"Of course." His expression was pleasant, neutral. Whatever he'd been about to say had evaporated, replaced by professional courtesy. "Good luck with your show,Bella.I'm sure it will be magnificent."
Bella.Not Isabelle.
Femi's hand pressed slightly firmer against my back.
"We should let you get back to work, yeah?" Femi said smoothly. "Matteo, isn't it? The wine is excellent. Well done."
"Thank you." Matteo's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Enjoy the evening."
Femi guided me away, back toward the staging area where my team was waiting. I glanced over my shoulder once. Matteo had returned to his bottles, examining labels with more intensity than strictly necessary.
"Who was that?" Femi asked, voice carefully light.
"The wine supplier."
"You seemed friendly."
"He gave me olives. That's hardly a scandal."
"Hmm."
I stopped walking abruptly, and turned to face him. "Femi. I told you not to come tonight."
"You did."
"And yet, here you are."
"Here I am." He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I couldn't stay away, Issy. Sue me."
I should have been annoyed. Part of me was annoyed. But another part—the treacherous part that remembered what it felt like to be loved by Femi Davies—was pleased. He'd come.Despite what I said. He'd come because he wanted to support me.
"You can stay," I said finally. "But don't distract me. I have work to do."
"I'll be invisible. You won't even know I'm here."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
He grinned. "Probably wise."
The show went well.
Better than well—it went brilliantly. The pieces photographed beautifully, the lighting cooperated, and Naomi closed the runway looking like a goddess in an emerald dress that complemented her skin so beautifully it made people gasp.
Donations exceeded our goal by forty percent. People were writing checks before the models had even finished their final walk.
Afterward, in the chaos of congratulations and champagne and air kisses, Femi found me.
"You were incredible," he said, materializing at my elbow like he'd been watching, waiting for his moment.
"I didn't do anything. The clothes did the work."
"You made the clothes. Take the compliment, Isabelle," Femi said, his voice was firm, brooking no argument.
I let myself lean into him, just for a moment. Just long enough to catch my breath. Exhaustion was catching up with me. The adrenaline crash after a successful launch, the comedown after running on pure nerves for hours.
"Take me home?" I asked.
"With pleasure."
