Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 16:mark

I did not sleep well.

That was the first problem.

The second problem was that I knew exactly why.

I kept seeing the same image every time I closed my eyes.

Valentina standing beside Alexander Hawthorne.

His hand resting on her arm.

His body angled toward hers.

The two of them smiling while photographers surrounded them.

He looked comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Like he had known Valentina for years.

Like touching her was normal.

Like standing close to her was something he had the right to do.

And Valentina—

Valentina had smiled.

She smiled at everyone.

She was receiving an award.

She was happy.

She had just announced a major business partnership.

Of course she smiled.

There was nothing strange about it.

There was nothing wrong with Alexander touching her arm.

They were business partners.

They were standing in front of cameras.

They were announcing a new company.

Everything had been professional.

That was what I kept telling myself.

But I still didn’t like it.

I didn’t like the way Alexander looked at her.

I didn’t like the way he leaned close whenever he spoke.

I didn’t like the way he kept praising her.

And I especially didn’t like the way Valentina smiled whenever he said something.

I had watched the entire thing from my seat.

Every time Alexander placed his hand on her arm, something inside me became irritated.

I didn’t know why.

Valentina wasn’t my girlfriend.

She wasn’t my wife.

She wasn’t even officially my date.

I had attended the event as her plus-one.

That was all.

I had gone because she asked.

That was the explanation I had repeated to Daniel.

I was not jealous.

I had no reason to be jealous.

But I had spent the entire night feeling irritated.

And now—

I was tired.

⸻

I arrived at the restaurant before sunrise.

The streets were quiet.

Most businesses were still closed.

The restaurant was dark when I unlocked the door.

I turned on the lights.

Then walked toward the kitchen.

I started preparing ingredients.

Vegetables.

Pasta.

Sauces.

Anything that would keep my hands busy.

I told myself I was tired because I had slept badly.

That was all.

It had nothing to do with Alexander Hawthorne.

Nothing.

I was chopping vegetables when I heard the restaurant door open.

A few employees arrived.

Then more.

Everyone greeted me.

I responded.

But I wasn’t interested in talking.

I wanted to work.

I wanted to forget about last night.

I wanted to stop thinking about Valentina.

And I definitely wanted to stop thinking about Alexander.

Unfortunately—

That didn’t happen.

⸻

An hour later, one of the waitresses rushed into the kitchen.

“Mark!”

I looked up.

“What?”

“Look!”

She was holding several newspapers.

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Look at the cover.”

“I’m working.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You need to see this.”

She placed one of the newspapers on the counter.

Valentina was on the cover.

Of course she was.

She stood on the stage.

The award was in her hands.

Her silver gown reflected the lights.

She looked confident.

Beautiful.

Powerful.

The headline read:

VALENTINA DE LUCA: BUSINESS LEADER OF THE YEAR

I looked at the photograph.

Then I smiled.

She deserved it.

She had worked hard.

She had earned it.

I remembered what I told her.

You earned it.

I still meant it.

“She looks beautiful,” the waitress said.

“Yes.”

“You went with her, right?”

“Yes.”

“You were there?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you on the cover?”

“Because I wasn’t receiving an award.”

She laughed.

Then picked up another newspaper.

“Look at this one.”

“I’m busy.”

“No, look.”

She placed it beside the first.

I looked down.

And immediately regretted it.

Valentina was standing beside Alexander Hawthorne.

They were holding hands.

Not in a romantic way.

At least, I didn’t think it was romantic.

They were standing onstage after announcing their partnership.

Their hands were raised together.

They were smiling.

But the photograph made them look—

Comfortable.

Too comfortable.

The headline read:

THE NEXT BUSINESS POWER COUPLE?

I stared at it.

Then looked away.

The waitress continued reading.

“‘Valentina De Luca and Alexander Hawthorne are expected to become one of the most powerful partnerships in modern business.’”

I continued chopping.

“Okay.”

“‘The two young business leaders have already captured the attention of the public.’”

“Okay.”

“‘With their combined wealth, influence, and ambition, many are wondering whether their professional partnership could become something more.’”

I stopped chopping.

The waitress looked at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You stopped.”

“I’m listening.”

She continued.

“‘The pair looked incredibly close during the award ceremony, leading many to wonder if they could become the next power couple.’”

I picked up the knife.

Then continued chopping.

Harder.

The waitress watched me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’re cutting the vegetables aggressively.”

“I’m cutting vegetables.”

“You’re angry.”

“No.”

“You look angry.”

“I’m not.”

She smiled.

“Are you jealous?”

I looked at her.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You’re holding the knife very tightly.”

“I’m cooking.”

“You’re going to destroy the vegetables.”

“They’re vegetables.”

She laughed.

Then placed another article on the counter.

“Look at this.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You should.”

“No.”

“Look.”

I sighed.

Then looked.

There was another photograph.

Valentina and Alexander were standing together.

Alexander had his hand around the small of her back.

Valentina was smiling.

The headline read:

VALENTINA + ALEXANDER: THE BUSINESS DUO EVERYONE IS WATCHING

Below it was a ridiculous name.

#Valex

I stared at it.

“What is that?”

“Their couple name.”

“They’re not a couple.”

“I know.”

“Then why does it say that?”

“People think they would be good together.”

I frowned.

“They’re business partners.”

“Yes.”

“So why are people calling them a couple?”

“Because they’re both rich.”

“That doesn’t make them a couple.”

“They’re both successful.”

“That doesn’t make them a couple.”

“They’re both attractive.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

The waitress shrugged.

“Alexander Hawthorne is handsome.”

I said nothing.

“He’s rich.”

I continued chopping.

“He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the country.”

I placed the knife down.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She smiled.

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Compliment him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“You look like you care.”

“I don’t.”

“He’s handsome.”

“I heard you.”

“He’s rich.”

“I heard you.”

“He owns several companies.”

“Okay.”

“He’s also very—”

“Can you stop?”

The waitress became quiet.

I realized my voice was louder than I intended.

She stared at me.

Then smiled.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“You don’t like Alexander.”

“I don’t know him.”

“You saw him last night.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He touched Valentina too much.”

The words escaped before I could stop them.

The waitress became silent.

Then her smile became wider.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.”

“Not everyone.”

“He kept touching her arm.”

“They’re partners.”

“He put his hand on her back.”

“They were taking photographs.”

“He stood too close.”

“He was speaking to her.”

“He praised her.”

“She received an award.”

“He smiled at her.”

The waitress stared.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“You’re angry because another man touched Valentina.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You’re angry because people are calling them a power couple.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re holding the knife again.”

I looked down.

I was holding the knife.

Very tightly.

I placed it down.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t.”

“No.”

She picked up the newspaper.

Then smiled.

“I think #Valex is cute.”

I looked at her.

“Don’t say that.”

She laughed.

Then walked away.

I watched her leave.

Then looked at the newspaper.

Valentina and Alexander.

They were smiling.

Holding hands.

Looking comfortable.

The headline was still there.

THE NEXT BUSINESS POWER COUPLE?

I folded the newspaper.

Then placed it beneath several folders.

I didn’t want to see it.

⸻

My phone vibrated.

I looked down.

Valentina.

Of course.

Valentina ❤️:

Good morning, handsome.

I stared at the message.

Normally, I would reply.

She always texted me in the morning.

And I always responded.

Even if my response was only:

Morning.

But today—

I didn’t answer.

My phone vibrated again.

Valentina ❤️:

Did you sleep well?

I looked at the screen.

No.

I didn’t sleep well.

Because I kept thinking about Alexander Hawthorne.

But I wasn’t going to tell her that.

I placed my phone down.

Then continued working.

Five minutes passed.

Another message.

Valentina ❤️:

Mark?

I ignored it.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Are you working?

I picked up the phone.

Then typed:

Mark:

Yes.

Her response came immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

Okay. Are you okay?

I stared at the message.

How did she know?

I typed:

Mark:

I’m fine.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re being strange.

Mark:

I’m working.

Valentina ❤️:

You usually say more than that.

I frowned.

I didn’t.

Did I?

Mark:

I’m busy.

There was a pause.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Okay.

That was all.

No heart.

No flirting.

No handsome.

Nothing.

I looked at the message.

Then returned to work.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

Twenty minutes.

Nothing.

Thirty minutes.

Still nothing.

I looked at my phone.

Why wasn’t she texting?

She always texted.

I shook my head.

I was being ridiculous.

I had ignored her.

Of course she stopped texting.

That was normal.

I continued working.

Then my phone rang.

Valentina.

I stared at the screen.

Then answered.

“What?”

There was silence.

Then—

“Why are you answering like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I did something.”

“You didn’t.”

“You’re upset.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m working.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you calling?”

“Because you’re ignoring me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I replied.”

“You said one word.”

“I was busy.”

“You always reply.”

“I’m working.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

“You sound angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did someone upset you?”

“No.”

“Are you tired?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

That was a lie.

I slept.

Just not well.

“Then why are you acting like this?” she asked.

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“You are.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“I’m working.”

There was silence.

Then she said quietly:

“Okay.”

Her voice changed.

She sounded disappointed.

I didn’t like it.

But I still didn’t know what to say.

I wasn’t going to tell her:

I saw the newspaper.

Or:

I don’t like Alexander.

Or:

I didn’t like him touching you.

That would sound ridiculous.

Valentina could speak to anyone she wanted.

She could work with anyone.

She could stand beside anyone.

I had no right to be angry.

So I stayed quiet.

Then she asked:

“Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

The call ended.

I placed the phone down.

Then looked at the kitchen.

Everything was quiet.

The staff was working.

Orders were coming in.

But I couldn’t focus.

Valentina had sounded sad.

And I didn’t like that.

I picked up my phone.

Then opened our conversation.

I typed:

I’m sorry.

Then deleted it.

I typed:

I’m tired.

Then deleted it.

I typed:

I saw the article.

Then deleted it.

What was I supposed to say?

I’m upset because your business partner touched your arm?

No.

I don’t like that people are calling you and Alexander a power couple?

No.

I didn’t like the way he looked at you?

Definitely not.

I placed the phone down.

Then returned to work.

But the feeling remained.

I was irritated.

Confused.

And angry for reasons I couldn’t explain.

I didn’t know what I was feeling.

Maybe it was jealousy.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I wasn’t Valentina’s boyfriend.

I had never told her I wanted her.

I had spent months denying that I cared.

I couldn’t suddenly become jealous.

That didn’t make sense.

But when I remembered Alexander’s hand on her arm—

I became irritated again.

And when I remembered the newspaper—

I became even more irritated.

Especially the stupid hashtag.

#Valex.

I hated it.

I hated the photographs.

I hated the articles.

And I hated the idea that people thought Alexander Hawthorne would be good for Valentina.

Because they didn’t know her.

They didn’t know that she forgot to eat when she was busy.

They didn’t know that she worked until she fell asleep.

They didn’t know that she wore dangerous shoes and refused to admit they hurt.

They didn’t know that she could be loud and stubborn.

They didn’t know that she sent too many messages.

They didn’t know that she said I miss you repeatedly until someone answered.

They didn’t know the Valentina I knew.

Alexander knew the businesswoman.

I knew—

Valentina.

And somehow—

That made the entire thing worse.

Because I didn’t want someone else to know her the way I did.

I didn’t want Alexander to become important to her.

I didn’t want him standing beside her.

I didn’t want him touching her.

And I definitely didn’t want the world calling them a power couple.

But I didn’t tell Valentina any of that.

I gave her the cold shoulder.

I answered with one word.

I told her I was fine.

Then I returned to work.

Because I was Mark.

And apparently—

I was an i***t