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VALENTINA

T he bell over the bakery door barely settles before Luca strides in behind me.

I wish he’d leave, but that’s also the last thing I want him to do.

He’s always been a puzzle to me. Does he love me, or is it just an obsession with needing to claim ownership over what he thinks is his?

All I know is I can’t deal with this right now.

Not that he’s giving me any other option. He grips my elbow and turns me to him. I look up into his eyes, those tortured, tormented, beautiful eyes. God, I?—

“Valentina,” he says, his tone deceptively calm. “What am I to you?”

His words leave no space to breathe. My fingers press into my palms as I try to steady myself. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, the silence between us stretching like a live wire, ready to snap.

It doesn’t take long for his patience to wane. His jaw tightens, and his dark eyes narrow, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Say something,” he demands. His hand falls to his side, veins visible on the surface.

“What do you want me to say, Luca?” I manage, my voice thin and shaking.

“The truth.”

I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength I have. “I’ve built this life for myself,” I finally reply. “By myself. There’s no room in it for a man.”

He reaches out. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a small, deliberate motion that makes my stomach churn in the worst—and best—ways. His face grows dark, and for a moment, I think he’s going to snap.

“All men?” he asks. “Or just me?”

I flinch at the question, at the way his words seem to crawl under my skin and unravel me. My silence answers for me.

He doesn’t push further. Instead, he releases my hand and pulls a small card from his pocket. He sets it on the counter between us.

“My hotel,” he says, his voice still quiet but edged with steel. “If you decide there’s room for me after all.”

Before I can react, he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a hollow thud. I stare at the card, my chest tight, until the sound of small footsteps pulls me back.

“Mommy?” Leo’s voice is curious, his big brown eyes peeking up at me. “Who was that man?”

“No one important,” I lie, sliding the card off the counter and into my pocket. “Just someone I used to know.”

He tilts his head, unconvinced, but thankfully too distracted by the smell of fresh pastries to press further.

I decide we need to get out of here. Leo has every right to keep asking me questions about the man who looks so much like him, but I’m not sure how many of them I can answer without being unfair to him.

The solution is lunch outside, at his favorite place—a pocket of calm at the cozy bistro just down the cobbled street.

The scent of fresh basil and wood-fired bread wrap around us as we enter.

Leo sits perched on his favorite chair— singled out for him by the bistro’s owner— his bright eyes fixed on the personal-sized cheese pizza in front of him.

He dives in with gusto, his tiny fingers lifting a gooey slice as strings of melted mozzarella stretch and snap.

“Look, Mommy! It’s so stretchy!” he exclaims, his laughter spilling out like sunlight, drawing a few smiles from the neighboring tables.

I can’t help but grin as I watch him swing his legs under the table, his sneakers tapping out a rhythm against the chair. His joy is infectious, a reminder that even the simplest moments can feel monumental when shared with him.

My own plate holds a vibrant salad—arugula, sun-ripened tomatoes, slivers of fennel, and shaved Parmesan. The colors are cheerful, but my appetite is slow to catch up. I poke at a cherry tomato with my fork, trying to muster enthusiasm, but my focus keeps drifting back to Leo.

He leans forward to take another bite, a dollop of sauce landing on his chin. “Oops!”

I chuckle and reach over with a napkin, dabbing it away as he wriggles in protest.

“You’re a mess,” I tease.

“Messy is fun!” he declares, grabbing another slice.

For a while, it’s just the two of us, wrapped in the uncomplicated joy of sharing a meal, and I wish with all my heart that this kind of peace could last forever.

But it doesn’t.

Across the room, a young couple catches my eye. They’re leaning close, her head tilted back in laughter as he reaches across the table to touch her hand. It’s innocent, simple, but it hits at the rawest, most vulnerable part of me.

“Mommy, you’re not eating,” Leo says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’m fine, baby,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

He nods solemnly, as if he understands far more than he lets on, and takes another bite of his pizza.

By the time we get home, the sun has started its slow descent, casting a golden glow over the small garden outside our house. Leo runs ahead, giggling as he tries to catch one of the butterflies fluttering between the flowers.

“Don’t trample the basil!” I call after him, laughing despite myself.

We spend the afternoon baking cookies and painting on the patio, his little hands smudged with flour and streaked with blue and green. He chatters endlessly, his stories and questions filling the house with a warmth I cling to like a lifeline.

As bedtime nears, he curls up next to me on the couch, his favorite book in hand. His head rests against my arm as I read, his breathing slowing as he drifts closer to sleep.

“Mommy?” he murmurs, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will Daddy ever come for us?”

The question makes my heart clench, and for a moment, I can’t answer. I brush his hair back gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Of course,” I say softly.

He doesn’t respond, already lost to his dreams, and I sit there for a long time, watching him sleep.

The house is quiet after Leo drifts off to sleep, his little chest rising and falling in the soft glow of his nightlight. I linger by his door, my fingers curling around the frame as a war rages inside me.

My head tells me to stay right here, to bury the card Luca handed me at the bottom of the trash. But my chest tightens with the memory of his voice, his touch, and the way his eyes bore into mine like they could strip every lie from my soul.

I make my decision before I can think better of it. I grab my phone and dial.

“Isabella?” My voice is just above a whisper.

“Oh, Valentina!” Her warm, cheerful voice cuts through the knot in my stomach. “How’s my favorite little man doing?”

“He’s already asleep. Listen, I need to step out for a few hours. Would you mind staying over? I’ll be back before midnight.”

“Of course,” she says without hesitation. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hang up and head to my room to change, slipping into a simple black dress that clings just enough to make me feel dangerous, even if my nerves tell a different story. I smooth the fabric over my thighs and grab a coat. Isabella arrives moments later, beaming as she steps inside.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” she says, waving me off as I thank her.

The cold night air bites at my cheeks as I step outside.

My heart thunders in my chest, each step toward the hotel building the kind of anticipation I haven’t felt in years.

By the time I reach the lobby, my palms are damp, and my breath feels shallow.

I don’t even have to ask for the room number; it’s etched into my mind.

Room 1402.

I knock softly, my knuckles barely grazing the polished wood. There’s a moment of silence on the other side, long enough for second thoughts to creep in.

Then the door flies open, and a rough hand grabs me, pulling me inside.

“Luca—” I gasp, but his name barely escapes my lips before I’m pressed against the cool wall of the suite, my back meeting the firm surface with a muted thud.

His fingers grip my waist, bunching the hem of my dress up to my thigh as his body cages me in. His breathing is heavy, his face inches from mine, eyes blazing with something I can’t quite name—fury, desire, need.

“You came,” he growls, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down my spine.

The door clicks shut behind him, sealing us inside.