But it squeezed hard in panic. How could I think of Matteo when Femi was the one in front of me? Begging for a second chance that I have promised him to think about for the past couple of weeks?
"I want to try," I heard myself say, letting him get what he wanted. It was like a muscle memory now. "Again. Properly this time."
Femi's face lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
He pulled me closer, pressed a kiss to my cheek. Warm. Familiar.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I won't let you down this time. I promise."
I smiled. Nodded.
But even as he held me, my mind was elsewhere. Tuscan hillsides. Rain on stone. A voice sayingti amoin the dark.
We left the room together.
Femi's hand found the small of my back as we walked down the corridor—claiming, announcing to anyone watching that I was his.
A figure appeared at the end of the hallway.
Matteo.
He was walking toward us, probably heading to his own room. He wore a simple blue shirt, his hair slightly windswept from the ocean breeze. He looked up as we approached, and his eyes found mine.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, recognition, resignation. Then it was gone, replaced by careful neutrality, a mask sliding into place.
He nodded as he passed. A brief acknowledgment. Nothing more.
My heart stuttered at his coldness and non-reaction. But what did I expect?
Femi's hand pressed harder against my back. He glanced at Matteo, then at me, then forward again. His arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer.
Matteo didn't look back.
I kept walking, but part of me stayed in that hallway. Standing in the space where our eyes had met. Wondering what he'd seen, what he'd thought. If he hated me now.
The welcome party was chaos in the best way.
The hotel had set up a pavilion on the beach, strung with lights that swayed in the breeze and filled with tropical flowers. Music played from hidden speakers. Waiters circulated with champagne and canapés.
Everyone was there. Sebastian and Aria, glowing with pre-wedding joy. Xavier and Kim, Zoe bouncing between them in a pink sundress. Evie, looking grown-up and self-conscious in a yellow dress. My mother, already holding court with a group of Aria's relatives. My grandmother, sitting in a chair by the water, watching everything with her usual sharp eyes.
"Auntie Belle!" Zoe launched herself at me. "Did you see my dress? Mommy let me pick it myself!"
"It's beautiful, sweetheart."
"I know. I have very good taste."
"Humble, too," Xavier said, appearing behind her with a grin. He pulled me into a hug. "Good to see you, Isa. You look exhausted."
"Thank you so much for that observation."
"I mean it with love." He grinned wider. "Come on. Sebastian wants to make a toast before everyone gets too drunk."
The toast was Sebastian at his finest—heartfelt, eloquent, slightly awkward in the way of people who felt deeply but struggled to show it. He talked about finding Aria, about building a life together, about the family they were creating.
"To love," he finished, raising his glass. "In all its complicated, messy, beautiful forms."
