Page 53 of Shattered Oath
"Thank you."
"The dress was a dream. I've already had hundreds of people commenting on my post, gushing aboutthe Isabelle Dubois.Gosh, the internet works fast." She pulled back, hands on my shoulders. "I'm going to go find more champagne and leave you two alone. Try not to be too awkward."
She vanished into the crowd with a knowing look thrown over her shoulder.
Matteo watched her go. "Your friend is terrifying."
"She's protective."
"I noticed." He turned back to me, and his expression softened. "Congratulations again,Bella. The show was truly beautiful. You should be very proud."
"I am." It felt strange to say it out loud, to claim that pride. "Thank you for coming. And for bringing Sofia. She seems..."
"Intense?"
"I was going to say enthusiastic."
"That's a kind way of putting it." He smiled, that warm private smile I was starting to recognize. "She'll calm down eventually. Maybe in a decade or two."
A laugh escaped me, surprising us both. Some of the tension in my chest loosened.
We stood there for a moment, the noise of the party washing around us. It should have been awkward—after what happened earlier. But somehow, it wasn't. Matteo had a way of making silence feel comfortable.
"How long will you be in Milan?" he asked.
"Another week, maybe. Then I need to go back to New York for my brother’s wedding planning and preparation." I shrugged. "The usual chaos."
He nodded slowly. "And after that?"
"London, probably. The main boutique needs attention. I've been neglecting it."
"You've been busy building an empire."
"Something like that."
Another pause. He was watching me with that careful attention, like he was memorizing my face, the moment.
"Would you be willing to spend time with me?" he asked. "Before you leave Milan. Dinner, perhaps. Or just a walk. Nothing complicated."
"Matteo..."
He chuckled softly, reading everything I wasn’t saying. The sound was warm, resigned, tinged with something bittersweet.
Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. His lips were soft, warm. His stubble scratched lightly against my skin. He smelled like wine and cedar and something uniquely him.
"I know," he said quietly, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. "You have things to figure out and your life is complicated right now. I understand."
His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture was tender, intimate, the kind of touch that meant everything and nothing all at once.
"Figure them out,Bella," he said. "And when you're ready—give me a call." His fingers lingered for just a moment before falling away. "I'll be waiting."
He stepped back slowly, reluctantly. Smiled once more—sad and hopeful and achingly kind.
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd to find his sister and leave my life as quietly as he'd entered it.
I stood there, my cheek still warm where his lips had been, and watched him go.
11ISABELLE
