Page 68 of Shattered Oath
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?"
