Page 107 of A Perfect Fit

She snuggles closer against my chest. “I owe you an explanation for the whole Oliver thing as well.”

I shake my head. “You don’t owe me an explanation for anything.”

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay,” I say. “If you’re ready to.”

She takes a deep breath. “Oliver broke up with me over text after six years without giving a reason and ghosted me afterward.”

Blood rushes to my ears. What the fuck? Six years, and that fuckhead ended it over a text?

“He’s a coward,” I say through gritted teeth.

“It was the reason why I wanted to bring a fake boyfriend to the reunion,” Isabelle explains. “I wanted to show him I’d moved on.”

I’m relieved my original theory about Isabelle having feelings for her shitty ex is incorrect, but the way he treated her is unacceptable.

“That night in Chicago, I ran into him in the lobby on my way to the pharmacy,” she continues, confirming my suspicions of what happened that night. “He said a bunch of crap, but he also told me he broke up with me because I was working too much on my business and he felt it meant I couldn’t prioritize him or the relationship.”

My nostrils flare at what that piece of shit told Isabelle. I should’ve thrown another punch at him in Chicago for what he did and said to Isabelle.

“He’s full of bullshit,” I say. “He only said that because his fragile ego couldn’t handle the idea of you having a successful business.”

“Yeah,” Isabelle says. “I guess I was shocked. I never saw him as that kind of person when we dated.”

“People can do a good job at hiding their true colors,” I say. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“I guess.”

“And I meant it when I said if Oliver ever gives you more crap, I’m not going to let it go,” I add.

“I know.” There’s a smile in her voice.

We cuddle together in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. If I had the ability to stop time, this is a moment I’d want to pause and never let go of.

Isabelle glances up at me. “I want to learn more about you. Did you always want to work in marketing?”

I hesitate. I’ve never told anyone about wanting to pursue architecture as a career, not even Aaron or Lucy. I figure it’s easier to keep everything bottled up, to simply let people think that I’m happy to be the CEO of Carter Marketing Solutions. Most people I come across just think my working at my dad’s company was my dream anyway; no one has ever questioned it.

But Isabelle’s opened up to me tonight, and I want to share parts of myself I’ve kept hidden, too.

“It’s somewhat complicated,” I finally say. “Growing up, I always assumed I’d work at Carter Marketing Solutions, like my dad. What you were saying about your mom … I can relate because my dad always had high expectations of me, growing up, and he expected I’d follow his footsteps. So, I went to business school, like he wanted me to, and worked in marketing after graduation before coming back to New York to work at his company. But if I were to choose a dream career, it would be … architecture.”

I never brought up architecture school to Dad either. I always thought he’d be disappointed in me if I told him I wanted to do something else.

“I can definitely picture that,” Isabelle exclaims, looking up at me.

“Really?” My lips break into a small smile. I’m not sure how I expected her to react.

“Yeah,” Isabelle replies. “I love those architectural photos on your Instagram, and when we were at the hotel in Chicago, you kept studying the architecture.”

My brain latches on to the first part of what she said. “Are you finally admitting to stalking me, Isabelle?”

She shoves my bicep. “Hey, that was only for research purposes.”

“Sure, only research,” I say. “If you told me you were flying to Mars tomorrow, I’d believe that more.”

She pushes me again. “As if you never stalked my account either.”