I didn't answer. I couldn't.
He nodded slowly, understanding settling over his features. Picked up his jacket from where he'd draped it over a chair.
"Fine," he said, his accent clipped now. His emotion bleeding through the polish. "Take your break. Figure out what you want." He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. He looked back at me. "But don't take too long, Isabelle. I won't wait forever."
The door closed behind him with a definitive click.
Morning came slowly.
I'd barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I replayed the conversation with Femi. His face when I said the word "break," the tightness in his jaw, the door closing with finality.
Had I made the right choice?
I didn't know. I only knew that something had been building for weeks, a pressure in my chest, a wrongness I couldn't name, a misalignment that kept getting worse. And last night, it had finally found words.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand. It was Aria.
"Morning." Her voice was bright. Too bright for how early it was. "Did I wake you?"
"No. I've been up for a while."
"Good. Listen, I need a favor. Are you free today?"
"Depends on the favor."
"The wine selection for the wedding—we've realized we don't have an option for guests who can't drink the reds we chose. Allergies, sensitivities, whatever. Matteo mentioned he has a few lighter options at his tasting room, but someone needs to go select one."
My stomach tightened. "Can't Sebastian do it?"
"Sebastian is in back-to-back meetings all day. And you have the better palate, anyway." She paused. "Please? It's just a quick trip. An hour at most."
I could say no. Make an excuse. Claim I had somewhere else to be, something more important.
But Aria was asking, and the request was reasonable, and saying no would require an explanation I wasn't prepared to give.
"Fine," I said. "Send me the address."
The tasting room was small and elegant—exposed brick, wooden shelves lined with bottles, a long counter where samples were arranged with careful precision. Late morning light streamed through the windows, catching dust motes in the air, making everything look soft and golden.
Matteo looked up when I walked in. He was behind the counter, arranging glasses, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing those forearms I'd been trying not to think about.
"Bella."His face lit up, surprise and pleasure flooding his features. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Aria sent me. Something about lighter options for guests who can't have the reds."
"Ah, yes. She mentioned that might be needed." He gestured to a stool at the counter. "Sit, please. I'll show you what I have."
I sat, trying to ignore how my pulse had quickened the moment I saw him. He moved along the shelves with graceful efficiency, selecting bottles with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything was.
"How have you been?" he asked, his back to me.
"Busy. Wedding things, you know."
"Of course." He returned with three bottles, set them on the counter between us. "These are what I'd recommend. A Pinot Grigio, a Vermentino, and a rosé. All light, all easy to drink, all good for people who find reds too heavy."
He uncorked the first bottle and poured a small measure into a glass, then slid it toward me.
"The Pinot Grigio. Crisp, clean, hints of citrus. Very refreshing."
