Page 59 of Shattered Oath
I kept walking, not trusting myself to respond.
"I was busy with work. That's not an excuse, I know. But the move to New York has been more complicated than I expected, and I got overwhelmed, and I handled it badly." He paused. "I knew how important the boutique was to you. I thought... I thought giving you space to focus on it was the right thing."
I stopped abruptly. Turned to face him on the sidewalk, forcing a couple to go around us.
"You thought disappearing for a week was giving me space?"
"I thought?—"
"I needed you." The words came out harder than I intended, sharp enough to cut. "I called you in the middle of a crisis, exhausted and overwhelmed and barely holding it together, and you gave me a lecture. Then you vanished. No calls. No visits."
His jaw tightened. "I know. I got it wrong."
"You got it very wrong."
"I know." He stepped closer, closing the distance between us. "I'm sorry, Issy. Truly. I should have been there. I should have called. I should have shown up at your door instead of sending flowers."
"Yes. You should have."
"I'll do better." His hand came up, hovering near my face, not quite touching. "If you give me another chance, I'll do better. I swear it."
The streetlight caught his eyes, turned them warm and earnest. He looked sincere. He sounded sincere.
But sincerity wasn't enough. Not anymore.
"If we're going to make this work," I said slowly, "you need to be present. Not texts. Not gifts. Be present. When I need you, you show up. When something goes wrong, you answer your phone. When I call you in the middle of a crisis, you listen first and strategize later. Can you do that?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
"I mean it, Femi. Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I can keep this one." He reached out and took my hand. Squeezed once. "Let me prove it to you."
I looked at him for a long moment. At the face I'd loved at seventeen. At the man who'd broken my heart and came back asking for another chance.
My feet hurt. The night was getting colder. And I was too tired to keep fighting.
"Fine." I pulled my hand free. "Take me home."
His smile was triumphant, just for a moment, before he smoothed it into something softer.
"Thank you."
We walked back toward where his car was undoubtedly waiting. He offered his arm; I didn't take it. Kept my hands to myself, maintained the distance.
But I let him drive me home through the late-night streets.
It was a start. Whether it was the right start remained to be seen.
12ISABELLE
Sebastian's townhousesmelled like fresh flowers and anxiety.
Aria had been rearranging the living room since I arrived—moving vases, adjusting pillows, repositioning the coffee table by inches that made no discernible difference. Sebastian watched from the doorway with the expression of a man who had learned not to interfere.
"The lilies are wrong," Aria announced. "They're too tall. They're throwing off the whole room."
"The room looks fine," Sebastian said carefully.
