Page 95 of Shattered Oath
"I need some air," I said, standing abruptly. "I'll be right back."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. I just need a minute."
I walked away before he could argue.
The balcony off the terrace was empty, thank God. I gripped the railing and stared out at the ocean, breathing deeply, trying to push down the wave of emotion that had risen during the speech.
Dad.
I hadn't meant to talk about him. Hadn't meant to open that wound in front of everyone. But once I'd started, I couldn't stop. All those feelings I'd kept buried—the grief, the anger, the desperate wish that he could see what I'd become—they'd come pouring out.
And Femi had commented on how I looked.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, willing the tears to stay where they were.
"Bella."
I turned. Matteo stood a few feet away, framed by the doorway. The light from inside caught the angles of his face, the concern in his eyes.
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
He didn't respond. Just walked to the railing and stood beside me, but not too close. He was respecting my space, as he stood there looking out at the water.
The silence stretched between us. Comfortable. Patient. He wasn't filling the air with meaningless words or trying to fix my feelings.
"That was a beautiful speech," he said finally, his accent gentle.
"I didn't mean to—" I stopped. Started again. "I didn't plan to talk about my father."
"The best speeches are the ones we don't plan. The ones that come from here." He touched his chest briefly.
"It felt like too much. Like I was making it about me instead of them."
"You were making it about family. About love. About the people who shape us, even when they're gone." He paused. "That's not too much,Bella. That's truth."
I looked at him. He was still watching the ocean, giving me space to compose myself. Not pushing. Not trying to fix anything.
"My father never believed in me," I said quietly. "He thought I was just... decoration. Something pretty to look at. He never took my work seriously. Never thought I could build something real."
"I know."
"He died before I could prove him wrong."
"I know that, too."
"Sometimes, I wonder if it would have mattered. If he would have changed his mind, or if he would have found some way to dismiss it, anyway. Call it luck. Say I had help. Find some reason why it didn't count."
Matteo was quiet for a moment.
"My father was the same," he said softly. "Always moving the goalposts. No matter what I achieved, it was never enough." He turned to look at me. "He died thinking I would fail. Thateverything I'd built would crumble the moment he wasn't there to hold it together."
"But it didn't."
"No. It didn't." He smiled, but it was sad around the edges. "And some days I think he would be proud, if he could see it. Other days, I think he would find something to criticize."
"How do you live with that? The not knowing?"
