Louboutins & Aprons

Chapter 13:Valentina

For the last few months, Mark and I had been talking.

Well—

I had been talking.

Mark had been replying.

There was a difference.

A very important difference.

I texted him repeatedly.

Mark responded once.

Maybe twice.

Sometimes three times if I was lucky.

And occasionally, if I annoyed him enough, he would send a message that was more than three words.

Those were special days.

Our conversations had changed over the months.

At the beginning, Mark had ignored me.

Completely.

I would sit inside his restaurant for hours while he pretended I didn’t exist.

I would tell him I wanted him.

He would stare at me like I had escaped from somewhere.

I would flirt with him.

He would walk away.

I would follow him.

He would tell me to stop.

I would tell him I wanted him again.

He would ignore me.

Those were difficult times.

But now?

Now Mark texted me first.

Not often.

But sometimes.

And every time he did, I saved the message.

I didn’t tell him that.

He would probably ask why.

Then I would tell him it was because his messages were important.

Then he would tell me I was strange.

And I would tell him that he liked strange women.

Then he would stop replying.

So I kept that information to myself.

Mark also brought me food.

Not every day.

But often enough.

Sometimes he would come to my house after work.

Sometimes he would send one of the restaurant staff members.

Sometimes he would make me come to the restaurant.

And every time—

Every single time—

he made sure I ate.

It had become a routine.

If I texted him that I was tired, he asked if I had eaten.

If I said no, he became annoyed.

If I told him I was too busy, he became more annoyed.

Then food would somehow appear in front of me.

And Mark would watch until I finished.

He acted like it was a responsibility.

Like I was a child who needed supervision.

But I knew better.

He cared.

Mark had not admitted it.

Not once.

He had never said:

I care about you.

He had never said:

I missed you.

He had never said:

I want you.

He had never said anything romantic.

But he brought me food.

He asked whether I had eaten.

He remembered when I had long meetings.

He told me to rest.

He checked on my ankle.

He answered my messages.

And when I was tired, he stayed.

Those things meant something.

At least, they meant something to me.

And I was not giving up.

I still wanted him.

I wanted Mark more than ever.

⸻

I was sitting inside my office when my assistant walked in.

She placed a black envelope on my desk.

“What is this?”

“An invitation.”

“To what?”

“The Global Business Excellence Awards.”

I looked at the envelope.

Then opened it.

The invitation was elegant.

Gold letters.

A formal design.

My name was written across the front.

VALENTINA DE LUCA

I read the letter.

Then read it again.

The organization had selected me to receive an award.

Business Leader of the Year.

I smiled.

I had worked hard.

Very hard.

I had spent years proving that I belonged inside the company.

People had doubted me.

They called me rude.

Selfish.

Cold.

They called me the Ice Queen.

The Cutthroat Woman.

The Alpha Female.

They said I was too young.

Too aggressive.

Too ambitious.

But I had built my own reputation.

I had earned my position.

And now—

I was receiving an award.

I should have been excited.

I was.

But then I saw one line.

Each award recipient may bring one guest.

One guest.

A plus-one.

I looked at the invitation.

Then I thought about Mark.

Immediately.

There was no question.

I wanted him to come.

I wanted Mark beside me.

I wanted him to see me receive the award.

I wanted him to be there.

Maybe that was selfish.

But I wanted him.

And I had never been afraid of wanting things.

The problem was—

I had to ask him.

I leaned back in my chair.

Asking Mark to come with me should have been easy.

I had asked him to give me his number.

I had told him I wanted him.

I had claimed him in front of an entire restaurant.

I had asked him to stay inside my house.

I had asked him to bring me food.

I had done all those things without hesitation.

But asking him to be my plus-one?

That felt different.

What if he said no?

What if he didn’t want to attend?

What if he thought the event was boring?

What if he didn’t want people to see us together?

What if he thought I was moving too quickly?

I stared at my phone.

Then I placed it down.

No.

I wasn’t nervous.

Valentina De Luca did not get nervous.

I negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts.

I made executives nervous.

I made board members afraid to disagree with me.

I stood in rooms filled with powerful men and made decisions.

I was not afraid to ask one chef to attend an award ceremony.

I picked up my phone.

Then placed it down again.

Maybe I should text him.

No.

He might misunderstand the message.

Maybe I should call him.

No.

What if he said no immediately?

Then I would hear it.

Maybe I should wait until I saw him.

No.

The award ceremony was next week.

I needed an answer.

I picked up my phone again.

Then sighed.

“What the hell, Valentina?”

I pressed his name.

Mark ❤️

The heart was still there.

He had told me to remove it.

I refused.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hello?”

My heart stopped.

Not literally.

But almost.

“Hi.”

There was silence.

Then—

“Valentina?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you calling?”

I frowned.

“Why can’t I call?”

“You usually text.”

“I can call.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Because you’re calling.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re difficult.”

“You called me.”

“Yes.”

“So what do you want?”

I paused.

Why was this suddenly difficult?

I had prepared speeches for thousands of people.

I had presented company reports.

I had negotiated with investors.

But now I couldn’t ask Mark one simple question.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Are you busy?”

“I’m working.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“You called because there is a reason.”

I sighed.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“There is an award ceremony next week.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“What award?”

“Business Leader of the Year.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“That’s good.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You earned it.”

I became quiet.

He said it so simply.

You earned it.

No sarcasm.

No teasing.

Just honesty.

And somehow, that meant more than all the congratulatory messages I had received that morning.

“Thank you,” I said again.

“You’re welcome.”

There was another pause.

Then Mark asked:

“Why are you telling me?”

I swallowed.

“Because…”

“Yes?”

“I’m allowed to bring someone.”

“Okay.”

“And…”

“And?”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

I looked at my phone.

“Mark?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you want to come?”

There was another pause.

I hated the pause.

Why was he taking so long?

Maybe he didn’t want to.

Maybe I had asked too suddenly.

Maybe he had plans.

Maybe he was going to say no.

I opened my mouth.

“You don’t have to—”

“Maybe.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is an answer.”

“No. Yes or no is an answer.”

“Maybe means I need to think about it.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked me suddenly.”

“I have known for five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

“Five minutes is enough time.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Mark.”

“What?”

“I want you to come.”

“I heard you.”

“Then say yes.”

“You can’t force me.”

“I can convince you.”

“You’ve been trying to convince me for months.”

“And?”

“You’re still trying.”

“Because I want you.”

There was silence.

Then—

“I know.”

I smiled.

“You know?”

“You tell me every day.”

“I do.”

“Yes.”

“And you still haven’t told me you want me.”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting.”

“You’re starting.”

“I just want an answer.”

“I said maybe.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is.”

“No.”

“Valentina.”

“Mark.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re coming to my award.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said maybe.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe is almost yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe is yes with fear.”

“No.”

“Maybe means you want to come but you don’t want me to know.”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m working.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No.”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Please come.”

Silence.

I hated the silence.

Then Mark said:

“Okay.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll come.”

My mouth opened.

Then closed.

“You’ll come?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“Yes.”

“To the award?”

“Yes.”

“As my plus-one?”

“Yes, Valentina.”

I smiled.

Then I smiled wider.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not joking?”

“No.”

“You’ll come with me?”

“Valentina.”

“What?”

“I said yes.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m happy.”

“I can hear that.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to be my plus-one.”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to wear a suit.”

“I have clothes.”

“I know, but I want you to wear a suit.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll look handsome.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No.”

“Goodbye, Valentina.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

There was silence.

Then—

“Go back to work.”

I laughed.

“Bye, Mark.”

“Bye.”

The call ended.

⸻

I stared at my phone.

Mark was coming.

He had said yes.

Not immediately.

But he had said yes.

That was progress.

Months ago, he would have ignored me.

Months ago, he would have told me no.

Months ago, he wouldn’t have answered my calls.

But now?

He was bringing me food.

He was checking whether I ate.

He was coming to my house.

He was texting me.

And now—

He was going to attend an award ceremony with me.

As my plus-one.

I stood from my chair.

Then walked toward the window.

The city stretched below me.

Everything looked normal.

Cars moved.

People walked.

Buildings stood.

But I felt different.

I was happy.

Not because of the award.

I was proud of the award.

But Mark was coming.

He was going to stand beside me.

He was going to watch me receive it.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

everyone would see him with me.

I smiled.

Then I picked up my phone.

I sent him a message.

Me:

Thank you for saying yes.

His reply came quickly.

Mark:

You asked.

I smiled.

Me:

You’re going to look handsome.

Mark:

I’m working.

Me:

You should wear black.

Mark:

Valentina.

Me:

Or navy.

Mark:

Stop.

Me:

I’m going to buy you a suit.

There was a pause.

Then—

Mark:

No.

Me:

Too late.

Mark:

Don’t buy me anything.

Me:

I want to.

Mark:

No.

Me:

You’re my plus-one.

Mark:

That doesn’t mean you can dress me.

Me:

It does in my world.

Mark:

Your world is strange.

Me:

You like my world.

Mark:

No.

I smiled.

Then typed:

Me:

You like me.

There was no response.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Nothing.

I waited.

Then I sent:

Me:

Mark?

No answer.

I smiled.

He was avoiding the question.

That was fine.

He didn’t have to say it yet.

Because Mark was coming with me.

He wasn’t ignoring me anymore.

He wasn’t avoiding me.

He was slowly becoming part of my life.

And I was still on my mission.

I still wanted him.

Maybe Mark had not admitted that he wanted me.

Maybe he had not said he cared.

But actions mattered.

And Mark’s actions were becoming louder.

He brought me food.

He stayed with me.

He checked on me.

He replied to my messages.

And now—

He had agreed to be my plus-one.

That was a very good sign.

A very, very good sign.

I looked at my phone again.

Then smiled.

Because Valentina De Luca always got what she wanted.

And I wanted Mark.

I still wanted him.

But for the first time—

I didn’t feel like I was chasing him alone.