Kylian
The car ride home from the gala was quiet, Isabella's hand still in mine, the city sliding past the windows in smears of light neither of us was really watching.
"You should tell me the rest of it," I said finally. "Whatever you didn't want to say back there."
She was quiet for a moment, looking down at our joined hands rather than at me. "Vanessa said something else. Right before those two women walked in."
"What."
"She said she wasn't sure she meant it, when she told me she was sorry for my loss." Isabella's voice had gone very careful, the tone she used when she was choosing each word deliberately instead of letting them come naturally. "Her own words, Kylian. Standing in a bathroom, telling a stranger she wasn't sure she meant her own grief. Then she said we were close once
