°MATEO'S POV°

The private room at GlassDoor Gourmet looked exactly like the one my mother used to insist on years ago; intimate, dimly lit, with heavy velvet drapes blocking the rest of the restaurant and a single round table centered under a low chandelier that threw soft gold across the crisp white linen.

It seems perfect for her and Isabella also loves this place.

I had chosen it on purpose. Not just to impress my parents; though that was part of it but to make Isabella feel safe, seen, important. She was a guest tonight too. More than a guest. She was the reason I had spent the last hour...