Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 9: Valentina

The first thing I felt when the plane landed was relief.

Finally.

After two weeks of meetings, negotiations, presentations, and endless conversations with people who only knew how to talk about numbers, I was home.

And more importantly—

I was going to see Mark.

I had spent fourteen days thinking about this moment.

Fourteen days imagining walking into the restaurant.

Fourteen days imagining the look on his face when he saw me again.

Would he be surprised?

Would he ask where I had been?

Would he admit that he noticed I was gone?

I smiled slightly as I looked out of the car window.

Probably not.

Mark was stubborn.

But I knew him enough now to know that he noticed things.

He noticed when I didn’t eat.

He noticed when I looked tired.

He noticed when I was working too much.

Maybe he noticed when I disappeared.

The thought made me happy.

Ridiculously happy.

I shook my head.

I was Valentina De Luca.

I was not supposed to be this excited about seeing someone.

But I was.

I wanted to see him.

That was all.

Nothing else mattered.

The car stopped outside the restaurant.

My heart beat slightly faster.

I hated that.

I stepped out, adjusted my coat, grabbed my handbag, and walked toward the entrance.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The familiar sound of my heels followed me.

The restaurant doors opened.

And then I stopped.

Because the first thing I saw was not Mark looking surprised to see me.

It was Mark smiling.

At another woman.

My eyes narrowed.

The woman was standing close to him.

Too close.

Her arms were around him.

She was hugging him.

And he was letting her.

I stood there silently for a moment.

The happiness I felt seconds ago disappeared.

Replaced by something else.

Something hot.

Something sharp.

Something I did not like.

Who was she?

Why was she touching him?

Why was she standing that close?

And why was Mark smiling?

I didn’t even think.

I just moved.

I walked toward them.

“Excuse me.”

Neither of them noticed me.

That annoyed me even more.

The woman laughed at something Mark said.

Then I reached out and gently pulled her back.

Not aggressively.

Just enough.

Enough to create space.

She looked at me in shock.

“What?”

I stepped between her and Mark.

“Can you please not touch him in that manner?”

The woman blinked.

“Excuse me?”

I looked directly at her.

“I said, don’t touch my man.”

The entire restaurant became quiet.

I could feel people watching.

I didn’t care.

The woman stared at me.

“Your man?”

“Yes.”

She looked at Mark.

Then back at me.

“What are you talking about?”

I frowned.

“What part of that sentence did you not understand?”

“Valentina—”

I ignored Mark.

“He is mine.”

The woman looked completely confused.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Who are you?”

I lifted my chin.

“Valentina De Luca.”

Her expression changed slightly.

Good.

She knew exactly who I was.

“And you need to take a step back.”

“Valentina.”

Mark’s voice cut through the tension.

I looked at him.

“Stop it.”

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“No?”

“No.”

I turned back to the woman.

“Can you please not stand so close to my man?”

“Valentina—”

“Back.”

I made a small gesture with my hand.

“Please.”

The woman looked at Mark.

“Is she serious?”

Mark looked embarrassed.

Very embarrassed.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

I felt satisfied for half a second.

Then he continued.

“And that is the problem.”

I frowned.

Before I could respond, Mark reached for my hand.

“Come with me.”

“Mark—”

“Now.”

He pulled me away from the restaurant.

⸻

The cold air hit my face the moment we stepped outside.

The alley beside the restaurant was quiet.

The noise from inside faded behind us.

Mark turned toward me.

“What are you doing?”

I crossed my arms.

“Protecting what is mine.”

His expression changed.

“I am not your man.”

I looked at him.

“Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes.”

He stared at me.

“You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“I am not your man.”

I stepped closer.

“Not yet.”

He sighed.

“That is not the point.”

“It is the point.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then what is?”

He looked frustrated.

“You walked into my restaurant and pulled someone away from me.”

“She was touching you.”

“She hugged me.”

“Exactly.”

“Valentina.”

“She was too close.”

“She was saying goodbye.”

I paused.

“Goodbye?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“A friend.”

“A female friend?”

“Yes.”

“Why was she hugging you?”

“Because she was happy to see me.”

I looked away.

That answer did not make me feel better.

Mark ran a hand through his hair.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I didn’t like it.”

“That does not give you the right.”

I looked at him.

“I was gone for two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“And I come back and someone else is hugging you.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Valentina.”

“No.”

I stepped closer.

“I leave for a week—”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks.”

I corrected myself.

“I leave for two weeks and I come back, and someone is already standing close to you.”

Mark stared at me.

“You think I replaced you?”

I hesitated.

“No.”

“But?”

“But I don’t like it.”

He sighed.

“You cannot just claim people.”

“I want you.”

“That does not explain what you did.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does to me.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“I am not a thing.”

I became quiet.

“I am a person.”

His voice softened, but he was serious.

“You cannot walk in and start claiming territory with me.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

Claiming territory.

Was that what I was doing?

I looked away.

I didn’t like the way that sounded.

Because to me, it wasn’t about owning him.

It was about wanting him.

Wanting him to choose me.

Wanting him to look at me the way I looked at him.

But maybe I had forgotten something important.

Mark was not a business deal.

He was not something I could pursue until I succeeded.

He was a person.

“I just…”

I stopped.

Because I didn’t know how to explain it.

Mark shook his head.

“I need to go back inside.”

He turned.

And for some reason, panic rushed through me.

“Mark.”

He kept walking.

I followed.

“Mark.”

He stopped.

I stepped forward too quickly.

And then—

My heel slipped.

Everything happened so fast.

One second I was walking.

The next, my foot twisted.

“Ah—”

Before I could hit the ground, Mark caught me.

His arms wrapped around me.

For a moment, everything stopped.

But the pain in my ankle came immediately.

I winced.

“Ow.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Are you okay?”

I tried to move.

Pain shot through my foot.

“No.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“No?”

“My foot hurts.”

He looked down at my heels.

Then back at me.

“Why in the hell are you wearing these shoes?”

I looked at him.

“Fashion.”

He stared.

“That is not a reason.”

“It is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“They look good.”

“They are dangerous.”

“They are designer.”

“That doesn’t make them comfortable.”

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Because he was right.

Unfortunately.

Mark sighed.

“Can you stand?”

“I can.”

I tried.

Immediately, my face tightened.

“No.”

“I can see that.”

Before I could argue, he bent down and picked me up.

I froze.

“Mark.”

“Don’t move.”

“I can walk.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I am capable.”

“You’re injured.”

“I am not injured.”

“You just said your foot hurts.”

“That does not mean injured.”

He ignored me.

And carried me back inside.

⸻

The restaurant became silent when we entered.

Everyone looked at us.

I noticed.

Mark noticed.

Neither of us said anything.

He carried me toward my usual table.

The table near the window.

The table I had sat at for more than a month.

The table where I had watched him.

The table where I had missed him.

He gently placed me into the chair.

Then he crouched down and looked at my ankle.

“Does it hurt here?”

I looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Can you move it?”

“A little.”

He sighed.

“You need ice.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Valentina.”

The way he said my name made me quiet.

He stood.

“I’ll get ice.”

I watched him walk away.

And for the first time since I entered the restaurant, I forgot about the woman.

I forgot about my jealousy.

I forgot about being angry.

Because Mark had carried me.

Mark had worried about me.

Mark had looked at me like I mattered.

I looked down at my injured foot.

Then toward the kitchen where he disappeared.

Maybe I had been wrong.

Maybe Mark wasn’t someone I could simply want and expect him to belong to me.

Maybe I had to let him choose.

But one thing was still certain.

I wanted him.

And now, after two weeks without seeing him…

I wanted him even more.