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The next week, Dante stayed gone.

But I always knew exactly what he was doing. With Isobel posting every waking minute on Instagram, it would've been hard not to.

The two of them at a spa in a private villa. At a beach at sunrise, their silhouettes against the sky. Hand in hand in infinity pools. Candlelit dinners.

Scrolling through her feed, I saw a version of Dante I'd never met. Turns out, he could act like a man in love.

I hadn't been idle either. There was too much in the apartment. It took days to clear it out.

I found time to drop by my parents' place and tell them I was leaving for Milan—to join a medical research team. That I wouldn't be reachable for a long while.

My father looked thrown. "You and Dante are getting married in two weeks. You're seriously going to do long-distance?"

My mother took my hand, worry etched into her face. "Nina, think about this. You and Dante have come so far. I'm scared that if you leave for research, he'll lose it. He might call off the wedding. He might leave you—"

I understood where they were coming from.

They'd watched me chase after Dante for decades. They'd seen how he responded to me, too.

Once, gently, they'd suggested I reconsider. Said maybe I didn't mean as much to him as I thought. I'd shrugged it off back then. I was certain I could change him. Certain I could win him over.

They never pushed again.

But this time, the one calling it off was me.

I told them, and for a long time they didn't speak.

I didn't mention Isobel's pregnancy. Didn't mention the baby. I couldn't bear to put that on them. I just said I wanted to go back to medicine. Said I wanted to contribute to something real.

Finally, my father sighed and rested his hand on my shoulder. "As long as you don't regret it."