Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 12:Mark

Valentina had not been inside the restaurant for an entire week.

That should have made my life easier.

It didn’t.

But she had been texting me.

Constantly.

Every morning, there was a message.

Every afternoon, another message.

Every night, at least three.

Sometimes she sent me pictures of her coffee.

Sometimes she complained about meetings.

Sometimes she asked what I was cooking.

Sometimes she told me she missed me.

And sometimes—

Most of the time—

she flirted.

Aggressively.

There was no other word for it.

Valentina De Luca had discovered that she had my phone number, and she had decided to use it as often as possible.

I woke up to messages from her.

I worked while receiving messages from her.

I went home and received more messages from her.

She was everywhere.

But I always replied.

That was the problem.

I told myself I replied because ignoring her would only make her send more messages.

Which was true.

But that wasn’t the entire reason.

The truth was—

I had become used to her.

I liked knowing she was there.

Not that I would ever tell her that.

She would become unbearable.

She was already unbearable.

This morning, she had sent me:

Valentina ❤️:

Good morning, handsome.

I replied:

Mark:

Good morning.

Then:

Valentina ❤️:

You forgot to say I’m beautiful.

Mark:

You didn’t ask.

Valentina ❤️:

Am I beautiful?

Mark:

You’re annoying.

Valentina ❤️:

That means yes.

It did not mean yes.

At least, I didn’t think it did.

Then, an hour later:

Valentina ❤️:

What are you making today?

Mark:

Food.

Valentina ❤️:

For me?

Mark:

For customers.

Valentina ❤️:

I’m your favorite customer.

Mark:

You’re not even here.

Valentina ❤️:

You miss me.

Mark:

No.

Valentina ❤️:

Liar.

I stopped replying after that.

For ten minutes.

Then she sent:

Valentina ❤️:

Mark?

I ignored it.

Five minutes later:

Valentina ❤️:

Did you fall into the pasta?

I stared at my phone.

Then I replied:

Mark:

I’m working.

Her response came immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

You work too much.

I almost laughed.

Valentina—

The woman who had just spent hours inside a meeting—

was telling me that I worked too much.

The hypocrisy was impressive.

⸻

By the afternoon, the restaurant was busy.

I was inside the kitchen preparing meals.

Orders continued coming in.

The staff moved around me.

Pots were boiling.

Plates were being prepared.

Everyone was working.

And my phone was sitting beside the counter.

Silent.

At first, I didn’t notice.

Then I did.

Thirty minutes passed.

No message.

An hour.

Nothing.

Two hours.

Still nothing.

I told myself I didn’t care.

Valentina was probably working.

She had a company to run.

She had meetings.

She had employees.

She had important things to do.

She didn’t have to text me all day.

That was normal.

Three hours passed.

Still nothing.

I looked at my phone.

Nothing.

Four hours.

Nothing.

I checked my phone again.

No messages.

That was strange.

Valentina had never gone four hours without texting me.

Not since I gave her my number.

Even when she was busy, she found time.

She would send something simple.

I’m tired.

This meeting is boring.

I miss you.

Someone annoyed me.

Or—

You’re handsome.

There was always something.

But today?

Nothing.

Five hours passed.

I looked at the phone again.

Then I picked it up.

Not because I cared.

I was simply curious.

That was all.

I opened our conversation.

The last message was from her.

Valentina ❤️:

You work too much.

I stared at it.

Then typed:

Mark:

Are you alive?

The message showed as delivered.

A minute passed.

No response.

Two minutes.

Nothing.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

Unfortunately.

I frowned.

Mark:

What happened?

Valentina ❤️:

I’ve been in a meeting for five hours.

I stared at the screen.

Five hours?

That was ridiculous.

No meeting should last five hours.

Unless the people inside had forgotten how to leave.

Mark:

Why?

Valentina ❤️:

Because I’m the COO, Mark.

I rolled my eyes.

Of course.

Mark:

That doesn’t explain five hours.

Valentina ❤️:

We’re discussing the future of the company.

Mark:

Sounds boring.

Valentina ❤️:

It is boring.

I smiled.

Then I asked:

Mark:

Did you eat?

There was a pause.

Then—

Valentina ❤️:

No.

I stared at the message.

She had been inside a meeting for five hours.

And she hadn’t eaten.

Of course she hadn’t.

Valentina was the kind of person who could run an entire company but forget that human beings needed food.

I typed:

Mark:

Why?

Valentina ❤️:

I was busy.

I sighed.

Of course.

She was always busy.

Too busy to eat.

Too busy to rest.

Too busy to take care of herself.

Then she would wear painful shoes and act surprised when her feet hurt.

She was exhausting.

Mark:

Are you hungry?

Valentina ❤️:

Yes.

I looked around the kitchen.

The restaurant was still busy.

But I could make something quickly.

Something simple.

Something warm.

Something she would actually eat.

I didn’t know why I was thinking about it.

She could order food.

She had enough money to buy every restaurant in the city if she wanted.

But she had been in a meeting for five hours.

She was tired.

And she had not eaten.

So I typed:

Mark:

Go home.

Valentina ❤️:

Why?

Mark:

Just go home.

Valentina ❤️:

Are you ordering me?

Mark:

Yes.

Three dots appeared.

Then:

Valentina ❤️:

You like ordering me around.

I ignored that.

Mark:

Go home, Valentina.

Valentina ❤️:

Why?

I sighed.

Then typed:

Mark:

I’ll send you something.

She responded immediately.

Valentina ❤️:

What?

Mark:

Food.

The next message came quickly.

Valentina ❤️:

You’re sending me food?

I stared at the screen.

Why was she surprised?

She had not eaten.

That was enough.

Mark:

Go home.

Valentina ❤️:

Did you make it?

I didn’t answer.

She knew.

⸻

I finished the meal quickly.

Pasta.

Fresh vegetables.

Grilled chicken.

Nothing too heavy.

I packed everything carefully.

Then I added a small container of sauce.

I stood in the kitchen holding the bag.

One of the waitresses looked at me.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“With food?”

“Yes.”

“For Valentina?”

I looked at her.

“Why does everyone know everything?”

“Because you’ve been texting her all week.”

“I haven’t.”

“You smile at your phone.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’m taking food to a customer.”

“She isn’t here.”

“She’s hungry.”

The waitress smiled.

“You care.”

“No.”

“Then why are you leaving the restaurant?”

“Because she hasn’t eaten.”

“She can order food.”

“I know.”

“She can hire a chef.”

“I know.”

“She has money.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you taking her food?”

I picked up my keys.

“Because I want to.”

The words escaped.

The waitress became quiet.

Then she smiled.

I immediately regretted saying it.

“I mean—because she asked.”

“She didn’t ask.”

“Goodbye.”

I walked out.

⸻

The drive to Valentina’s house was quiet.

I had been there once.

Only once.

The night I drove her home after she injured her ankle.

I remembered the large house.

The long driveway.

The expensive cars.

The way she invited me inside.

And the way I refused.

Tonight, I told myself I was only dropping off food.

I would give her the meal.

Make sure she ate.

Then leave.

That was the plan.

Simple.

No problems.

No chaos.

No Valentina convincing me to stay.

⸻

When I arrived, she was already waiting.

The front door opened before I reached it.

Valentina stood there.

And for a moment—

I didn’t recognize her.

She wasn’t wearing a dress.

She wasn’t wearing heels.

She wasn’t carrying an expensive handbag.

She was wearing comfortable black slacks and a soft cream-colored top.

Her hair was tied loosely behind her head.

Her glasses rested on her face.

She looked—

Normal.

Not like the Ice Queen.

Not like the woman who appeared on magazine covers.

Not like the powerful COO who made executives nervous.

She looked tired.

And—

Cute.

Again.

Why did she keep doing that?

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

She looked at the bag in my hand.

“You brought it.”

“You thought I was lying?”

“No.”

“You look surprised.”

“I’m happy.”

“Why?”

“You made me food.”

“You were hungry.”

She smiled.

Then her expression changed.

Her eyes became soft.

And she did something strange.

She fluttered.

Not literally.

But her entire body seemed to become excited.

She moved slightly from one foot to the other.

Then she smiled again.

“You made food for me.”

“Yes.”

“You came all the way here.”

“Yes.”

“You brought it yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You care.”

“No.”

She laughed.

I handed her the bag.

She held it with both hands.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I turned.

“Wait.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Stay.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I have to go back.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You came here.”

“To give you food.”

“Then stay while I eat.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Valentina.”

“I’ve been in meetings all day.”

“I know.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.”

“I missed you.”

I looked at her.

She was standing inside the doorway.

Her glasses were slightly crooked.

Her hair was messy.

She looked exhausted.

And she was holding the food I made like it was something valuable.

“Please stay,” she repeated.

I sighed.

“Five minutes.”

She smiled.

“Okay.”

I walked inside.

⸻

The moment I entered, I stopped.

There were folders everywhere.

The dining table was covered.

The coffee table was covered.

Several reports were on the couch.

Papers were stacked near the television.

There were documents on the floor.

I looked at Valentina.

“What happened here?”

“I’m working.”

“This looks like a business explosion.”

“It’s organized.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You have papers on the floor.”

“They’re important.”

“Then why are they on the floor?”

“Because there was no more space.”

“You have an entire house.”

“But this is where I’m working.”

I looked around.

“Why?”

“Because I like it here.”

“You have an office.”

“I know.”

“Use it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

I sighed.

Of course.

She placed the food on the dining table.

Then moved several folders.

She pushed a stack of papers aside.

Then sat down.

“Sit.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You said five minutes.”

“I’ve been here for two.”

“Then you have three.”

I sat across from her.

She opened the food.

The smell filled the room.

She smiled.

“This smells good.”

“It’s food.”

“It smells like love.”

“It’s pasta.”

She looked at me.

“You made it with love.”

“No.”

“You did.”

“I made it because you were hungry.”

“Same thing.”

“No.”

She picked up her fork.

Then opened a folder.

I watched her.

She took a bite.

Then looked at a report.

Then took another bite.

Then turned a page.

“You’re eating and working?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have a lot to do.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I know.”

“You should rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“We’re planning a new investment.”

“You can do it tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because tomorrow there will be more work.”

“You always have more work.”

“Yes.”

“Then when do you rest?”

“Later.”

“When is later?”

“I don’t know.”

I stared at her.

She looked tired.

Really tired.

There were shadows beneath her eyes.

Her shoulders were tense.

She was trying to read a report while eating.

“You need sleep,” I said.

“I need to work.”

“You need sleep.”

“I need to approve these documents.”

“You’re going to fall asleep on them.”

“No, I won’t.”

She yawned.

I looked at her.

“You were saying?”

“I’m fine.”

“You just yawned.”

“I was breathing.”

“That was a yawn.”

“No.”

“You closed your eyes.”

“I was thinking.”

“You made a sound.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

She pointed her fork at me.

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You’re the one arguing.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then sleep.”

“No.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Stop working.”

“No.”

“Eat.”

“I am eating.”

“Then stop reading.”

“No.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’m determined.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It is not.”

She returned to her report.

I watched her for a few seconds.

Then she looked at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m making sure you eat.”

“I’m eating.”

“Good.”

She took another bite.

Then smiled.

“This is delicious.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a good chef.”

“I know.”

“You’re handsome.”

I looked at her.

“Eat.”

“You’re very handsome.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

“I missed you.”

I became quiet.

She took another bite.

Then looked at her report.

“I missed you,” she repeated.

“You said that.”

“I know.”

“You’ve said it three times.”

“I missed you three times.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense to me.”

She smiled.

Then pointed at me.

“I missed you.”

I looked away.

“You texted me every day.”

“That is not the same.”

“You spoke to me.”

“Through a phone.”

“Still spoke.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You could have come to the restaurant.”

“My ankle hurt.”

“You could have worn comfortable shoes.”

She gasped.

“You’re attacking my fashion again.”

“Your fashion attacked your ankle.”

“My shoes are beautiful.”

“Your shoes are dangerous.”

“I like them.”

“They look painful.”

“You don’t understand fashion.”

“I understand pain.”

“You’re rude.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I missed you.”

I sighed.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep ignoring it.”

“I heard you.”

“Then say you missed me too.”

“No.”

She frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“No.”

“You were worried because I didn’t text you.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You texted first.”

“Because you were silent for five hours.”

“And?”

“And that was strange.”

“Why was it strange?”

“Because you always text.”

“You noticed.”

“Yes.”

“You missed me.”

“No.”

“You were worried.”

“No.”

“You care.”

“No.”

She smiled.

I looked away.

She was impossible.

Then she leaned forward.

“Mark.”

“What?”

“I really missed you.”

Her voice was quieter.

Not dramatic.

Not playful.

Just honest.

I looked at her.

She was tired.

Her glasses were slightly crooked.

Her hair was messy.

She was holding a fork in one hand and a business report in the other.

She looked nothing like the woman people feared.

She looked like someone who had worked too hard.

Someone who had been alone for too long.

Someone who was happy because I brought her food.

I didn’t know what to say.

So I said—

“Finish eating.”

She smiled.

“That means you missed me.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“Eat.”

“I miss you.”

“Valentina.”

“I miss you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I know.”

“I’m leaving after you finish.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You can stay.”

“No.”

“You can help me read the reports.”

“No.”

“You can sit here.”

“No.”

“You can watch me work.”

“That sounds boring.”

“You can look at me.”

I stared at her.

She smiled.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You are.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She reached across the table and grabbed my wrist.

“Stay.”

I looked down at her hand.

Then at her.

“Valentina.”

“Five more minutes.”

“You said five minutes twenty minutes ago.”

“Time moves differently when you miss someone.”

“That is not how time works.”

“It is in my house.”

I sighed.

She smiled.

Then returned to eating.

And somehow—

I stayed.

For more than five minutes.

For more than ten.

I sat across from her while she ate and worked.

She complained about business projections.

She argued with numbers.

She complained about executives.

She told me she missed me another six times.

And every time, I told her to eat.

But I didn’t leave.

Because Valentina was loud.

She was chaotic.

She was stubborn.

She was childish.

She was exhausting.

And somehow—

Seeing her again after a week felt strangely right.

I would never tell her that.

She would never let me live in peace.

But as I sat across from her, watching her eat the food I made—

I realized something.

I had not brought the meal because she was a customer.

I had not brought it because she asked.

I had brought it because she had been silent for five hours.

And I noticed.

That was the problem.

Valentina De Luca had become part of my life.

And I was starting to care.

Whic