The Apology
931 Words
The next few days were quieter than Valentina expected.
The reporters had mostly disappeared—thanks, she suspected, to Damien pulling some strings behind the scenes. She didn’t ask him about it, though. After their argument, she wasn’t sure where they stood.
She threw herself into her work, using every ounce of frustration, guilt, and leftover tension as fuel for her painting. The result was a wild, chaotic piece—streaks of black and red slashing across the canvas like a storm.
It was good. But it wasn’t enough to drown out the nagging voice in her head.
You were too hard on him.
He was just trying to help.
He cares about you.
“Ugh,” she groaned, dropping her paintbrush. She couldn’t concentrate. Not with Damien’s words still echoing in her mind.
She picked up her phone, her finger hovering over his name in her contacts.
Don’t overthink it, she told herself. Just call him.
Before she could hit the button, her phone buzzed. She jumped, almost dropping it.
It was a text—from Damien.
Damien: Be at the gallery tonight. 7 p.m. Wear something nice.
Valentina frowned, rereading the message twice.
“What are you up to, Renaud?” she muttered.
At exactly 7 p.m., Valentina stepped into the gallery, her heels clicking softly against the polished floors.
The place was empty, save for the faint glow of lights illuminating the walls. She glanced around, her brow furrowed.
“Damien?”
“In here,” came his voice from one of the side rooms.
She followed the sound, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn’t quite explain.
When she stepped into the smaller gallery space, she stopped in her tracks.
Her paintings—dozens of them—covered the walls. Pieces she’d sold years ago. Others she thought were long forgotten. Each one hung in its own spotlight, as if they’d been waiting for this moment.
“What... what is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Damien stepped out of the shadows, his gray eyes warm and steady. “An apology.”
Valentina turned to him, her chest tightening. “You did this?”
“I pulled a few strings,” he admitted. “Tracked down the owners, convinced them to loan the pieces back. I wanted you to see your work the way the world sees it.”
She stared at him, her throat tight. “Why?”
“Because I believe in you, Valentina,” he said simply. “Even when you don’t believe in yourself.”
Her breath caught, and she turned back to the paintings, her mind spinning.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said after a long pause.
“I know,” Damien said, stepping closer. “But I wanted to.”
Valentina shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here you are,” he teased.
She turned to him, her lips twitching into a smile. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or kill you.”
“I’d prefer the first option,” Damien said, his tone light but his eyes serious.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Valentina closed the distance between them.
When she kissed him, it wasn’t like their first kiss—hesitant and unsure. This time, it was all fire and certainty, her hands tangling in his hair as his arms wrapped around her waist.
When they finally broke apart, Damien rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked.
Valentina laughed softly. “For now.”
They spent the rest of the evening in the gallery, wandering through the displays and talking about each piece.
“This one was my first big sale,” Valentina said, stopping in front of a bold, abstract painting.
“Who bought it?” Damien asked.
“A couple who owned a bakery,” she said, smiling at the memory. “They paid me in pastries.”
Damien chuckled. “Sounds like a good deal.”
“It was,” she said. “I lived off croissants for a week.”
As they moved to the next piece, Valentina found herself relaxing. Being with Damien like this—easy, comfortable—felt good. Natural, even.
“I don’t know how you pulled this off,” she said, glancing at him.
Damien shrugged. “I have my ways.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are,” he said, echoing her earlier words.
Valentina laughed, shaking her head. “I hate how much I like you sometimes.”
Damien smiled, his hand brushing against hers. “The feeling’s mutual.”
By the time they left the gallery, the city was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights.
Damien walked her to her car, his hand resting lightly on her back.
“Thank you,” Valentina said, turning to face him.
“For what?”
“For believing in me,” she said. “Even when I’m difficult.”
He smiled, his gray eyes softening. “You’re not difficult, Valentina. You’re passionate. And that’s what makes you incredible.”
Her chest tightened, and she looked away, suddenly overwhelmed.
“Goodnight, Damien,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“Goodnight,” he said, brushing a kiss against her cheek.
As she drove home, Valentina couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn’t alone.
- Writer
