Page 78 of Valentino

“Why not?”

“Just not really in the mood for my cousin’s idiot fiancé tonight.”

His eyes flick between me and the road. “You don’t like him?”

I roll my eyes. “You’ll soon see why.”

We drive in silence for a while before he glances over at me again. “You alright? You’re very quiet.”

“Just tired.”

He reaches over and takes my hand into his and squeezes it. “You can talk to me, Anna, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” And once upon a time I did know that, but now I’m not so sure.

He would have known that Carlo was married and yet nobody bothered to tell me.

Am I being protected…or am I just the bait to bring the monster out of his cave?

Maybe they didn’t know, or did he just have them fooled too?

So many questions….

“I’m looking forward to tonight.” He smiles over at me with a playful wink.

“That makes one of us.” I wrap my cardigan tighter around me; I feel unhinged.

To find out that the man I was dating never even existed, knowing that I can’t trust anyone anymore.

Once back at my building the cavalcade of black cars drive into the underground parking lot and pull up.

We ride the elevator up in silence. Valentino opens the door and I stand back and wait; my mind is preoccupied with images of Carlo and Chiara.

A white Porsche, I imagine him picking it out as a surprise for her birthday. She would have been squealing in excitement and jumping up and down, he would have been so happy with himself. Little did she know that he had me in it only the day before.

This hurts.

And what kind of person is she if she knew her husband was sleeping with me?

This is so messed up.

“I’m getting you a glass of wine,” Valentino tells me as he walks up the hall in front of me.

“Make it a double.”

VALENTINO

I take my time pouring two glasses of wine, Anna is pensive and quiet and I’m unsure what to say to her, so I’ll just say nothing instead.

I walk up the hall with a glass of wine in each hand to find her looking through her wardrobe. “Here you go.” I pass her a glass and sit on her bed.

She’s rattling through the coat hangers angrily, then she turns and looks me up and down. “Are you wearing that?”

“What?” I glance down at myself. “I can’t wear this?”

“No,” she scoffs. “We’re going to dinner, not fucking work.”

Fucking hell, I tentatively sip my wine. “What are you wearing?”