Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 20 :Mark

I was becoming possessive.

I didn’t realize it at first.

Or maybe—

I realized it.

I just refused to call it what it was.

Because saying that I was possessive of Valentina meant admitting that I wanted her.

And admitting that I wanted her meant admitting that somewhere between her showing up at the restaurant every day, texting me constantly, bringing her work just so she could see me, and telling me she wanted me—

I had started wanting her too.

That was complicated.

Valentina was complicated.

Everything about her was complicated.

She was loud.

Stubborn.

Demanding.

She wore heels that looked painful enough to be considered weapons.

She interrupted my work.

She refused to eat unless I brought her food.

And every time I told her to stop talking about Alexander, she found a new way to mention him.

Yet—

I kept answering her messages.

I kept asking if she had eaten.

I kept showing up at her house.

And lately—

I had started thinking things that I shouldn’t.

Things like—

I don’t want him around you.

I don’t want anyone around you.

You’re mine.

The thought came so naturally that it scared me.

Because Valentina wasn’t mine.

She had never been mine.

She had spent months telling me that she wanted me.

And I had done everything possible to avoid giving her a clear answer.

But now—

Whenever another man stood too close to her, I became irritated.

Whenever someone called her beautiful, I wanted to disagree.

Not because she wasn’t beautiful.

She was.

That was the problem.

Valentina was beautiful.

She was intelligent.

Powerful.

Successful.

And everyone noticed.

Everyone wanted her attention.

And lately—

I wanted all of it.

I wanted her attention.

Her messages.

Her ridiculous flirting.

Her dramatic complaints.

Her loud laugh.

Her stubbornness.

I wanted her to look at me the way she always did.

Like I was the only person in the room.

But then—

Alexander appeared.

And suddenly, Valentina had another man standing beside her.

Another man touching her arm.

Another man calling her beautiful.

Another man sending her flowers.

And I hated it.

I hated every part of it.

⸻

“Chef?”

I looked up.

One of the waitresses was standing near the kitchen entrance.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been standing there for five minutes.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Work.”

She looked toward the counter.

“You’re holding a spoon.”

“So?”

“You haven’t moved.”

“I’m thinking about the menu.”

“You’re not.”

I frowned.

“Why are you still standing here?”

She smiled.

“Because you look angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“Sure.”

She walked away.

I looked down.

I was holding a spoon.

I placed it on the counter.

Then returned to work.

The restaurant was quiet.

It was late.

Most of the customers had already left.

The waiters were cleaning the tables.

The kitchen was almost finished for the night.

Normally, I liked this part.

The quiet.

The calm.

The moment when everything slowed down.

But that evening—

My phone was too quiet.

Valentina had not texted me.

Not once.

I checked the time.

Nine thirty.

Usually, by nine thirty, Valentina would have sent at least ten messages.

Sometimes more.

She would complain about work.

She would tell me she was tired.

She would ask if I missed her.

Then she would mention Alexander just to annoy me.

But tonight—

Nothing.

I told myself I didn’t care.

She was probably busy.

She had a life.

She had work.

She didn’t need to text me every hour.

Still—

I checked my phone again.

Nothing.

I placed it down.

Then picked it up.

Nothing.

I hated this.

⸻

“Chef Mark.”

I looked up.

The same waitress was standing beside me.

“What?”

“Have you seen this?”

She held out her phone.

“Seen what?”

“This.”

I took the phone.

There was an i********: post.

Alexander Hawthorne’s i********:.

I recognized him immediately.

The photograph showed him standing inside an art gallery.

There were paintings behind him.

Bright lights.

People walking around.

Then—

I saw Valentina.

She was standing beside Alexander.

She wore a black dress.

Simple.

Elegant.

Her hair was down.

She was smiling.

Alexander stood close to her.

Too close.

His hand rested against the small of her back.

I stared.

“What is this?”

“An art exhibition.”

“I can see that.”

“It looks like Adam’s exhibition.”

I looked closer.

Several paintings were displayed behind them.

Adam’s name appeared on one of the signs.

My expression became darker.

“Why is Alexander there?”

The waitress shrugged.

“Maybe Valentina invited him.”

I looked at her.

“Why would she invite him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Chef, I don’t know Valentina.”

I handed the phone back.

Then returned to the counter.

But the image remained in my mind.

Alexander’s hand.

Valentina’s smile.

The way they stood together.

Too close.

The post had thousands of likes.

Thousands.

The comments were worse.

The power couple is back.

#Valex is my favorite business couple.

They look perfect together.

When is the wedding?

Alexander and Valentina are the couple of the year.

I stared.

Then closed the post.

The waitress looked at me.

“People really like them together.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“They’re saying they would make a great couple.”

“Who?”

“Valentina and Alexander.”

“No.”

She blinked.

“No?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

I became quiet.

The waitress smiled.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“You look jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re holding the phone very tightly.”

I looked down.

My hand was wrapped around my phone.

I released it.

“I’m working.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I am.”

She laughed.

Then walked away.

I looked at the i********: post again.

Alexander’s hand was still on Valentina’s back.

Why was he touching her?

Why was she allowing it?

Why was she smiling?

Why didn’t she tell me she was going?

Then—

A thought entered my mind.

You don’t own her.

I frowned.

No.

I didn’t.

Valentina could go wherever she wanted.

She could attend art exhibitions.

She could bring Alexander.

She could smile at him.

She could let him stand close to her.

She could—

No.

I didn’t want him around her.

I didn’t want anyone around her.

I wanted her to myself.

The thought was immediate.

Possessive.

Unreasonable.

And completely honest.

You’re mine.

I stopped.

My heart beat heavily.

Valentina wasn’t mine.

But—

You said you wanted me.

The thought continued.

What changed?

She had spent months telling me that she wanted me.

Every day.

Every conversation.

Every message.

I want you.

I miss you.

You’re handsome.

You’re mine.

She had said all of it.

Then Alexander appeared.

And suddenly, she was standing beside him.

Smiling.

Allowing him to touch her.

Receiving flowers from him.

Going to art exhibitions with him.

What changed?

Why was she spending so much time with him?

Was she tired of waiting for me?

Had she decided that Alexander was easier?

He was rich.

Successful.

Handsome.

He understood her world.

He wore expensive suits.

He attended business events.

He knew how to speak to investors.

He could stand beside Valentina without looking out of place.

And me?

I was a chef.

I worked in a restaurant.

I spent most of my days in a kitchen.

I didn’t understand half the things Valentina discussed.

I didn’t know anything about business partnerships.

Maybe—

Maybe she wanted someone like Alexander.

The thought made my chest feel tight.

I hated it.

I hated him.

I hated the flowers.

I hated the photographs.

I hated the comments.

And I hated that I cared.

⸻

I picked up my phone.

Then opened my messages.

Mark:

Where are you?

The message delivered.

I waited.

Nothing.

Thirty seconds.

Nothing.

One minute.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Hello, handsome.

I frowned.

Mark:

Where are you?

Valentina ❤️:

Why?

Mark:

Answer the question.

Valentina ❤️:

You sound angry.

Mark:

I’m not.

Valentina ❤️:

You are.

Mark:

Where are you?

There was a pause.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

I’m at Adam’s art exhibition.

I looked at the i********: post again.

She was telling the truth.

Mark:

Who are you with?

The typing bubble appeared.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Adam.

I frowned.

Mark:

Who else?

Valentina ❤️:

Why are you asking?

Mark:

Answer me.

Valentina ❤️:

Alexander.

I stared.

Even though I already knew—

Seeing his name made me angry.

Mark:

Why is Alexander there?

Valentina ❤️:

Because I invited him.

My jaw tightened.

Mark:

Why?

Valentina ❤️:

Because he likes art.

Mark:

You invited him?

Valentina ❤️:

Yes.

Mark:

Why?

Valentina ❤️:

Mark.

Mark:

What?

Valentina ❤️:

Why are you asking so many questions?

I stared.

Because I wanted to know.

I wanted to know why she invited him.

Why he was standing so close.

Why his hand was on her back.

Why she was smiling.

Why she hadn’t told me.

Why she was spending time with another man when she had spent months telling me she wanted me.

But I couldn’t say that.

So I typed:

Mark:

I’m curious.

Her response came immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re jealous.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You are.

Mark:

I’m not.

Valentina ❤️:

You saw the i********: post.

I stared.

How did she know?

Mark:

Someone showed me.

Valentina ❤️:

And now you’re angry.

Mark:

I’m not angry.

Valentina ❤️:

You asked where I was.

Mark:

Because you didn’t text me.

Valentina ❤️:

You noticed?

I stopped.

That was not the question.

Mark:

You usually text.

Valentina ❤️:

You missed me.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You missed me.

Mark:

I was checking.

Valentina ❤️:

Checking what?

Mark:

Nothing.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re jealous.

I frowned.

Mark:

Why is his hand on your back?

There was a long pause.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

What?

Mark:

Alexander.

Valentina ❤️:

What about him?

Mark:

His hand.

Valentina ❤️:

You noticed.

Mark:

Why was he touching you?

Valentina ❤️:

Mark.

Mark:

Answer me.

Valentina ❤️:

He was guiding me through the crowd.

Mark:

He could have walked beside you.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re jealous.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You are.

Mark:

I’m not.

Valentina ❤️:

Then why are you asking about his hand?

I stared.

Because I didn’t want him touching her.

Because I didn’t want anyone touching her.

Because—

She’s mine.

I closed my eyes.

No.

I couldn’t say that.

Not yet.

⸻

The messages continued.

And the questions became worse.

Mark:

Are you still with him?

Valentina ❤️:

Yes.

Mark:

Where is Adam?

Valentina ❤️:

Talking to someone.

Mark:

Are you alone with Alexander?

Valentina ❤️:

There are hundreds of people here.

Mark:

That wasn’t my question.

Valentina ❤️:

No.

I became quiet.

Then—

Mark:

What are you doing?

Valentina ❤️:

Looking at art.

Mark:

With Alexander?

Valentina ❤️:

Yes.

Mark:

Is he standing close to you?

There was a pause.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Mark.

Mark:

What?

Valentina ❤️:

Are you interviewing me?

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

Then why are there so many questions?

Mark:

I’m asking.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re jealous.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re very jealous.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You want me.

I stared.

My heart beat once.

Then—

Mark:

Go look at the art.

Valentina ❤️:

You want me.

Mark:

Goodbye.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re jealous.

Mark:

Goodnight.

Valentina ❤️:

I’m still at the exhibition.

Mark:

Then enjoy it.

Valentina ❤️:

Alexander said one of the paintings reminds him of me.

I stared.

Then typed:

Mark:

What painting?

The response came immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

You care.

I deleted my message.

Too late.

She had seen it.

⸻

I placed my phone on the counter.

Then walked toward the kitchen.

I needed to work.

I needed to focus.

I needed to stop thinking about Valentina.

But every few seconds—

My phone vibrated.

Another notification.

Another photograph.

Another video.

People were posting the exhibition.

Valentina and Alexander appeared in several clips.

They were standing together.

Talking.

Laughing.

Looking at paintings.

And the comments—

The comments were everywhere.

#Valex at another event.

The power couple is supporting the arts.

They look so good together.

Alexander looks at Valentina like he’s in love.

Someone tell them to get married already.

I turned off my phone.

Then placed it inside a drawer.

I didn’t want to see it.

I didn’t want to know.

I didn’t want to care.

But I did.

I cared too much.

⸻

“Mark.”

I looked up.

Daniel was standing at the kitchen entrance.

“What?”

“You look angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Valentina?”

“No.”

“Alexander?”

I stared.

Daniel smiled.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You saw the exhibition.”

“I saw nothing.”

“Everyone is posting it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re jealous.”

“No.”

Daniel walked closer.

Then looked toward the drawer.

“Why is your phone inside there?”

“Because.”

“Because you don’t want to see more pictures?”

“No.”

“Because you’re jealous?”

“No.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say you want Valentina.”

“No.”

“Say you don’t want Alexander around her.”

I became quiet.

Daniel watched me.

“What?”

I looked away.

“Nothing.”

“You do.”

“What?”

“You don’t want him around her.”

I said nothing.

“You want her to yourself.”

“No.”

“You’re possessive.”

“No.”

“You’re in love.”

“No.”

Daniel sighed.

“You’re impossible.”

I looked toward the drawer.

Then said quietly:

“I don’t want him around her.”

Daniel became silent.

I realized what I had said.

Then frowned.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“You don’t want Alexander around her.”

“I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because you want her.”

“No.”

“Because you want her to yourself.”

“No.”

“Because you’re jealous.”

“No.”

Daniel crossed his arms.

“Then why don’t you want him around her?”

I became quiet.

Because I wanted her.

Because I wanted her attention.

Because I wanted her messages.

Because I wanted her to look at me.

Because I didn’t want another man touching her.

Because—

She’s mine.

The thought returned.

Stronger.

More certain.

I hated it.

I hated how natural it felt.

Valentina wasn’t mine.

But I wanted her to be.

And that was the truth.

The truth I wasn’t ready to say.

⸻

My phone vibrated inside the drawer.

I ignored it.

Then it vibrated again.

I opened the drawer.

There was a message.

Valentina ❤️:

Are you still angry?

I stared.

Then typed:

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

You are.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

Do you want me to come to the restaurant?

I stopped.

I wanted to say yes.

I wanted her to leave the exhibition.

Leave Alexander.

Come to me.

But I typed:

Mark:

Do what you want.

Her response came quickly.

Valentina ❤️:

I want you.

My heart became still.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

I’ve always wanted you.

I stared at the message.

She had always wanted me.

She had never stopped.

Maybe Alexander was nothing.

Maybe the flowers meant nothing.

Maybe the exhibition meant nothing.

Maybe she still wanted me.

But then—

Why did seeing her with him hurt so much?

Why did I want to pull her away from him?

Why did I want to tell everyone that she was mine?

I typed:

Mark:

Then why are you with him?

The typing bubble appeared.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Because Adam invited both of us.

I frowned.

Mark:

You invited Alexander.

Valentina ❤️:

I invited him because he is our business partner.

Mark:

You didn’t tell me.

Valentina ❤️:

You didn’t ask.

I stared.

She was right.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Would you have come if I invited you?

I stopped.

Would I?

Yes.

I would have.

I wanted to see Adam’s art.

I wanted to stand beside Valentina.

I wanted to be the one walking with her.

I wanted to be the one people photographed.

I wanted—

No.

I wasn’t ready.

So I typed:

Mark:

I’m working.

Her response came immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

That isn’t an answer.

I placed my phone down.

Then walked away.

But the words remained in my mind.

Would you have come if I invited you?

Yes.

I would have.

I would have gone anywhere with her.

I just didn’t know how to tell her.

Because the truth was—

I didn’t want Alexander around Valentina.

I didn’t want anyone around Valentina.

I wanted her attention.

Her time.

Her smile.

Her ridiculous messages.

I wanted her.

And maybe—

Maybe I had wanted her for much longer than I was willing to admit.

But saying it aloud would change everything.

And I wasn’t ready.

So I stayed quiet.

Even while jealousy burned beneath my skin.

Even while the thought continued repeating itself—

You’re mine.

And the worst part?

A part of me believed it.

Even though I had never once told Valentina that I wanted her.