Chapter 18: The Second Event
1097 Words
Valentina POV
I did not know he would be there.
I want to be clear about that. Everything that happened later might look like I planned it, but I did not. Edoardo had sent me the invite two weeks ago. It was a dinner for the clothing industry at a private house in Florence. There were forty guests. It was the kind of night where you get good food and make even better business connections. I said yes because I already had a meeting in Florence that Friday. It just made sense to stay.
That was all it was.
I found out he was coming only when I saw the seating chart.
The host had it printed and framed at the door. I looked at it the way I always do. I searched for my name and checked who would be sitting next to me. I wanted to know who I would have to talk to and who I could turn to if the conversation got boring.
I found my name. Then I found his name directly across from it. "Marco Greco," I whispered to myself. The ink seemed darker than the rest. I looked around the foyer, half-expecting to see him watching me. My pulse jumped, a quick, sharp thud against my ribs.
I stood there looking at that chart for three seconds too long. Then I went inside.
The table had twelve seats. I sat between a buyer from Como and a woman from Rome who ran a business I knew well. Marco was already sitting across from me, one seat to the left. He was talking to the man next to him. He looked totally at ease, like he belonged in every room he entered.
He looked up when I sat down. Our eyes met for less than a second. Then we both looked away, and dinner started.
The food came in many courses. It was going to be a very long night. I talked to the buyer about the market and the woman from Rome about a friend in Paris. I acted interested. I asked good questions and acted like I was exactly where I wanted to be.
But every time there was a silence, I felt him.
I didn't see him; I felt him. It was the pull of his attention from across the table. He was closer than he would be in a big room. I could see the line of his jaw in the candlelight. I saw how he held his wine glass. Twice, he started to say something to the person next to him but then stopped.
The second time our eyes met, I did not look away first. Neither did he.
Then the woman from Rome spoke to me. I turned to answer her. When I looked back, he was talking to someone else. The moment was over. That was fine. I told myself it was completely fine for the next forty minutes until dessert was finished.
The coatroom was at the back of the house. The hallway was narrow. I had given my dark wool coat to the staff when I arrived. It was a simple coat, nothing special.
But someone else had a coat just like it.
I was in the hallway when I heard him behind me.
"There has been a mistake," the staff member told someone. "Both coats are the same. I think I gave yours to, oh, excuse me."
I turned around. Marco was standing four feet away, holding my coat.
The staff member looked worried. "I'll be right back," she said, and she ran off. That left the two of us alone in a hallway that suddenly felt very small. The air in the corridor felt heavy, smelling of old wood and the expensive cologne he used to wear. I didn't move. I didn't want to show him that I was breathing harder than I should be.
He looked at the coat. Then he looked at me.
"Yours," he said.
He held it out. I stepped forward to take it. Our hands touched on the fabric. His fingers and mine were in the same spot for two or three seconds. Neither of us moved.
I looked up at him. He was closer than I wanted to admit. I saw the scar on his jaw. I saw the way he looked at me when he wasn't pretending for other people. It was just him and his real thoughts. I used to know how to read him, but now I wasn't sure.
"Val," he said. His voice was a low rasp, a sound that belonged to our past. "It's been a long time."
"Not long enough," I replied. I tried to make my voice sound like ice, but it came out small.
"You’re doing well," he said, his eyes scanning my face. "I see your name everywhere now."
"I worked for it," I said. "I didn't have a choice."
That was the name he used when it was just the two of us in his apartment. Those quiet nights felt very far away now.
I felt something move in my chest. I didn't let it show on my face.
I took the coat and stepped back. I turned and walked away without saying a single word. There was nothing I could say that wouldn't cost me too much.
I went back to Edoardo. He was laughing at a story. I sat down and joined the conversation. I laughed at the right times and kept talking.
I did not look at the hallway. I did not look at the empty seat across from me.
When Marco came back and sat down, I was in the middle of a sentence. I finished it and started another one. I did not look at him for the rest of the night. Not even once.
It was the hardest thing I had ever done.
In the car on the way to the hotel, I sat with my coat on my lap. I kept my hands flat on top of it. I looked out the window at the streets of Florence. I did not think about the hallway or our hands touching. I did not think about how he said my name.
I didn't think about any of it.
Instead, I thought about Matteo. He probably had pasta for dinner and drew pictures of boats before bed. I thought about my meeting in the morning. I thought about the work emails I had to answer.
I thought about work. That was the only thing that had never let me down.
- Writer
