully, "I'm leaving right after the shower. I was supposed to be back in Milan last week, but I extended my stay. The boutique needs me."
Aria looked up sharply. "You're not staying for the final dress fitting?"
"I'll be back for that, I promise. But I need to check on Milan first. Make sure everything's running smoothly before I disappear completely for the wedding madness."
"The wedding is in Hawaii. You're not disappearing, you're relocating to paradise for a week."
"Paradise with a hundred guests and a bride who will murder me if a single seam is out of place."
"That's fair." Aria smiled. "I would absolutely murder you."
Kim laughed and reached for her coffee. "Speaking of the wedding—what exactly is Sebastian doing for his bachelor party? I need to know if I should be worried."
Aria's expression shifted to something between amusement and exasperation. "I have no idea. They’re all being very hush-hush about the whole thing. Every time I ask, he just grins and changes the subject."
"That's not ominous at all," I said.
"Right?" Aria turned to Kim with pleading eyes. "Talk to your fiancé. Tell him nothing too raunchy. I don't need Sebastian showing up to our wedding with a brutal hangover and questionable memories."
Kim was already laughing. "I have it under control. Xavier knows better than to push his luck with me."
"Does he though?"
"He's learning." Kim's smile was serene, confident. "Quickly."
Femi called while I was in the cab going home, the city sliding past my window in a blur of glass and steel.
"Hey." His voice was warm through the phone. "What are you up to?"
"Just finished bridal shower planning. I’m heading home now."
"Perfect. I'll come over straightaway. We can grab dinner somewhere nice."
"Actually, can you just come to my place? I'm exhausted, and I don't feel like going out."
A pause. "Sure. I'll pick something up on the way. That Thai place you like?"
"That's fine."
"Brilliant. See you in an hour."
He hung up before I could respond.
I stared at my phone for a moment, uneasiness stirring in my chest, then slipped it back into my bag.
Femi arrived with Thai food and a bottle of wine.
He spread the containers across my kitchen counter, chatting about his day while he worked. Something about meetings. A property in development. Numbers and projections and timelines.
I watched him move through my space with easy familiarity. Opening drawers to find serving spoons, reaching for plates from the cabinets without asking where they were. Making himself entirely at home.
"So," he said, handing me a plate. "Tell me about your day. How's the bridal shower planning coming along?"
"Good. We finalized the venue and the menu. Priya has everything organized down to the minute."
"That's great."
He was already turning back to the food, scooping pad thai onto his plate.
"The rooftop garden is beautiful," I continued, watching him. "Views of the whole city. Aria wants string lights everywhere, hundreds of them."
"Mmm." He took a bite, nodding with approval. "This is excellent. Better than last time we ordered."
"We're doing a signature cocktail. Nalani designed it. Something with champagne and elderflower."
"Nice." He reached for the wine bottle, poured two glasses. "Listen, I've been thinking about us."
"Have you?"
"We should take a trip after the wedding. You should be willing to take a proper break then, surely? Somewhere romantic." He slid a glass toward me. "I know you weren't keen on the Hamptons, so perhaps the Maldives. Or Bora Bora. Somewhere we can just be together without all these distractions."
"Femi—"
"I know you're busy. I know the boutique needs you. But we need time too, Isabelle. Time to reconnect properly. To remember why we work so well together."
"Do we?"
He stopped mid-bite. "Do we what?"
"Work. Do we actually work together?"
The question hung in the air between us. His expression shifted—confusion first, then something warier, more guarded.
"What do you mean?"
"I just told you about my day. About the shower planning, the venue, the cocktail Nalani designed." I set my plate down. "You said 'that's great' and 'nice' and then started talking about the Maldives."
"I was listening."
"What venue did I mention?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His jaw tightened.
"You don't know," I said quietly. "Because you weren't actually listening. You were waiting for your turn to speak."
"That's not entirely fair."
"It's true." I pushed away from the counter, needing space. "This is what we do, Femi. I talk, you wait. You plan, I adapt. You decide where we eat, what trips we take, what our future looks like—and you never actually ask if any of it is what I want."
"I'm trying to take care of you."
"I don't need you to take care of me." My voice was rising despite my efforts to control it. "I need you to hear me.”
He set down his fork with deliberate care. Moved toward me.
"Isabelle. Whatever this is, we can work through it. We just need time—"
"That's exactly what I'm saying." I held up my hand, stopping him. "We need time. But not together. Apart."
The word landed between us. His face went slack, confusion flooding his features.
"Apart?"
"I think we should take a break."
"A break." He repeated it like he didn't understand the word. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"Because I didn't ask about your bloody venue?"
"Because we don't communicate. Because every conversation feels like we're speaking different languages.
Because I tell you what I need and you hear something else entirely.
" My voice cracked slightly. I steadied it.
"Because I don't know if we want the same things anymore, and I need space to figure that out. "
He stared at me for a long moment. His jaw was tight. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.
"Is there someone else?"
Matteo's face flashed through my mind. The almost-kiss in Sebastian's dining room. The way he looked at me… the wine on my lips.
"This isn't about anyone else. This is about us, about what's not working between us."
"That's not an answer, Isabelle."
"It's the only answer I have." I met his eyes, held them. "I need a break, Femi. I'm sorry."
He stood very still. I could see him processing, calculating, trying to find the angle that would change my mind.
"How long?" he finally asked, his voice tight.
"I don't know."
"A week? A month? Give me something to work with."
"I don't know. However long it takes."
"Takes to do what exactly?"
"To figure out what I actually want."
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And what if what you want isn't me?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
He nodded slowly, understanding settling over his features. Picked up his jacket from where he'd draped it over a chair.
"Fine," he said, his accent clipped now. His emotion bleeding through the polish. "Take your break. Figure out what you want." He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. He looked back at me. "But don't take too long, Isabelle. I won't wait forever."
The door closed behind him with a definitive click.
Morning came slowly.
I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I replayed the conversation with Femi. His face when I said the word "break," the tightness in his jaw, the door closing with finality.
Had I made the right choice?
I didn't know. I only knew that something had been building for weeks, a pressure in my chest, a wrongness I couldn't name, a misalignment that kept getting worse. And last night, it had finally found words.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand. It was Aria.
"Morning." Her voice was bright. Too bright for how early it was. "Did I wake you?"
"No. I've been up for a while."
"Good. Listen, I need a favor. Are you free today?"
"Depends on the favor."
"The wine selection for the wedding—we've realized we don't have an option for guests who can't drink the reds we chose. Allergies, sensitivities, whatever. Matteo mentioned he has a few lighter options at his tasting room, but someone needs to go select one."
My stomach tightened. "Can't Sebastian do it?"
"Sebastian is in back-to-back meetings all day. And you have the better palate, anyway." She paused. "Please? It's just a quick trip. An hour at most."
I could say no. Make an excuse. Claim I had somewhere else to be, something more important.