The Romano Bride

Chapter 13

ISABELLA

I took my time getting ready. Not because I wanted to impress Daniel or I wanted to look beautiful. But because I needed armor.

The maroon dress slid over my skin like liquid wine — rich, deep, and heavy with meaning. It hugged my waist, skimmed my hips, and fell just above my knees. Elegant. Mature. Final. I paired it with a set of heels. I hadn’t worn one in years — slender, sharp, the kind that made my legs look endless and my posture unbreakable.

Then came the hardest part. I slipped off the engagement ring Adrian had given me. The metal felt warm from my skin. Too warm. Too intimate. Too heavy with everything I didn’t want to think about. I set it on the vanity. The absence on my finger felt like a bruise.

Instead, I chose simplicity — diamond studs, a delicate necklace, a matching bracelet. Nothing that screamed taken. Nothing that whispered belonging. I let my hair down, soft waves falling over my shoulders.

When I stepped out of my room, Mara paused mid-stride. Her eyes widened — just a fraction — but for her, it was practically a gasp. “You look…” She searched for a word. “…beautiful.”

I smiled softly. “Thank you.”

"Are you meeting Mr. Salvatore?"

"No."

Mara nodded, but she didn’t ask where I was going. She simply watched me walk toward the elevator with a look I couldn’t decipher — admiration, worry, maybe both.

The garage was quiet, the Porsche gleaming under the lights like a shadow waiting to move. I slid inside, the leather cool against my skin, and drove into the city.

The restaurant rose like a jewel in the heart of Manhattan — glass, gold, and soft lighting spilling onto the sidewalk. Le Jardin Noir. One of the most expensive places in the city. Daniel always liked nice things.

I arrived thirty minutes early. Of course, I did. I needed the time to breathe. The hostess led me to a table by the window, the city glittering beyond the glass. I sat, smoothing my dress, trying to steady my heartbeat.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Wine. Red. The best one you have.”

She blinked. “The— the best?”

“Yes.” She nodded and hurried away.

When the glass arrived, I didn’t sip it. I gulped it. The warmth hit my chest instantly, loosening something tight inside me. I set the empty glass down and lifted my hand. “Another,” I said.

The waiter hesitated. “Of course.” I didn’t care about the price. I didn’t care about anything except the fact that I needed courage — liquid or otherwise — to get through tonight.

Because how was I supposed to break the heart of a man who had only ever shown me kindness? Daniel had been gentle when the world wasn’t. Patient when I was afraid. Respectful when others weren’t. Loving when I didn’t know how to be loved. He deserved better than this.

Better than me.

Better than the life I was trapped in.

I stared into the second glass of wine, watching the deep red swirl like blood and regret. How do you end something that never hurt you? How do you walk away from someone who never gave you a reason to leave? How do you break a heart that once helped heal yours?

My throat tightened. I took another long drink. Tonight, I would do it. I would end it and... let him go. Even if it shattered me in the process.

**

Daniel arrived exactly on time. I saw him before he saw me — stepping through the entrance in a navy coat, hair slightly wind‑tousled, scanning the room with that familiar, earnest smile. The moment his eyes landed on me, the smile faltered. Then softened. Then broke into something warm and aching.

“Isabella,” he breathed.

He crossed the room quickly, almost tripping over a chair in his rush. When he reached me, he leaned in — aiming for my lips out of habit, out of memory, out of love — but I turned my head just enough that his kiss landed on my cheek. He froze for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to feel it. Just long enough for me to feel it too.

“You look…” He swallowed. “Beautiful. God, I’ve missed you.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the table.

Adrian. Calling.

My stomach twisted. I hit cancel without hesitation.

Daniel didn’t seem to notice. He helped me sit— always the gentleman — then took his seat across from mine. We ordered. We talked. We pretended. He told me about work, about Toronto, about the new café near his apartment. I nodded, smiled, laughed when I was supposed to. But my smile felt thin, stretched, fragile.

Halfway through the meal, I set my fork down. “Daniel,” I said softly. “I have something to tell you.”

He grinned, leaning back. “If you’re asking me to marry you, I’ll say yes.”

It was a joke. A sweet one. A familiar one. But I couldn’t smile.

My phone buzzed again. Then again. Three missed calls. A text appeared on the screen.

Adrian: Where are you?

My pulse stuttered. Daniel noticed the vibration, the repeated buzzing, the way I kept flipping the phone face‑down.

“Bella,” he said gently, “you should answer that. It might be important.”

I shook my head. “It’s not.”

He hesitated, but let it go. I took a breath. A deep one.

“Daniel… we were good together.”

He smiled, nostalgic. “The best. Remember that weekend in Montreal? And the time we got lost hiking and ended up at that tiny diner? And—”

I nodded, but my smile was small. Sad. Already breaking. “I remember,” I whispered. “I remember everything.”

He reached across the table, instinctively, to take my hand. I pulled mine back. His face fell.

“Isabella…?”

I forced the words out before I lost my nerve. “I can’t be with you.”

Silence. Heavy. Crushing. Absolute. Daniel blinked once. Twice. His throat bobbed.

“What do you mean?”

“My family…” I swallowed hard. “They arranged a marriage for me.”

He stared at me like I’d spoken another language. “A marriage,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“And you agreed?” Daniel asked with a frown.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

His jaw clenched, but his voice stayed calm — too calm. “Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Isabella—”

“It’s done,” I said, voice cracking. “It’s not something I can break. Not something I can walk away from. I'm sorry, Daniel.”

He leaned forward, eyes searching mine, desperate for something — a loophole, a lie, a sign that this wasn’t real.

“Bella… look at me.”

I did. And it hurt.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he whispered.

My breath hitched. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t lie like that. So I said nothing.

Daniel exhaled shakily, pain flickering across his face before he forced it down, smoothing his expression into something heartbreakingly composed. He reached for my hand again — slower this time, gentler, like he was afraid I might shatter. I pulled away again. Because if I let him touch me… I might take everything back. I might run. I might break both of us beyond repair.

Daniel sat back, eyes glistening, voice barely steady.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

But nothing about this was okay. Not for him. Not for me. Not for the man whose name kept lighting up my phone.