Page 74 of Shattered Oath
But another part—a larger, louder part—remembered why I'd asked for space in the first place.
"We're supposed to be on a break," I said quietly but firmly.
"I know. I know we are. I just needed to hear your voice, Issy."
"Femi—"
"I'm not pushing, I swear. I just... I miss you, Isabelle."
The silence stretched between us. I could hear the party behind me—laughter, music, the clink of glasses.
"I'm going to hang up now," I said.
"Wait—"
"Don't call me again until the break is over. You know I’m leaving for Milan after the bridal shower. We can revisit this after."
"Isabelle—"
"Goodbye, Femi."
I ended the call before he could respond, before I could waver. Stood there for a moment, staring at my phone, at his name still on the screen.
Had I made the right choice? Maybe I should have talked to him longer. Maybe I was being too harsh, too unforgiving. Maybe the break was a mistake and I was throwing away something real for reasons I couldn't even fully articulate.
But I couldn't think about that now. Aria's bridal shower was happening, and I needed to be present for her, not drowning in my own confusion.
I slipped my phone back into my clutch and returned to the party.
The afternoon unfolded in a blur of champagne and laughter.
We ate delicate finger sandwiches, fruit tarts, and a cheese board that disappeared within minutes. We danced—someonehad made a playlist of Aria's favorite songs, and soon the rooftop was full of women swaying and spinning under the string lights.
Then came the gifts.
Aria sat in her decorated chair while we piled boxes in her lap one by one. She opened each one carefully, exclaiming over silk robes and scented candles and a set of lingerie that made her turn bright red while everyone hooted with laughter.
"This is from all of us," Kim said, handing her a large flat box. "Open it last."
Aria lifted the lid carefully. Inside was a photo album—leather-bound, embossed with her and Sebastian's initials. The pages were filled with pictures we'd collected. Aria and Sebastian at charity events. At family dinners. Candid shots someone had captured when they weren't looking—his hand on her back, her head on his shoulder, the way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching.
Aria's eyes filled with tears.
"You did this?" She looked around at all of us. "All of you?"
"Kim's idea," Priya said. "We just contributed photos and terrible commentary."
"I'm going to cry. I'm definitely going to cry." She was already crying, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "I love you all so much. Thank you. For everything. For this whole perfect day."
"You deserve it," I said, my own throat tight. "Every bit of it."
"Group hug!" Nalani announced.
We descended on Aria in a tangle of arms and perfume and laughter. Someone knocked over a champagne glass. Someone else stepped on my foot. It didn't matter.
This was what mattered. This moment. These women. This celebration of love and friendship and new beginnings.
The sun has finally set. The string lights glowed brighter against the darkening sky. Guests started to leave—hugs and air kisses and promises to see each other at the wedding.
