Page 54 of Shattered Oath
A week passedin a blur of fabric and phone calls and carefully ignored messages.
The Milan boutique demanded everything I had. Inventory systems to finalize. Staff to train. Display arrangements to perfect. I spent twelve-hour days on my feet, adjusting mannequins, reorganizing racks, making sure every single detail met my standards before I could leave it in someone else's hands.
Femi's texts arrived like clockwork.
Thinking of you.
I hope the boutique is going well.
I miss you, Issy.
Then the gifts started. Flowers delivered to my hotel. A silk scarf in my favorite shade of blue. A first edition of a book I'd mentioned loving years ago, back when we were young and I thought he hung the moon.
I didn't respond to the texts. I sent the flowers to the staff break room. The scarf stayed in its box. The book... the book I kept. I wasn't made of stone, after all.
But I didn't see him. Not once.
Part of me was still angry—the part that remembered the crushing silence, the lecture instead of comfort, the way he'd shown up at my boutique opening like grand gestures should fix everything. Grand gestures were easy. Anyone with money could send flowers. Xavier's voice echoed in my head like a ghost:I don't think he's the right one for you.
But another part of me wondered if I was being too harsh. People made mistakes. People got busy. If he'd come to me himself, shown up at my door instead of sending gifts through delivery services, maybe I would have softened. Maybe by the third try, I would have let him in.
He hadn't, though. He'd stayed away, and I'd let him.
Now I was flying to New York, and there would be no avoiding him there. He was part of the wedding party after all. Woven into the fabric of my family's life whether I liked it or not. I wondered how he’d make things right. Knowing Femi, it would be another grand gesture rather than a heartfelt apology.
I let out a long sigh and stared out the airplane window at the clouds below and tried to form a plan. Would I ignore him? Confront him? Pretend everything was fine until I figured out what I actually wanted?
The uncertainty sat heavy in my chest. I'd always known my own mind. I'd built a career on decisive action, on trusting my instincts, on never second-guessing myself once a choice was made.
But this wasn't fabric or seating arrangements. This was my heart, and my heart had apparently decided to stop cooperating.
My apartment in New York was a rental in the West Village. Two bedrooms, high ceilings, a kitchen I barely used. I'd never seen the point of buying when I was rarely here—London was home, had been since I'd opened the first boutique. New York was just a place I passed through.
The space felt empty when I let myself in. Quiet in that particular way of places that aren't really lived in. I dropped my bags by the door and stood in the middle of the living room, letting the silence settle.
My phone buzzed.
Femi.
I heard you landed. Welcome back. Can I see you?
I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then I set the phone face-down on the counter and went to take a shower.
He was going to have to do a lot more than that.
The Kealoha Foundation offices occupied the top floor of a building in Midtown. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Central Park. The furniture was modern, expensive, chosen to impress. Aria had built this from nothing—a passion project that had grown into something real, something that mattered.
I found her in the main conference room with Priya and Nalani, surrounded by wedding magazines and fabric samples. Priya was the foundation's operations manager—sharp, efficient, the kind of woman who made things happen through sheer force of will. Nalani handled the community outreach programs, all warmth and easy charm.
"Finally!" Aria jumped up when she saw me. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."
"Traffic." I hugged her, then Priya and Nalani in turn. "Where are the girls?"
"School." Aria made a face. "They both begged to skip. Zoe actually tried to fake a fever this morning. Kim wasn't having it."
"And Evie?"
"Evie informed me, very seriously, that she's twelve and perfectly capable of providing valuable input on wedding dresses." Aria laughed. "She's not wrong, honestly. She has better taste than most adults I know."
