He paused for a beat. "Is there something else bothering you? You seem... tense."
I was tense. But not for the reasons I could explain to him. Not for the reasons I fully understood myself.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just tired, like I said."
"Okay." He picked up his fork. "Then let's eat. The food here really is exceptional."
We ate. We made conversation. He told stories and I laughed in the right places. To anyone watching, we probably looked like a happy couple enjoying a romantic dinner.
But something had shifted. I could feel it in the space between us, in the way his words landed slightly off-target, in the way my responses came a beat too late.
He talked about his work. I thought about wine spilling on my lip.
He made plans for our future. I wondered what Matteo was doing right now.
He reached for my hand across the table and I let him take it, but didn't squeeze his hand back.
After dinner, he drove me home. He walked me to my door, kissed me softly, lingeringly, in a way that was clearly meant to lead somewhere.
"Can I come up?" he murmured against my mouth.
I shook my head. "Not tonight. I have an early morning."
"You always have an early morning," he muttered, almost sounding petulant.
"Then you should be used to it by now," I said, looking at him pointedly.
He pulled back. Studied my face. "Is everything okay with us?"
"Everything's fine."
"You'd tell me if it wasn't?"
"Of course."
He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Femi."
I let myself into my apartment and closed the door behind me and stood there in the darkness for a long moment.
Starting things with Femi again had seemed right at the time. Familiar. Safe. A return to something I understood.
But I didn't understand this. The disconnect. The way he heard something different than what I said. The way he made plans without asking and called it care. The way he'd gripped my waist in Sebastian's dining room like I belonged to him, like I was his property.
I thought about Matteo's hand on my face. The way he'd asked permission with his eyes before he touched me. The way he'd stepped back the moment Femi appeared, giving me space to make my own choice.
Two different men. Two different ways of wanting.
I pulled out my phone. Scrolled to Matteo's name.
My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling.
Then I set the phone down and went to bed.
Some decisions were too big for midnight. They needed daylight and clarity, and courage I didn't have yet.
But as I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the city hum outside my window, I already knew what I was going to do.
