Page 55 of Shattered Oath
We set up in the fitting area I'd had prepared in the conference room. Now, it looked like a private room with good lighting and a three-way mirror. Aria stepped behind the screen to change while I laid out my tools. Pins. Measuring tape. The notebook where I kept all my adjustments.
"So," Aria called from behind the screen. "How are things? Really?"
"Things are fine. The Milan boutique is running smoothly. The team there is excellent."
"I wasn’t asking about the boutique, Isa."
I smiled despite myself. "I know."
She emerged in the base layer of her dress—a silk sheath that would serve as the foundation for everything else. Clean lines, elegant drape, deceptively simple. I circled her slowly, assessing the fit with a critical eye honed by years of practice.
"Arms up."
She obeyed, lifting them gracefully. "You're avoiding my question."
"I'm working." I knelt to check the hemline, running my fingers along the raw edge. "Turn slowly, please."
"Isabelle."
I sighed and sat back on my heels. "Femi is on the back burner for now. I haven't seen him since Milan."
"But he's been trying?"
"Texts. Gifts. The usual."
"And you're not responding."
"I'm thinking." I stood and made a note in my book—left side, half inch. "The bodice needs to come in half an inch on the left. You've lost weight."
"Wedding stress." Aria watched me in the mirror, her expression knowing. "What about the dashing Italian?"
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "There's nothing going on between us."
"No?"
"No. We're friends. Barely even that—we've met maybe four times total."
"Mm-hmm." The sound was pure disbelief.
I looked up. She was smiling that knowing smile, the one that said she didn't believe me for a second.
I looked up sharply. She was smiling that knowing smile, the one that said she didn't believe me for a second, that she could see right through me.
"I'm serious, Aria."
"I know." She patted my shoulder. "Now tell me what you think about the sleeves. I'm second-guessing the lace."
We spent the next hour on adjustments. Sleeves. Neckline. The way the train would fall when she walked. Priya and Nalani offered opinions from the sidelines, and slowly the conversation drifted to other things.
"Sebastian is driving me insane," Aria announced while I pinned the waistline. "He's obsessed with the wedding details. Completely, utterly obsessed."
"That doesn't sound like him."
"I know! I expected to handle everything myself. Most men want nothing to do with planning—just show up and say the words, that's all they care about." She shook her head. "Not Sebastian. He has opinions about the napkin colors. The font on the invitations. The specific variety of roses for the centerpieces."
"He always was particular."
"Particular is one thing. Waking me up at three in the morning because he suddenly realized the seating chart puts his business partner too close to an ex-girlfriend is quite another."
