17. Isabelle
The dress was perfect.
I circled the mannequin one last time, checking every seam, every bead, every inch of fabric.
The bodice fit exactly as I'd designed it—structured but not stiff, elegant but not fussy, modern yet timeless.
The skirt fell in soft waves of silk that would move like water when Aria walked down the aisle.
Three months of work. Countless fittings. A dozen late nights hunched over my sewing machine, adjusting and readjusting until my fingers ached and my eyes burned.
And now it was done.
Meg appeared at my elbow, tablet in hand. "The shipping company confirmed pickup for tomorrow morning. It'll arrive in Hawaii two days before the wedding."
"Insurance?"
"Fully covered. I tripled it, just in case."
"Good." I stepped back from the mannequin. "And the backup dress?"
"Already packed. Separate shipment, different carrier, arrives the day after."
Two dresses. Two shipments. Two carriers. Paranoid, maybe. But I'd heard too many horror stories about wedding dresses lost in transit, arriving wrinkled or damaged or not at all. Aria deserved better than that.
"The accessories?"
"Packed in my carry-on. Veil, shoes, jewelry. I'm not letting them out of my sight."
I exhaled slowly. "Okay. I think we're ready."
"We've been ready for a week." Meg smiled. "You've checked everything at least fifteen times. At some point, you have to trust the process."
"I'll trust the process when the dress is on Aria's body and she's walking down the aisle."
"Fair enough." She tucked her tablet under her arm. "Your flight leaves tomorrow at eight. I'll meet you at the airport."
"You're not coming tonight?"
"I have a few more things to wrap up here." She squeezed my shoulder. "Go. Get some sleep. You look exhausted."
I was exhausted. The past week had been a blur of final adjustments and shipping logistics and phone calls with vendors. I'd barely slept, barely eaten, barely thought about anything except getting this dress to Hawaii in one piece.
Barely thought about Matteo.
That was a lie. I'd thought about him constantly.
In the quiet moments between tasks. In the middle of the night when sleep wouldn't come.
His face swam before me at the strangest times—while I was pinning fabric, while I was on the phone with the shipping company, while I was staring at the ceiling in the dark.
Figure it out. I'll be waiting.
I hadn't called him. Hadn't texted. What would I even say?
I think I might be in love with you but I'm too scared to admit it. I agreed to try again with my ex-boyfriend because I don't know how to let go of my first love. I'm a mess and you deserve better.
No. Better to stay silent. Better to focus on the wedding, on the dress, on anything other than the chaos in my own heart.
The flight to Hawaii was long.
I slept through most of it, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion. When I woke up, the ocean stretched endlessly below us, impossibly blue, glittering in the afternoon sun.
Hawaii.
The hotel was stunning—white buildings against lush green hills, the beach a ribbon of gold stretching into turquoise water. Sebastian and Aria had done well. The perfect backdrop for a perfect wedding.
I checked in and found my room. It was a suite overlooking the water, all clean lines and soft fabrics and a balcony where I could hear the waves crashing. I dropped my bags and stood at the window, letting the view wash over me.
My phone buzzed. Naomi.
I'm here. Where are you?
Room 412. Come up.
She arrived ten minutes later, still in her travel clothes, her braids piled on top of her head.
"Finally." She pulled me into a fierce hug. "I've been on planes for approximately seventeen hours and I need to complain to someone who cares."
"I care."
"I know. That's why I'm here." She flopped onto my bed, kicking off her shoes. "Catch me up. What's happening? How are you? How's the Matteo situation?"
The name sent a jolt through me. "There is no Matteo situation."
"Isa." She propped herself up on her elbows, giving me her full attention. "I talked to you two weeks ago and you were in Tuscany. At his vineyard. Something happened."
"Something happened."
"And?"
I sat on the edge of the bed. Stared at my hands.
"And I couldn't say it back."
"Say what back?"
"He told me he loved me."
Naomi was quiet for a moment. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"And you didn't..."
"I couldn't. Something stopped me." I looked up at her.
"And then he asked if I still loved Femi, and I couldn't answer that either, and he told me to figure it out, and now I'm here, and Femi is here, and Matteo is probably here too because he's supplying the wine, and I don't know what I'm doing, Naomi. I don't know what I want."
She sat up fully, taking my hands in hers with firm warmth.
"What does your gut say?"
"My gut is confused."
"Okay, what does your heart say?"
"My heart is an idiot."
"Isa."
"I don't know." The words came out raw, stripped of defenses.
"I look at Matteo and I feel... peaceful.
Safe. Like I could build something real and lasting with him.
But then I think about Femi, and there's all this history, all these feelings I never dealt with, and I don't know if what I feel is love or just... unfinished business."
"So finish it." Naomi squeezed my hands. "Talk to Femi. Figure out what's actually there underneath all the history. And then, make a choice."
"What if I choose wrong?"
"Then you learn from it and move on like we all do." She smiled gently. "But you can't stay stuck in the middle forever, Isa. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to them."
She was right. I knew she was right.
"Femi's coming to my room later," I said. "To talk."
"Good. Talk. Be honest. And then..." She shrugged. "See how you feel after."
"That simple?"
"That terrifying." She grinned. "But you're Isabelle Dubois. You've faced worse."
The welcome party started at seven.
I dressed carefully—a flowing blue dress that caught the ocean breeze, simple jewelry, sandals that showed off my pedicure. I looked good and put-together. Like a woman who had her life under control.
The lie was convincing, at least.
Femi knocked on my door at six-thirty.
He was wearing a linen shirt, white against his dark skin, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked handsome. He always looked handsome—polished, put-together, like he'd stepped from the pages of a magazine.
"Issy." He smiled, that familiar charm radiating from him. "You look absolutely beautiful."
"Thank you. Come in."
He entered, looking around the suite with appreciation. "Nice room."
"Sebastian's doing. He upgraded everyone in the wedding party."
"Generous of him."
We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. Then Femi crossed to the window, looking out at the ocean.
"I've missed you," he said quietly. "These past weeks. Not knowing where we stood. It's been rather difficult."
"I know."
"But I've been thinking." He turned to face me, his expression serious. "About us. About what went wrong. About what I want."
"And what do you want?"
"You." He closed the distance between us, taking my hands in his. "I want you, Isabelle. I want to make this work. Whatever it takes."
I looked at him. At the face I'd loved at seventeen. At the man who'd broken my heart then, and now trying to earn his way back into it.
What does your gut say?
My gut was silent.
What does your heart say?
My heart was thinking about Matteo.
But it squeezed hard in panic. How could I think of Matteo when Femi was the one in front of me? Begging for a second chance that I have promised him to think about for the past couple of weeks?
"I want to try," I heard myself say, letting him get what he wanted. It was like a muscle memory now. "Again. Properly this time."
Femi's face lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
He pulled me closer, pressed a kiss to my cheek. Warm. Familiar.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I won't let you down this time. I promise."
I smiled. Nodded.
But even as he held me, my mind was elsewhere. Tuscan hillsides. Rain on stone. A voice saying ti amo in the dark.
We left the room together.
Femi's hand found the small of my back as we walked down the corridor—claiming, announcing to anyone watching that I was his.
A figure appeared at the end of the hallway.
Matteo.
He was walking toward us, probably heading to his own room. He wore a simple blue shirt, his hair slightly windswept from the ocean breeze. He looked up as we approached, and his eyes found mine.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, recognition, resignation. Then it was gone, replaced by careful neutrality, a mask sliding into place.
He nodded as he passed. A brief acknowledgment. Nothing more.
My heart stuttered at his coldness and non-reaction. But what did I expect?
Femi's hand pressed harder against my back. He glanced at Matteo, then at me, then forward again. His arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer.
Matteo didn't look back.
I kept walking, but part of me stayed in that hallway. Standing in the space where our eyes had met. Wondering what he'd seen, what he'd thought. If he hated me now.
The welcome party was chaos in the best way.
The hotel had set up a pavilion on the beach, strung with lights that swayed in the breeze and filled with tropical flowers. Music played from hidden speakers. Waiters circulated with champagne and canapés.
Everyone was there. Sebastian and Aria, glowing with pre-wedding joy.
Xavier and Kim, Zoe bouncing between them in a pink sundress.
Evie, looking grown-up and self-conscious in a yellow dress.
My mother, already holding court with a group of Aria's relatives.
My grandmother, sitting in a chair by the water, watching everything with her usual sharp eyes.
"Auntie Belle!" Zoe launched herself at me. "Did you see my dress? Mommy let me pick it myself!"
"It's beautiful, sweetheart."
"I know. I have very good taste."
"Humble, too," Xavier said, appearing behind her with a grin. He pulled me into a hug. "Good to see you, Isa. You look exhausted."
"Thank you so much for that observation."
"I mean it with love." He grinned wider. "Come on. Sebastian wants to make a toast before everyone gets too drunk."
The toast was Sebastian at his finest—heartfelt, eloquent, slightly awkward in the way of people who felt deeply but struggled to show it. He talked about finding Aria, about building a life together, about the family they were creating.
"To love," he finished, raising his glass. "In all its complicated, messy, beautiful forms."
"To love," everyone echoed.
I drank. The champagne was cold and bright on my tongue, perfectly balanced.
Matteo's champagne. I recognized the label from the vineyard.
Of course.
The party continued. I circulated, made small talk, accepted congratulations on the dress from people who hadn't even seen it yet. Femi stayed close, his hand finding mine whenever I stopped moving. Claiming me in small ways, and making sure everyone knew we were together.
I saw Matteo across the pavilion, talking to one of the hotel coordinators. His posture was professional, businesslike. He didn't look my way.
But I felt his presence like a weight.
"You okay?" Naomi appeared at my elbow, a plate of food in her hand. "You look distracted."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She followed my gaze to where Matteo stood. "Wow."
"What?”
"He's hot. I can't believe I'm just now properly noticing that." She took a bite of something fried. "Have you talked to him?"
"We passed in the hallway earlier. He nodded."
"That's it? A nod?"
"That's it."
"Hmm." She chewed thoughtfully. "And how do you feel about that?"
I didn't answer. I didn't know how to.
Femi returned with drinks. His arm slid around my waist again as he handed me a fresh glass. "Having fun?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Good." He kissed my temple. "I'm having fun too. This is nice. Being here with you."
I nodded, smiling stiffly.
Across the pavilion, Matteo glanced our way, and saw Femi's arm around me, the kiss. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Then he looked away, turning his full attention back to the coordinator.
Femi's grip tightened. He'd noticed. He always noticed.
"Who's that?" he asked, his voice casual. Too casual.
I stared at him. "The wine supplier. For the wedding. You've met him before."
"Ah, yes." He nodded slowly. "Seems like he knows you. Quite well."
"Yes, he’s worked with the family before. You know this."
Femi smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course."
The party wound down around ten. Guests drifted off to their rooms, to the bar, to the beach. Sebastian and Aria were the last to leave, wrapped around each other, radiating happiness so intense it was almost painful to witness.
I excused myself from Femi, claiming exhaustion. He kissed my cheek again, promised to see me tomorrow, watched me go with possessive eyes.
I didn't go to my room.
I saw Matteo walking toward the hotel's east wing, and before I could think better of it, I followed.
He turned a corner. I turned after him.
"Matteo."
He stopped, then I watched him turn slowly.
We stood in an empty hallway, the sounds of the party distant behind us. The lighting was soft, and golden. He looked tired. Beautiful, yet unreachable.
I didn't know what to say.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked at each other. All the words I should say—apologies, explanations, confessions—stuck in my throat.
"I see you're working things out with Femi," he said finally, his accent thicker than usual.
I nodded. My voice had abandoned me.
"Bene. I'm glad." He smiled, but it was the saddest smile I'd ever seen, full of resignation. "I hope it brings you the clarity you need."
"Matteo—"
"I should check on the wine delivery." He took a step back, creating distance. "Make sure everything is ready for tomorrow's rehearsal."
"Wait—"
"Goodnight, Bella."
He turned and walked away down the corridor.
I stood in that empty hallway, watching him go, and I didn't understand why it felt like he'd taken something vital with him.
A piece of me.
He'd walked away with a piece of me, and I hadn't even realized it was his to take until it was already gone.