Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 19:Valentina

Alexander Hawthorne sent me flowers.

Real flowers.

Not an article.

Not a photograph.

Not one of my exaggerated stories designed to irritate Mark.

Actual flowers.

And they were beautiful.

The arrangement arrived at De Luca & Co. just after eleven in the morning.

I had been sitting in a meeting for almost three hours.

The board was discussing projected revenue, expansion plans, investment risks, and the future of our new partnership with Hawthorne Global.

Everyone was talking.

Everyone had an opinion.

And everyone seemed determined to repeat the same information in different words.

I was tired.

My head hurt.

I had not eaten.

Again.

Mark would be annoyed.

He would probably send me a message asking if I had eaten.

Then he would threaten to bring food.

Then he would complain that I worked too much.

But that morning—

Mark had been quiet.

He replied to my messages.

Barely.

And every time I mentioned Alexander, he became even quieter.

Which meant—

My plan was working.

⸻

The conference-room doors opened.

My assistant stepped inside.

“Ms. De Luca?”

The entire room became quiet.

“What?”

“You have a delivery.”

“I’m in a meeting.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you interrupting?”

“It’s important.”

“Is the building on fire?”

“No.”

“Did the company lose money?”

“No.”

“Did someone cancel the investment?”

“No.”

“Then it can wait.”

My assistant hesitated.

Then stepped aside.

Two delivery workers entered the room.

They were carrying a massive arrangement of white roses, red roses, orchids, and lilies.

The flowers were arranged in an elegant glass display.

The entire conference room became quiet.

I stared.

“What is that?”

“Flowers,” my assistant answered.

“I can see that.”

“They’re for you.”

“From who?”

She handed me a card.

I opened it.

The message read:

Congratulations on the partnership, Valentina. I’m looking forward to building something extraordinary with you. — Alexander

I stared at the card.

Then looked at the flowers.

Then looked around the room.

Several board members were smiling.

One of them laughed.

“Well,” he said, “that is quite an impressive business gesture.”

“It’s professional,” I replied.

“Of course.”

“It is.”

“Absolutely.”

Everyone continued smiling.

I narrowed my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.”

I placed the card beside my laptop.

Then looked at my assistant.

“Put the flowers in my office.”

“Yes, Ms. De Luca.”

The delivery workers carried the arrangement out.

The meeting continued.

But I wasn’t paying attention anymore.

I was thinking about Mark.

More specifically—

I was thinking about sending him a photograph.

⸻

Ten minutes later, the meeting ended.

I returned to my office.

The flowers were sitting beside the window.

They were beautiful.

Expensive.

Elegant.

And very large.

Alexander had good taste.

But that wasn’t what interested me.

I picked up my phone.

Then took a photograph.

The flowers filled almost the entire frame.

The card was visible.

I looked at the picture.

Then smiled.

This was going to be fun.

I sent it to Mark.

Me:

Look what Alexander sent me.

The message delivered.

I waited.

Nothing.

One minute.

Nothing.

Two minutes.

Nothing.

Five minutes.

Still nothing.

I frowned.

Mark always replied.

Especially when Alexander was involved.

I sent another message.

Me:

They’re beautiful, aren’t they?

Nothing.

I smiled.

He was ignoring me.

That meant he was irritated.

I sent another message.

Me:

He has very good taste.

Still nothing.

I looked at my phone.

Then typed:

Me:

Do you think I should put them in my bedroom?

The message showed:

Read.

But Mark didn’t reply.

I smiled.

He had seen it.

He was angry.

I leaned back in my chair.

Then looked at the flowers.

They were beautiful.

But the best part was imagining Mark’s expression.

His quiet frown.

His narrowed eyes.

The way he would say:

Why did he send you flowers?

Then pretend he didn’t care.

I picked up the card.

Then read it again.

I’m looking forward to building something extraordinary with you.

It was professional.

Completely professional.

But Mark would probably find something wrong with it.

He always did.

Especially when Alexander was involved.

⸻

My phone vibrated.

Finally.

Mark:

Why did he send you flowers?

I smiled.

There it was.

Me:

To congratulate me.

Mark:

You already received the award.

Me:

He’s congratulating me on our partnership.

Mark:

Why flowers?

I laughed.

Me:

Why not flowers?

Mark:

He’s your business partner.

Me:

Business partners can send flowers.

There was a long pause.

Then—

Mark:

Not flowers like that.

I looked at the arrangement.

Me:

What is wrong with them?

Mark:

They’re too big.

I smiled.

Me:

You think they’re big?

Mark:

Yes.

Me:

You noticed.

Mark:

You sent me a picture.

Me:

You care.

Mark:

No.

Me:

You’re jealous.

Mark:

No.

Me:

You hate Alexander.

Mark:

I don’t know him.

Me:

You don’t like him.

Mark:

He sent you flowers.

I stared at the message.

Then laughed.

Me:

Exactly.

Mark:

Why did he send you flowers?

I smiled.

He had asked the same question twice.

He was definitely jealous.

Me:

Because he likes me.

The typing bubble appeared.

Then disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then disappeared.

Finally—

Mark:

You said he was your business partner.

Me:

He is.

Mark:

Then it’s business.

Me:

Maybe.

Mark:

Valentina.

I laughed.

Me:

What?

Mark:

Stop.

Me:

Stop what?

Mark:

You know what.

Me:

No, I don’t.

Mark:

You’re doing this on purpose.

I smiled.

He finally admitted it.

Me:

Doing what?

Mark:

Talking about Alexander.

Me:

You don’t like hearing about him?

Mark:

No.

Me:

Why?

There was a long pause.

Then—

Mark:

Because.

I leaned closer to my phone.

Me:

Because why?

Nothing.

I waited.

Still nothing.

Then—

Mark:

I’m working.

I laughed.

Of course.

Mark’s favorite excuse.

⸻

I spent the rest of the afternoon working.

I had meetings.

Reports.

Phone calls.

Investment proposals.

But every time I looked toward the flowers, I smiled.

Mark was jealous.

He had finally admitted that he didn’t like hearing about Alexander.

That was progress.

Small progress.

But progress.

At five in the evening, I went home.

I was exhausted.

The day had been long.

My feet hurt.

My head hurt.

And I had barely eaten.

Again.

I entered the house.

Then removed my heels.

I walked toward the living room.

My phone vibrated.

Mark:

Did you eat?

I smiled.

There he was.

Me:

No.

His response came immediately.

Mark:

Why?

Me:

I was working.

Mark:

That isn’t an answer.

Me:

I’m tired.

Mark:

What did you eat?

Me:

Coffee.

There was a pause.

Then—

Mark:

Coffee isn’t food.

Me:

I know.

Mark:

Sit down.

I frowned.

Me:

I am sitting.

Mark:

Good.

Me:

Why?

No response.

I waited.

Nothing.

Then I heard the doorbell.

I looked toward the entrance.

Who was visiting?

I wasn’t expecting anyone.

My driver had already left.

Adam was at his studio.

My father was traveling.

I walked toward the door.

Then opened it.

Mark stood outside.

He was holding several containers of food.

His expression was serious.

Very serious.

He looked—

Angry.

I smiled.

“Hello, handsome.”

“Move.”

I stepped aside.

Mark entered the house.

He walked toward the dining table.

Then placed the food down.

I followed him.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t eat.”

“I know.”

“So I brought food.”

“You came all the way here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t eat.”

I smiled.

“You care.”

“No.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“You left the restaurant to bring me food.”

“Yes.”

“That means you care.”

“It means you need to eat.”

“You’re jealous.”

Mark stopped.

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

“I came because you didn’t eat.”

“You came because Alexander sent me flowers.”

“No.”

“You’re angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You look angry.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re irritated.”

“No.”

“You hate the flowers.”

“I don’t.”

“You hate Alexander.”

“I don’t know him.”

“You hate that he sent me flowers.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You didn’t eat.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You have been asking me about those flowers all day.”

“No.”

“You asked why he sent them.”

“Because they were too big.”

I smiled.

“They were beautiful.”

“They were unnecessary.”

“Alexander has good taste.”

Mark looked at me.

“Do you want to talk about Alexander all night?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“You’re annoying.”

I laughed.

Mark opened one of the containers.

“Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“You said you were hungry.”

“That was earlier.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t food.”

“You said that already.”

“Then eat.”

He placed a plate in front of me.

I looked at it.

Pasta.

Grilled chicken.

Vegetables.

Everything I liked.

I smiled.

“You made this?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“You care.”

“No.”

I picked up my fork.

Then looked at him.

“Alexander sent me flowers.”

Mark closed his eyes.

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Eat.”

“He said they were for our partnership.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“He said he wants to build something extraordinary with me.”

Mark looked at me.

“He wrote that?”

“Yes.”

“On the card?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly did it say?”

I smiled.

“You care.”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because.”

“Because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

I took a bite of pasta.

Then smiled.

“This is good.”

“Eat.”

“Alexander likes pasta.”

Mark stared.

I laughed.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m sharing information.”

“You’re trying to annoy me.”

“Is it working?”

Mark became quiet.

I smiled.

“Is it?”

“No.”

“You look annoyed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re sitting in my house with a bad mood.”

“I came because you didn’t eat.”

“You came because of the flowers.”

“No.”

“You saw the photograph.”

“Yes.”

“You became angry.”

“No.”

“You brought food.”

“Because you didn’t eat.”

“You’re jealous.”

“No.”

I leaned back.

Then looked toward the entrance.

The flowers had arrived at my house earlier.

My assistant had arranged for them to be delivered.

They were sitting beside the window.

Mark looked toward them.

His expression changed.

He stared.

Then looked back at me.

“Why are they here?”

“They’re mine.”

“Why did you bring them home?”

“Because they’re beautiful.”

“They’re taking up half the room.”

“They’re not.”

“They’re huge.”

“You said that already.”

Mark looked at the flowers.

Then frowned.

“They’re unnecessary.”

I laughed.

“You hate them.”

“No.”

“You hate Alexander.”

“No.”

“You’re jealous.”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to throw them away?”

His eyes moved toward me.

“What?”

“The flowers.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because you don’t like them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said they were unnecessary.”

“They’re still flowers.”

“You want me to keep them?”

“That’s your decision.”

“Okay.”

I smiled.

“I’ll keep them.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll put them in my bedroom.”

Mark frowned.

“Why?”

“Because they’re beautiful.”

“Put them somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“They’re too big.”

I laughed.

“You are jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“You want me.”

“No.”

“You care about me.”

“No.”

“You don’t want Alexander near me.”

“No.”

“You don’t want him sending me flowers.”

“No.”

“You don’t want me putting them in my bedroom.”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Mark looked at me.

Then sighed.

“Eat your food.”

I smiled.

That was not a denial.

⸻

We ate together.

Well—

I ate.

Mark watched.

Every few minutes, he told me to take another bite.

I complained.

He ignored me.

Then I asked:

“Do you want to see the card?”

“No.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“You’re curious.”

“No.”

“You want to know what Alexander wrote.”

“I don’t.”

“He said he was looking forward to building something extraordinary with me.”

“I heard you.”

“You remembered.”

“You said it three times.”

“Four.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about Alexander.”

I stopped.

Then smiled.

“You admitted it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You said you don’t want to talk about him.”

“Because you keep talking about him.”

“Because you’re jealous.”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you want to hear about him?”

Mark looked at me.

Then looked toward the flowers.

Then back at me.

“I don’t like him.”

I became quiet.

Mark said it.

He finally said it.

“You don’t like Alexander?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Then why don’t you like him?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Mark sighed.

“He touches you.”

I stared.

“He sends you flowers.”

I smiled.

“He calls you beautiful.”

My smile became wider.

“He stands too close.”

I leaned forward.

“He wants to know you.”

Mark became quiet.

Then looked at his plate.

I stared.

He was jealous.

He had finally admitted it.

Not completely.

But enough.

I smiled.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

“No.”

“You just listed everything Alexander did.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Because he likes me?”

“I don’t know if he likes you.”

“You’re worried that he does.”

“No.”

“You don’t want him to like me.”

“No.”

“You don’t want me to like him.”

Mark looked at me.

Then said quietly:

“No.”

The room became silent.

I stopped smiling.

His answer was different.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t defensive.

It was honest.

He didn’t want me to like Alexander.

My heart became warm.

I looked at him.

“Why?”

Mark became quiet.

Then he stood.

“I should go.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“You ate.”

“Mark.”

“You’re tired.”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“You haven’t finished eating.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You brought food.”

“For you.”

“Stay.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I have work.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I do.”

“Mark.”

He picked up the empty containers.

Then walked toward the door.

I followed him.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Goodnight.”

I stood in front of him.

Then smiled.

“Do you want me?”

Mark stared.

I waited.

He said nothing.

“Do you care about me?”

Nothing.

“Are you jealous?”

Nothing.

I smiled.

“You are.”

Mark opened the door.

Then walked outside.

I followed him.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

He looked at me.

“For the food,” I continued.

“You’re welcome.”

“And for coming.”

“You didn’t eat.”

“I know.”

“And for being jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

I smiled.

“Goodnight, handsome.”

“Goodnight.”

Mark walked toward his car.

Then stopped.

He looked back.

“Valentina.”

“Yes?”

“Eat tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“Don’t work for five hours without food.”

“Okay.”

“And stop talking about Alexander.”

I smiled.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Goodnight.”

He entered his car.

Then drove away.

I stood outside.

Smiling.

Then looked through the window.

The flowers were still sitting beside the table.

Beautiful.

Expensive.

And completely innocent.

Alexander had sent them to celebrate our partnership.

Nothing more.

But those flowers had brought Mark to my house.

They had made him bring me food.

They had made him admit that he didn’t like Alexander.

And most importantly—

Mark had said:

I don’t want you to like him.

It wasn’t a confession.

Not yet.

But it was close.

Very close.

I returned inside.

Then looked at the flowers.

I smiled.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

The flowers were beautiful.

But Mark’s jealousy?

That was much more interesting.