Page 49 of Shattered Oath
She disappeared into the crowd before either of us could respond, moving with purpose toward the display racks.
And then it was just us. Standing amid the chaos, the noise, the celebration.
Matteo smiled. "She's not subtle."
"I noticed."
"She thinks she's being helpful. Giving us space."
"Is she?"
He tilted his head, considering, his dark eyes searching mine. "I haven't decided yet."
We stood there. The silence between us stretched, filled with everything we weren't saying. The vineyard. The rain. the almost-kiss that had haunted me for two days.
I scrambled for something to say. Anything.
"So. How's the vineyard?"
The words left my mouth and I immediately wanted to take them back.How's the vineyard?I'd been there two days ago. I knew exactly how the vineyard was.
Matteo's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "The vineyard is well. Thank you for asking."
"Good. That's good. Vineyards should be... well."
Stop talking. Stop talking immediately.
"The grapes are growing," he continued, clearly enjoying my discomfort, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The vines are... vining. Very productive. Excellent vineyard behavior all around."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"I'll tell them you said so. They'll be pleased. The grapes especially. They're very sensitive to feedback."
I was about to open my mouth to speak when I felt someone standing behind me.
"Issy."
10ISABELLE
I knewwho it was before I turned around.
That voice. The way he said my name—Issy—like it belonged to him. Like I belonged to him.
Femi stood there with a bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. His suit was immaculate, charcoal gray, perfectly tailored to his shoulders. He looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine spread. He looked like everything I'd wanted for the past week.
And I had absolutely nothing to say to him.
My body betrayed me anyway. The anger I'd been nursing, the hurt, the righteous indignation—it all dissolved the moment his eyes met mine. He was here. After days of silence, after the phone call that had left me hollow, after everything—he was standing in my boutique with flowers in his hands and that look on his face.
The one that saidI'm sorryandI need youandplease forgive meall at once.
I turned to Matteo. His expression was careful, neutral, but something flickered behind his eyes. He'd seen Femi. He understood.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice tight. "I need to—we can talk later."
"Of course." His voice was steady. Warm. "Go. Take your time."
I walked toward the fitting room without looking back. My heels clicked against the floor, too loud, too fast. The crowd parted around me, and I heard the whispers start—who was that man, why was she leaving, what was happening—but I didn't stop.
