After the initial shock, Valentina seems to relax. The introductions are made. Everyone laughs the whole thing off as a good joke. And if she’s aware what this must appear to my family, she takes it in stride. The only telltale sign of any lingering embarrassment is the soft blush on her cheeks.
“Who are you?” Needing his own introduction, little Jack asks Valentina with the openness of a child barely five years old. I’m about to tell him to mind his own business when she surprises me once again.
She focuses on my nephew as a soft expression crosses her face that makes me think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My fingers itch to paint her, capture her just as she is right now. Without an ounce of pride or reserve, just the real Valentina.
“Come here, Jack,” his father orders. “Leave the lady alone.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles at my family members and then focuses all of her attention on little Jack who’s eyeing her with curiosity. “I’m Valentina and I’m your Uncle Sebs’s friend. How do you do?”
“Good. I lost a tooth, and I didn’t cry when Daddy pull it out. There was blood everywhere.” He grins, showing her the gap. “See. Do you know the Tooth Fairy? She left me five Euros.”
“What a brave boy you are.”
“Yep.” He turns to Sophie who’s watching him with a motherly pride. “Mommy, per’aps you can invite her for dinner at our house instead of the other ladies that Uncle Sebs didn’t like.”
The matchmaking wheels set in motion, Sophie claps in excitement. “But what a splendid idea!”
Jack snorts. “You’re in trouble, man.” He looks at Valentina and mouths the word “run,” which makes her laugh.
“Really … How many have there been?” Valentina asks laughingly, joining the let’s-roast-Uncle-Sebs-party.
“Tons.” He scrunches up his nose in dislike. “And one pinched my cheek very hard. I didn’t like it.”
Isabella, the little minx, joins in. “Oh, and the lady with the red shoes who hated men.”
I shrug. “Yeah, that one was doomed from the beginning.”
Everyone bursts out laughing, and the kitchen once devoid of life is now bursting with it. My eyes find Valentina, like they always do. My family members fade into the meaningless background as we stare at each other.
She smiles at me.
And there it is again …
The light.
Hope.
IN A HAZE, I make it back to my place after staying for breakfast at Sébastien’s. I go to the bathroom, turn the shower on. The clothes kiss my skin as they fall to the marble floor, and I jump in. I tilt my head back and close my eyes. The hot water covers me from head to toe, the steam rising around me.
My movements are methodical, but my mind is somewhere else, bursting with memories. The night and morning tangle together like a never-ending loop. Going to his apartment after he fled the balcony. Seeing the grief, the desolation, the utter hopelessness in his eyes as he opened the door. He wanted to push me away, but I wasn’t going to let him. I didn’t know what to do, but the necessity to shield him from his own pain, to be there for him in his moment of need, became vital to me. Therefore I offered myself to his ravaging agony. I thought, take this body. Punch it with your words. Scar it with your hands. But come back to me. Bring back the Sébastien I’ve come to know.
The anger vibrating in his arms as I held him should have scared me. However, my only thoughts were that he was hurting, that he needed me. A flood of questions inundated my mind, but I knew he wasn’t ready to share answers with me just yet, so I just held him through it all.
When sleep came for him at last, I thought about leaving but I took one glance at his hand entwined with mine, and I knew I couldn’t. Just like I know something changed in our relationship. A nameless moment that filled the never-ending quiet—the kind of small moment life is made out of.
I reach for the shampoo, pour some into my hand, enjoying its fruity smell of berries, before massaging it into my scalp. I smile as I think of this morning.
The laughter … the banter … the companionship … his lips on my skin … what I saw in his eyes, a direct reflection of mine, right before we were interrupted … his lovely family as they tried to make me feel welcome.
It should have been too much. Too overwhelming. Red flags should have been waved. Sirens heard. But all I could think was that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this happy or when I’d had such a good time.
Sébastien’s parting words as we stood outside his apartment intrude my mind like a midnight robber, sobering me up.
“There’s a party tomorrow night at Plaza Athénée. I’d like you to come with me.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how to do this, Sébastien.” I point a finger between the two of us, thinking of a million reasons why I shouldn’t even contemplate the idea of going. “When you’re around …” I find myself wanting you more and more. I bite my lower lip. “I’m afraid I’ll come to regret all of this.”
He chuckles. “You know, regrets aren’t such a bad thing. Sometimes giving fear the middle finger can feel fucking good.” He taps my nose gently. “I’ll be at the party until eleven.”
“What happens if I don’t go?”
“But, ma petite chouette, what if you do?”
It’s just an invitation.
But, somehow, it seems more than that.
IT’S SO EASY TO blame others for one’s mistakes. That way we don’t have to be held accountable for whatever part, big or small, we’ve played. I could place the blame on William’s shoulders as to why I’m here, standing outside the famous hotel. I could blame his disloyalty for each step I make that brings me closer to a man who isn’t him—my husband.
But deep down, I will always know I’m here because I want to be.
All day yesterday and today, I tried to come up with empty excuses that would stop me from coming. It will give Sébastien the wrong idea. It will be very unwise and foolish of me. I want him, and I shouldn’t. Nothing good will come from it. However, none of those excuses stopped me from checking the time, from counting down the hours.
And as I got ready, choosing a form-fitting muted silver dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging back, I deliberately thought about everything with the exception of whom I was dressing for and where I was going. Seems like I’ve gotten really good at lying to myself.
I am now standing at the entrance of the hall searching for him, and that’s when I can’t continue pretending anymore. Truth of the matter is that I never had any intention of not coming.