Vows of Glass
Chapter Three: The Taste of Almost
By Adele G. Orenzo
Dimitri stood alone in the gallery, staring at the sculpture she'd created. He didn't need a translator to know what it meant — love, broken mid-air, suspended but never forgotten.
And in that frozen space between forgiveness and farewell, he made a silent vow:
He wouldn't lose her again. Not this time.
---
Three nights later, a note arrived at Arabella's penthouse. No flowers this time. No velvet box. Just a small, handwritten card on heavy white cardstock:
> Dinner. Rooftop. 8 PM. Come if you still want answers. — D
She should've ignored it. Burned it. But her hands didn't move the way her mind told them to. Instead, she found herself in front of her mirror at 7:42 PM, staring at the woman she'd become — scarred, dazzling, dangerous.
The dress she picked was deep emerald silk. Slit high. Neckline low. War armor in couture.
"I'm not going for him," she told her reflection. "I'm going for the truth."
But her heart... it whispered otherwise.
---
The rooftop restaurant glittered like something out of a dream — candlelit tables, soft jazz playing, and the city lights painting everything gold.
Dimitri was already there, standing as she arrived, looking criminally good in a charcoal-gray suit. His eyes darkened when he saw her.
"Arabella," he said, like the name had been stuck in his throat.
She walked past him, graceful and untouchable. "If this is your version of an apology, it's wearing a tux."
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "No. This is just dinner."
They sat. For a moment, the silence between them felt like an old song neither of them remembered how to sing.
"You look beautiful," he said.
She arched a brow. "Try originality."
"I wasn't aiming for clever. Just honest."
The waiter arrived. She ordered red wine. He looked surprised.
"What?" she asked. "You think heartbreak made me a saint?"
He chuckled softly. "No. I think it made you even more dangerous."
The food came — untouched. Conversation tiptoed around everything real.
Until it didn't.
"Why did you leave me like that?" she asked, suddenly.
His eyes dropped. Then lifted again, stormy and open. "Because I was scared of what loving you could cost you."
She blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"
"My family... they weren't just wealthy. They were dirty. My father was being investigated. I thought if I cut ties, kept you clean, you could build your empire without being dragged into the shadows I was born into."
Arabella stared at him. "You thought ghosting me was noble?"
"I thought it would save you."
"You didn't even give me a chance to choose. You decided for me. You ripped us apart and left me bleeding — so what? I could be successful without you?"
His jaw clenched. "Yes."
"Then congratulations," she snapped. "You got what you wanted."
Silence.
Then he leaned in. Eyes locked. Voice low.
"I never stopped loving you, Bella."
God. The way he said her name — it wasn't fair.
Her breath hitched. Her heart — traitorous thing — stuttered.
"You don't get to say that now."
"I have nothing left to lose anymore. Except you."
She looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time, she saw the cracks. The guilt. The hunger. The man he used to be, and the man sitting before her now — both begging for a second chance.
His hand reached across the table.
Fingers brushed hers.
Fire.
She didn't pull away.
Not at first.
Then she did.
"Don't mistake nostalgia for a second chance," she whispered.
She rose. Her chair didn't scrape — it floated, graceful even in pain.
Dimitri stood too. "Bella—"
"No. You wanted me to be strong without you? I did that. I became her. So don't come back now expecting the girl you left."
He nodded slowly, but his eyes screamed something else. "I see her. And I see the woman she became. I want both."
Arabella paused at the edge of the table. The skyline behind her. Her silhouette, a goddess in silk.
"I haven't decided yet," she said softly.
"Then I'll wait."
She turned.
But not before glancing over her shoulder — just once.
And when she was gone, all Dimitri could do was sit back down, heart pounding, soul aching, the scent of her still wrapped around the night air.
Because that taste of almost?
It was sweeter than anything he'd ever known.
---
But the story didn't end with her exit.
Arabella didn't go home. Not immediately. Her driver circled the city while she stared out the window, fingers trembling slightly on her lap.
The truth. The damn truth had cracked something open.
For three years, she'd told herself he left because he didn't care. That she wasn't enough. That she'd always be disposable in a billionaire's world.
But now?
Now the truth was messier. Real. Human.
It didn't excuse what he did. But it changed the weight of the wound.
Her phone buzzed.
Sophie: You okay?
Arabella hesitated before typing.
> No. But I'm not falling apart either.
She hit send. Then typed again.
> And I don't know what scares me more — that I still want him. Or that I never really stopped.
She didn't send the second message.
Not yet.
---
Back on the rooftop, Dimitri sat there long after the candles went out.
Memories swirled like smoke — the first time he kissed her on a balcony in Santorini. The way she fell asleep during old movies. Her obsession with rain-scented candles and late-night pancakes.
She was in his blood. Had never left.
A shadow moved behind him.
The waiter.
"Sir, shall I close your bill?"
He blinked. Nodded.
As he pulled out his wallet, something fell from his coat pocket — a small, worn photo of Arabella laughing beside him years ago. Back when things were simple. Back when he thought love was enough.
He picked it up slowly. Stared at it like a promise he'd once broken.
Then quietly, he tucked it into his pocket again.
Because this time?
He wasn't giving up.
As the night wore on, Dimitri's mind replayed every moment of their dinner. Every word. Every glance. He knew he'd hurt her, but he also knew he couldn't give up. Not yet.
He walked out of the restaurant, into the cool night air, and made a decision.
He'd wait for her. For as long as it took.
Because Arabella Monroe was worth fighting for.
And he was ready to fight.
The city lights blurred around him as he walked, his heart beating with a newfound sense of purpose.
He'd win her back. No matter what it took.
As he disappeared into the night, the rooftop restaurant's lights flickered back to life. The staff began to clean up, their whispers and laughter carrying on the wind.