My grandmother burst into tears, which I’d only seen twice in my entire life. My mother started hugging everyone within reach, even people she didn’t know, spreading joy like it was contagious. Someone ordered more champagne, bottles appearing as if by magic. Zoe ran in circles shouting, "I'm gonna throw flowers! I'm gonna throw SO MANY flowers!"
Sebastian had found his person. Xavier had found his family. They deserved this. Both of them. After everything they'd been through, every mistake and misstep and moments of doubt, they deserved happiness.
I was happy for them, genuinely and overwhelmingly happy. And if I was being honest, I was slightly relieved. Two weddings meant my grandmother would be occupied for months. The questions about my future, my love life, my timeline, the pointed comments about my biological clock, all of it would be aimed elsewhere now. I could breathe. I could hide in plain sight while they focused on my brothers.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw him watching me.
Femi stood at the edge of the celebration, champagne glass in hand, his eyes locked on mine across the crowd. A part of me, thefoolish, childish part wanted him to approach and sweep me off my feet like he always did.
And the more sensible part, the part that had survived heartbreak once, knew the right thing to do was to stay away. My only prayer was that the sensible part would win this battle.
2ISABELLE
I fledto London the next day.
Fled was a strong word. I’d say I packed my bags at a reasonable speed, arrived at the airport and got on the jet all at reasonable speed.
I stared at my phone for a suspicious amount of time last night. I was surprised when Femi didn’t call, but also slightly relieved. Only God knows what would have happened if he had in fact called. What I would have said or done, and how quickly I would have crumbled.
I felt like myself on the ride from City Airport to Chelsea. The London traffic was its usual nightmare, but the familiar chaos soothed me. I watched the city slide past my window. Gray skies, red buses, people hurrying along rain-slicked pavements with their heads down and their umbrellas up. This was my city. My territory. I was safe here.
That sense of safety remained temporary, though. It would last only until Femi chased me here, which I had a feeling he would. He was persistent, which was one of the things I liked about him, and something I’d come to hate because it made me weak.
“We’re here, Miss Dubois,” I heard the driver say as he pulled into the private drive.
I shook my head to clear it, smiled at him through the rearview mirror and climbed out. For a brief moment, I paused on the pavement and just stared at my white stucco townhouse. I’d purchased it after my first three years in fashion. I didn’t exactly need the seven bedrooms, the long garden or the family room as I rarely entertained. But I’d fallen in love with it the first time I laid eyes on it.
It was home. The first home that was truly, completely mine.
I pushed the black lacquer door open and stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent. Linen spray and the faint ghost of Naomi’s perfume and mine. “Honey, I’m home,” I called to the empty hallway, my voice echoing off the high ceilings.
I dropped my bag on the white center table and kicked my shoes off, my feet aching with relief. The marble floor was cool beneath my stockings.
“Hey,” Naomi’s tall frame descended the stairs, her footsteps light despite her height. She joined me in the living room and pulled me into a tight hug. “You’re back early.”
Naomi had the kind of beauty that made people stop on the street and stare. Six feet tall without heels, dark skin that glowed, cheekbones that could cut glass. We'd met five years ago at a fashion show in Paris. I was still rising then, desperate to get my pieces on the right bodies, and to be seen by the right eyes. She was struggling to get booked, caught in that brutal space between "not famous enough" and "too beautiful to be taken seriously."
I'd asked her to model my collection. She'd said yes before I finished the sentence. We'd been inseparable since. Roommates, business partners, the kind of friends who didn't need to explain themselves to each other.
“I am,” I said, struggling not to let the events of the previous day seep into my voice. I could feel her eyes on me, reading me the way she always did. I wandered into the kitchen to avoid Naomi's questioning gaze, making a show of checking the mail on the counter.
“Isa…” I heard her follow after me. “You have a secret, don’t you?”
I said nothing. What could I say that wouldn't sound insane?I kissed my ex-boyfriend last night and now I can't stop thinking about his beard?
I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine, a Malbec I’d been saving for no particular occasion. It was a few minutes to six, which was a perfectly reasonable time for wine.
Except we both knew that wasn't why I was opening it.
I reached for a glass in the upper cabinet and poured a generous amount.
“Okay… what is going on?” Naomi’s dark eyes were practically peering deep into my soul, reading all the things I wasn’t saying. “You’re acting strange.”
I grabbed another glass and poured her some wine. “You’ll need a drink for this one.”
“Oh, God. Do I need to sit?”
I nodded. “Yep. It’s a doozy.”
