What she wanted was to lie in bed for days in a row, staring at the ceiling and letting her heart absorb what had happened.
Joining in on conversation on autopilot, Isabella answered questions as she deemed appropriate, told jokes that didn’t touch the sides of her humour, laughed at other guests’ jokes, until the fireworks went off and there were hugs and kisses and cheers and resolutions.
She took part in it all because it was expected of her and because the charity needed the donations, but she’d never been so glad as when the last of the guests left. It had been great for her reputation, she was certain. The pop star hadn’t stopped sharing photos on Instagram all night, each one tagged with Isabella’s handle, so she’d gained tens of thousands of new followers in the course of a couple of hours. One of the Hollywood stars had asked if she’d come and cater for her birthday in the summer. The night had been an unqualified success, but she wanted it over.
She carried some wine glasses into the kitchen and was returning to the table to collect the remnants of a cheese platter when the wooden doors to the restaurant swished inwards.
Expecting that one of the guests had returned, perhaps having forgotten something, the very last person she expected to see was Gabe Montebello. His eyes pinned her to the spot the second he entered the room. Dressed in a tuxedo, he looked as though he’d been at an incredibly formal event. Her emotions went crazy, rioting through her.
“Gabe.” His name was a whisper on her lips, a weakness before she could bring herself under control, pulling a shield around herself with difficulty.
“How was dinner?”
His voice was thick and raw, gravelled so her knees felt unstable. Her fingers tingled with a yearning to reach out and touch him.
She turned to the table. A couple of the waiters were clearing it now. She moved awkwardly away from it. “A success, I think.” She frowned, her mind racing, her stomach in knots. “Except one guest didn’t show up.”
“He came, just late.”
Her lips parted. Gabe was the mystery last-minute inclusion? Her eyes swept shut. “Why?” A hoarse whisper.
“Joining the dinner seemed like a good idea at first, but then, I worried I would distract you.”
His assessment was accurate.
“Why come at all, I mean?”
“I wanted to see you.”
She shook her head. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not enough time had passed. She hadn’t grown strong enough to see him and pretend she was okay. She scratched her fingernails into her palms.
“I needed to see you.” The correction pounded at her chest.
She moved further away from the table, through the restaurant and towards the windows. Times Square was a hive of activity.
“Why?” A plaintive whisper, a surrender to sadness. She didn’t care that he’d likely heard it.
She was too tired to pretend any more.
“The day you left Villa Fortune…”
“Christmas day,” she reminded him, bitterness etched into her soul. How quickly things had gone from perfection to misery!
“Right.” His voice was hoarse, and came from right beside her. She didn’t turn to look at him. She heard his breathing, rough and uneven. “Everyone was asking me about you. About you and me,” he clarified. “From first thing in the morning, I was being ambushed with questions about what I felt for you, what you meant to me, what my plans were for our future. It was…exasperating and infuriating.”
She bristled, her spine straight, her eyes fixed on the activity below. She wished she were down there, anonymous in the heaving crowd, unseen and alone.
“I got pissed off. Sure, I know they mean well, but my family just drive me crazy sometimes.” She felt him shift; her heart splintered. His voice grew low. “When Nico spoke to me, I was at breaking point.”
She kept her face averted, feeling that everything was at stake. She didn’t want him to know that she’d heard the way he spoke about her.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
Her nerve endings went into overdrive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, looking at him before she could stop herself.
Sympathy softened his features; his voice was low. “Yes, you do. You were in the Morning Room, by the window. You must have heard everything we said.”
Her lips parted. “How did you know?”
“Your video.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “You watched it?”
He didn’t answer her question. “I said whatever I could to make him shut up. I just wanted people to stop asking about us. I didn’t want to have to answer questions, I didn’t want to have to explain anything about you and me to another soul.”
“There was no ‘you and me’,” she said quietly.
He grimaced, reached out for her hand. She stepped away quickly; if he touched her, she’d explode.
“Don’t,” she shook her head quickly.
His sigh was laced with frustration. “I said you didn’t mean anything to me, but that was completely untrue.”
Her heart stammered.
“There was always a risk that things between us would become more complicated. I knew that from the outset.”
She angled her face back towards the window.
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known.”
A ghost of a smile, completely lacking in humour, marred her face. It was a sad smile, a haunted, aching expression. “You don’t have to do this.” She mustered all her strength, ready to say whatever she needed to make him disappear. She wouldn’t let him pity her more than he already did. “I did overhear your conversation, and I’m sorry for that. I wish I hadn’t, but at the same time, it was good for me to know how you feel.” She gnawed at her lower lip. “You’re right. It became complicated. It was easy for me to believe that things between us had changed, that we were more than just…a fling.” The last word wobbled with the heaviness of her heart.
“You fell in love with me.”
Her eyes were huge in
