Page 39 of Shattered Oath
"Here." He opened a door to reveal a bedroom that looked like something from a magazine. White linens, exposed beams, a window that would overlook the valley in daylight.
Matteo gestured to a door. "The bathroom is through there. I'll find you something dry to wear."
He disappeared and returned a moment later with a stack of clothes—soft cotton pants, an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of him.
"Thank you," I said, taking them from him. "For everything today. The tour, the winemaking lesson, the dinner. All of it."
"It was my pleasure,Bella. Truly." He smiled, but there was something careful in it now. Restrained. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
I stood in the middle of the room, still dripping, still feeling the ghost of his fingers on my cheek, the heat of his body when we'd been pressed together in the rain.
The bathroom was warm, the water hot. I stood under the spray and tried to make sense of the day, of everything I was feeling.
My hand drifted to my lips. I touched them, remembering how close he'd been. How easy it would have been to lean forward, to close the distance.
What was that?
I barely knew Matteo. We'd met three times, spent maybe fifteen hours together total. He was kind and charming and beautiful, but that didn't mean anything. I was with Femi. Trying to be with Femi. Whatever this was, it was just... proximity. Loneliness. The flattery of being looked at by someone who seemed to actually see me.
I liked Femi. I did. Even if he hadn't called. Even if he didn't understand what I needed. We had history. We had a future we were trying to build.
This thing with Matteo was nothing. A distraction. A moment that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been vulnerable and far from home.
I turned off the water and dried myself with a towel. Put on the clothes Matteo had given me. The sweater swallowed me whole, the sleeves falling past my fingertips.
I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. The sheets smelled like lavender and the sun, and something else I couldn’t identify.
The house was quiet.
Then—footsteps in the hallway.
My heart jumped. I lay perfectly still, listening.
The footsteps stopped outside my door that seemed to stretch for hours.
Silence. Long, weighted silence.
I heard him exhale. A slow breath, like he was steadying himself. Deciding something.
Then the footsteps continued, fading down the hall.
A door opened and closed in the distance.
I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, my pulse thrumming in my throat.
When I finally slept, I dreamed of vineyards and rain and warm hands brushing hair from my face.
I dreamed of Matteo.
8ISABELLE
I wokeup feeling at peace.
Sunlight streamed through the window, warming my face. Birds were singing somewhere outside—actual songbirds, not the pigeons that screamed at each other on my London windowsill. The air smelled like fresh earth and something floral I couldn't name, sweet and delicate.
This place had a way of making you forget. Every worry, every stress, every phone that hadn't rung—it all felt distant here, like problems that belonged to someone else entirely.
