19. Isabelle
The morning of the wedding arrived wrapped in golden light.
I woke up early, too restless to sleep, and stood at my window watching the sun rise over the endless ocean. The sky shifted from pale pink to orange to a blue so bright it hurt to look at.
Today.
Today, my brother was getting married. Today, Aria would walk down the aisle in the dress I'd made. Today, everything would change.
And I still hadn't talked to Femi. Or Matteo.
I'd tried. After the rehearsal dinner, I'd looked for Femi to tell him the truth. But he'd been surrounded by Xavier and Sebastian and a group of groomsmen, celebrating, laughing, and I couldn't pull him away without causing a scene.
Then this morning, he'd texted: Can't wait to see you today. I have something special planned.
Something special. The words sat in my stomach like stones.
I needed to find him before the ceremony. Needed to end this properly, kindly, before whatever he had planned made everything worse.
But the day had other ideas.
Aria needed me in her suite by seven. Hair, makeup, photographs. The dress. A hundred small crises that required my attention—a loose bead, a wrinkled veil, a bridesmaid who'd forgotten her shoes.
By the time the ceremony approached, I hadn't had a single moment alone.
The venue was breathtaking.
White chairs arranged on a cliff overlooking the ocean. An arch covered in tropical flowers—plumeria, orchids, birds of paradise. The afternoon sun cast everything in gold, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and blooming things.
Guests filled the seats. I spotted my mother in the front row, already dabbing at her eyes. My grandmother beside her, sitting ramrod straight, her expression unreadable as always. Kim and Zoe a few seats down, Zoe bouncing with excitement in her flower girl dress.
And Matteo.
He was seated near the middle, on the groom's side. Our eyes met as I took my place at the back with the other bridesmaids.
Longing. That's what I saw in his face—longing and resignation, like he'd already accepted defeat.
I wanted to go to him. Wanted to cross the aisle and take his hand and tell him everything.
But the music was starting.
The bridesmaids walked first. Then the groomsmen. Then Zoe, scattering petals with aggressive enthusiasm, making everyone laugh.
And then… Aria.
She appeared at the end of the aisle, and the whole world went quiet.
The dress was perfect. Better than perfect. The silk caught the light like water, flowing around her as she moved with liquid grace. The bodice fit like it had been sculpted to her body. The train whispered against the ground behind her.
But it wasn't the dress that made everyone gasp. It was her face—the radiance, the joy so pure it was almost painful to witness.
Sebastian made a sound beside me—something between a laugh and a sob. I glanced at him. Tears were already streaming down his cheeks, his composure completely shattered.
Aria reached the altar. Took Sebastian's hands in hers.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," he whispered back, his voice cracking with emotion.
The officiant began to speak, but I barely heard the words. I was watching my brother—stoic, responsible, always-in-control Sebastian—cry openly as he looked at the woman he loved.
I thought about our father. How he'd never see this. How he'd never know the man Sebastian had become, the love he'd found, the family he was building.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe we didn't need his approval anymore. Maybe we could build our own legacy, separate from his expectations, his disappointments, and his inability to see us clearly.
The vows were personal, heartfelt. Aria promised to always laugh at Sebastian's terrible jokes. Sebastian promised to never complain about her forty-seven throw pillows. The guests laughed through their tears.
I looked at Matteo.
He was watching me.
Something passed between us—an entire conversation in a single glance. I wanted to mouth the words, to tell him across the crowded ceremony that I'd figured it out, that I knew what I wanted, that it was him. It had always been him.
But then, the officiant was pronouncing them husband and wife, and Sebastian was kissing Aria, and everyone was cheering, and the moment slipped away.
The reception was held in the hotel's grand ballroom, transformed into something out of a fairy tale. More flowers, more candles, more of that golden light that seemed to follow this day everywhere.
I tried to get to Matteo three times.
The first time, my mother intercepted me. "Isabelle, darling, come meet Aria's aunt. She wants to discuss commissioning a dress for her daughter's wedding."
The second time, one of the bridesmaids grabbed my arm in panic. "The bustle is stuck. Aria needs you immediately."
The third time, Femi appeared at my elbow.
"There you are." He slid his arm around my waist, pulling me close. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"Femi, I need to—"
"Dance with me first. Please." His eyes were bright, eager. "I've been waiting all day for this."
He led me to the dance floor before I could protest. The band was playing something slow, romantic. He pulled me into his arms, and we swayed together like we had a hundred times before.
Over his shoulder, I saw Matteo watching from across the room.
Our eyes met. Held for one painful moment.
Then someone moved between us, and he was gone.
"You look absolutely beautiful," Femi murmured against my ear. "The most beautiful woman here."
"Aria's the bride."
"Aria's lovely. You're stunning." He pulled back to look at me, his expression suddenly serious. "Isabelle. These past few weeks, trying again with you... it's been everything I hoped for. Everything I've wanted since I let you go the first time."
"Femi—"
"Let me finish, please." He took a breath. "I know we've had our struggles. I know I haven't always been what you needed. But I'm willing to work on it. To be better. To give you everything you deserve."
The music swelled around us. I saw people watching, smiling at what they assumed was a romantic moment.
No. No, no, no. I knew what was coming. He was about to do it again. He knew he was losing, and just like Switzerland, the only way he could think of to keep me was the promise of forever. But he didn’t know that I was already gone.
I wasn’t his to keep.
"Since we're trying again properly," Femi said, his voice rising so others could hear, "why don't we just take the leap and go all the way?"
He released me. Dropped to one knee.
The room went silent.
From somewhere to my left, I heard Xavier's voice: "Oh, come on. Not this again."
Sebastian laughed. "Okay, Kim, you can bring out the wedding dress now."
Kim's laughter rang out. "Don't tempt me!"
But I couldn't laugh. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Femi was looking up at me, a velvet box open in his palm. The ring was beautiful—a large diamond, elegant setting, exactly the kind of thing I would have chosen for myself.
"Isabelle Dubois," he said. "Will you marry me?"
The room held its breath.
I saw my mother's hand pressed to her chest. My grandmother leaning forward. Xavier and Sebastian exchanged glances. Kim's smile froze as she noticed my expression.
And Matteo.
He stood near the wine display, far enough away that I could barely see his face clearly. But I saw his eyes—sad, resigned, accepting. A smile that didn't reach them, that looked like goodbye.
He thought he'd lost me.
"Yes," I heard myself say.
The word came out before I could stop it. My mouth moving on autopilot, my brain screaming no while my body betrayed me with muscle memory and social conditioning.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't humiliate him in front of everyone. Couldn't reject him publicly for the second time, after that garden in Switzerland, after everything we'd been through.
So I said yes.
The room erupted. Cheers, applause, congratulations shouted from every direction. Femi slid the ring onto my finger and stood, pulling me into his arms, kissing my cheek.
"You've made me the happiest man alive," he whispered against my skin.
I smiled. Nodded. Let him spin me around while people clapped and cheered.
Over his shoulder, I watched Matteo turn and walk away, his silhouette disappearing through the crowd.
The next few minutes were a blur. People hugging me. Congratulating me. My mother crying happy tears. My grandmother studying me with those sharp, knowing eyes that saw everything.
"Are you happy?" she asked quietly, taking my hands in hers.
I couldn't answer.
The band started playing again. Femi pulled me onto the dance floor for our first dance as an "engaged couple." His arms around me, his smile triumphant, his voice warm as he talked about wedding dates and honeymoon destinations and the life we'd build together.
I let him hold me. Let him spin me around the floor. Let him believe, for a few more minutes, that this was real.
Then I stopped moving.
"Femi."
"What is it, darling?"
"I can't do this."
His smile faltered. "Can't do what? Dance?"
"This." I stepped back, creating necessary space between us. "The engagement. The wedding. Any of it."
"Isabelle—"
"I said yes because I couldn't say no in front of everyone. Because you proposed to me once before, in that garden in Switzerland, and I broke your heart, and I didn't want to do that to you again in front of all these people."
My voice was steady, quiet enough that only he could hear. "But I can't marry you, Femi. I'm so sorry."
I slid the ring off my finger. Pressed it into his palm.
He stared at it. Then at me, comprehension dawning slowly.
"Is there someone else?"
"Yes." There was no point lying. "But that's not why.
Even if there wasn't... we're not right for each other anymore.
Maybe we were once. Maybe if the timing had been different, if we'd been different people, things would have worked.
But we've both changed, and we want different things, and I can't pretend otherwise. "
Femi was quiet for a long moment. His jaw worked. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"I really did love you," he said finally, his voice rough.
"I know. I loved you too. Just... not the way you needed. Not the way you deserved."
He nodded slowly, accepting it. Then he pulled me into a hug—tight, brief, final. A proper goodbye.
"I'll always love you, Issy," he murmured against my hair. "I hope you find what you're looking for. I truly do."
He kissed my cheek. Squeezed my hand once.
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing through the ballroom doors without looking back, leaving me standing alone on the dance floor.
I found him near the wine display, just as I'd expected.
He was standing with his back to the room, adjusting bottles that didn't need adjusting. His shoulders were tense, his movements mechanical, controlled.
"Matteo."
He turned slowly. His expression was carefully neutral, guarded.
"Bella." His eyes dropped to my hand. No ring. Something flickered across his face—confusion, hope, fear. "I see congratulations are in order."
"They're not."
"What?"
"I said yes because I didn't want to humiliate him. Not again. Not after the first time, in Switzerland." I stepped closer. "But I gave him back the ring. It's over. For good this time."
Matteo stared at me. "You gave it back?"
"I had to. Because I couldn't marry him when I'm in love with someone else."
Silence stretched between us.
The party hummed around us—music, laughter, the clink of glasses. But in this corner, by the wine display, the world had narrowed to just the two of us.
"Bella..." His voice was rough, uncertain, afraid to hope.
"I love you." The words came out clear and strong, no hesitation. "I should have said it in Tuscany. I should have said it a hundred times since then. But I was scared, and confused, and I didn't trust myself to know what I wanted."
"And now?" His eyes searched mine.
"Now I know." I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. "I want you, Matteo. I want lazy mornings at the vineyard and dinner with your mother and wine tastings in the cellar. I want to build something with you. Something real and lasting."
His fingers intertwined with mine. His eyes were bright, searching my face.
"You're sure? Completely sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
He exhaled. A sound of relief, of release, of something finally breaking free after being held too long.
"Ti amo, Bella." He cupped my face in his hands with infinite tenderness. "I have loved you since that first night in New York, when you stood in the wine bar and told me my Sangiovese was acceptable."
I laughed through sudden tears. "I said it was excellent."
"You said it was acceptable. I remember every word." He smiled—that soft, private smile I loved so much. "I have been waiting for you. I would have waited forever."
"You don't have to wait anymore."
"No," he agreed, his accent thick with emotion. "I don't."
He kissed me.
Soft at first, then deeper. His hands in my hair, my arms around his neck, the taste of wine and joy and finally, finally, finally on our lips.
The party continued around us. Music played. People laughed. Somewhere, Sebastian and Aria were dancing their first dance as husband and wife.
But in this corner, by the wine display, I kissed the man I loved, and nothing else mattered.
Nothing else had ever mattered.
Just this.
Just him.
Just us.