Xavier laughed. "You're asking me for relationship advice? The man who spent ten years avoiding commitment like it was a contagious disease?"
"You figured it out, eventually."
"Kim figured it out. I just got lucky enough to be in the room when she did." His smile faded, serious now. "Look. Femi's my friend. Has been for years. He's a decent guy, and I think he genuinely cares about you."
"But?" I heard the word coming before he said it.
Xavier hesitated. That alone told me everything I needed to know.
"But I don't think he's the right one for you." He said it carefully, like he was handling something fragile. "I've watched you two together, back when we were all in boarding school together, compared that to now. And it's always felt like... like you were trying to fit into something that wasn't quite the right shape. Like you were making yourself smaller to match what he needed."
I wanted to argue. But I couldn't.
"You deserve someone who sees all of you," Xavier continued quietly. "The ambition, the drive, the way you refuse to back down from anything. Not someone who wants the polished version. Not someone who loves the idea of you more than the reality."
My throat was tight. I didn't trust myself to speak.
"But that's just my opinion." He shrugged, the heaviness lifting. "What do I know? I'm just the family disappointment who got lucky."
"You're not a disappointment, Xavier."
"Tell that to Dad's ghost." He grinned, but there was something underneath it. Something we never talked about. "Go mingle with your guests. I'll keep Femi occupied."
He disappeared into the crowd before I could thank him again.
I stood there for a moment, processing everything, feeling the weight of it settle in my bones. Then my gaze drifted across the room.
Matteo.
He was impossible to miss—the only man in a sea of women examining dresses and sipping champagne. He stood near a rackof evening gowns, looking out of place, his hands in his pockets and a slightly overwhelmed expression on his face.
Naomi was talking to him.
No—Naomi was interrogating him. I could tell by the way she stood, weight on one hip, chin lifted, that particular angle she used when she was sizing someone up. I'd shown her his picture from the vineyard's website, back when I'd told her about Florence. She knew exactly who he was.
I crossed the room toward them.
"—and how long have you known Isabelle?" Naomi was asking as I approached.
"A few weeks," Matteo answered. His voice was patient, amused. "We met in New York. At the hotel launch party."
"And you just happened to run into her again in Florence?"
"I live in Tuscany. Florence is an hour away. I was there for business."
"Convenient."
"Geography often is."
Naomi's eyes narrowed, but I could see she was enjoying this. Matteo, to his credit, seemed to be enjoying it too, meeting her interrogation with calm and good humor.
"Naomi." I stepped between them. "Stop terrorizing my guest."
"I'm not terrorizing anyone." She looked genuinely offended. "I'm making conversation. Getting to know yourfriend."
"You're conducting a background check."
"Same thing." But she was smiling now, some tension I hadn't noticed releasing from her shoulders. She pulled me into a hug, tight and brief. "You did good tonight, Isa. Really good. I’m so proud of you."
