Page 90 of Shattered Oath
"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.
