Chapter 53
FIFTY-THREE
VALENTINA FERRARA
“Clara looks radiant today, Valentina! And I’m not saying that just because she’s in my class — the project is wonderful, isn’t it?” Elis, the teacher in charge of Clara’s group, commented enthusiastically as we stood near the display wall.
I smiled back, warmth spreading through my chest at the sincere praise. The school gym was crowded and noisy, filled with the excited chatter of children and parents waiting for the presentations to begin.
It was the annual school exhibition, and I stood there proudly, watching the project Clara had prepared with her class.
“She’s incredibly happy,” I agreed. “Clara loves events like this.”
“It shows!” Elis laughed. “She hasn’t stopped talking about the exhibition all week.”
I laughed too, nodding as my gaze drifted around the lively room, even though I knew exactly where it would land by the end of that walk.
My heart tightened in a contradictory way every time I saw Enrico smiling and talking with Clara. He seemed completely at ease in that school environment, interacting with other parents and teachers with calm, natural confidence.
More than once, I noticed attentive, interested looks from a few mothers directed at him — and my heart screamed.
I tried to ignore that feeling, just as I had been ignoring all the others piling up inside me over the past few weeks, forming a heap tall enough to rival the Eiffel Tower.
When had that happened?
At what moment?
I didn’t have those answers, but I knew with absolute certainty the exact instant when everything had worsened — when it had turned into a shapeless mass crushing my nerves and everything I was: the night I had the stupid idea of meeting Fabrício the week before.
Neither Enrico nor I had spoken about it since. But everything that happened that night was still there, watching us from the corner of its eye, pressing in simply by existing.
And now there I was, eating myself alive inside, trying to convince myself that what I was feeling was just passing irritation — until I noticed a mother, elegant and visibly interested, approaching Enrico with a smile that was far too warm.
My smile died instantly. My entire body tensed. And before I could stop myself, I was staring as she touched Enrico’s arm while laughing at something he’d said.
Rage exploded inside me — fierce and completely irrational.
Elis seemed to notice the sudden change in my expression and gave me a curious look.
“Are you okay, Valentina?”
I took a deep breath, trying to mask my discomfort, though it was impossible to hide completely.
“I’m great,” I replied quickly, without taking my eyes off Enrico. “I just remembered something I need to take care of. Excuse me for a moment, Elis.”
Without waiting for a response, I crossed the gym, driven by an impulse I couldn’t control. I stopped a few meters away, waiting for Enrico to notice me.
It only took seconds for him to lift his gaze and meet mine. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw my irritated expression. Then he politely disengaged from the conversation and walked toward me.
“Is everything okay?” he asked carefully, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention.
I crossed my arms, trying to appear indifferent, though my expression betrayed my irritation.
“Everything’s fine. You seem to be having a great time,” I replied, coldly.
He looked surprised for a moment before understanding what had triggered my reaction. A faint, almost satisfied smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Valentina… are you jealous?” he asked lightly, but there was something deeper in his eyes — something that made my heart race violently: hope.
I stepped back, my face heating instantly.
“Of course not. I just think you should be more focused on our daughter’s presentation and less on… socializing.”
He took a slow breath and stepped closer, dangerously reducing the distance between us. His voice dropped, rough and meaningful.
“I was being polite. If it bothered you, you could’ve just said so.”
I lifted my eyes to meet his, my anger now tangled with embarrassment and something far harder to admit.
“It didn’t bother me,” I lied blatantly, stepping back again. “Do whatever you want. It has nothing to do with me.”
Enrico nodded, but the gleam in his eyes made it clear he knew exactly what I was feeling.
I turned away quickly, retreating before that conversation could reveal more than I’d already exposed.
As I walked away, I realized how irrational and contradictory my reaction had been. I didn’t want to feel jealous. I didn’t want to care who he talked to or who showed interest in him. After all, I had sworn I would never forgive him.
And yet, seeing another woman interested in him — smiling and talking so freely — stirred something inside me I thought had been buried and dead for a long time.
And worst of all was admitting to myself that I had absolutely no control over it.
That realization unsettled me, leaving me even more insecure and confused about everything happening inside me.
Still flushed and unsettled, I left the gym, determined to get some air. I crossed the parking lot with firm steps as anger gave way to a confusing blend of emotions.
As soon as I reached the open space, I heard fast, determined footsteps behind me. Before I could draw the deep breath I needed, Enrico’s intense voice reached me, stopping me cold.
“Valentina, wait. We need to talk.”
I turned to face him, my expression rigid and defensive, hiding the insecurity taking over.
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about right now, Enrico.”
I carefully avoided his eyes. He sighed deeply and approached calmly, without touching me.
“Of course we do. Why are you running from this? You know as well as I do that we can’t keep going like this.”
Something tightened in my throat. I crossed my arms instinctively.
“I’m not running from anything. I just don’t want to argue in our daughter’s school parking lot.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “Then let’s go back inside and finish supporting our girl. But when we get home, this conversation is happening.”
“You don’t have the right to demand anything from me,” I shot back defensively.
His eyes narrowed.
He stepped forward. I stepped back. My back hit a concrete column.
“I don’t. But you can’t have an irrational jealousy episode and expect it not to give me hope, Valentina,” he said quietly, his face dangerously close.
“I did not have a jealousy episode,” I growled, the lie obvious even to myself.
His lips curved into a knowing half-smile.
“Of course not, wife.” He stepped back, returning my personal space. “Let’s go.”
He extended his hand and laced his fingers with mine.
“And this time, do us both a favor,” he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t leave my side.”
“You’re unbearable,” I snapped, trying to pull my hand away. He didn’t let go.
“And you’re beautiful,” he replied instantly. “Even more so when you’re jealous. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you that.”
I opened my mouth to deny it again — but I couldn’t. Not with the intensity of his gaze freezing me in place.
He tugged my arm gently and I forced myself to walk, staying silent, not trusting my voice not to betray me.
The rest of Clara’s school event passed in a blur. Enrico kept his word, staying by my side the entire time, his fingers never releasing mine.
His presence was unsettling. His scent intoxicating. His gaze made my body burn, and the awareness of the image we were projecting made me uneasy.
When we finally got into the car to go home, I nearly knelt to thank God. Clara fell asleep within five minutes, leaving Enrico and me alone in a tense silence that throbbed in my ears along with my heartbeat.
Enrico carried Clara to her room as soon as we arrived. I went straight to the kitchen for a glass of water, my throat suddenly dry.
I didn’t have to wait long to feel him behind me.
I turned to face him, my heart racing at his closeness. His eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to victory, a satisfied, almost arrogant expression on his face — which only fueled my irritation.
“What?” I snapped.
He advanced, lips curled into a provocative smile as he trapped me against the kitchen counter.
“Are you angry because I noticed your jealousy… or because you realized you feel jealous of me, Valentina?”
I inhaled sharply, narrowing my eyes.
“I already told you I’m not jealous. Stop pushing this.”
He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. The light touch sent a violent shiver through my skin.
“You can repeat it all you want. It won’t change what happened back there. I saw exactly how you looked at me.”
“And how exactly did I look at you?” I challenged, lifting my chin with courage I absolutely did not feel.
“Like you were ready to rip that woman’s eyes out,” he teased, leaning closer, his breath brushing my face. “Like I was yours. And only yours.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. Anger surged, mixing dangerously with the overwhelming attraction I was trying to suppress.
“You’re unbelievably arrogant,” I muttered, trying to move away. He didn’t allow it, bracing his hands on the counter, trapping me between his arms.
“Maybe I am,” he agreed calmly. “But only because you just gave me the certainty I needed.”
“What certainty?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts.
“That you still feel something for me,” he said, moving closer until our bodies nearly touched. “And that makes me happy. Happier than you can imagine.”
My hands landed on his chest in a futile attempt to keep him away. The contact only made everything worse — the heat of his body beneath my palms driving me insane.
“I feel,” I whispered with effort, unable to meet his burning gaze, “hatred.”
Enrico smiled broadly.
“Hate me all you want. Curse me. Hit me.”
“You want me to hit you?”
“I want you to forgive me. And if hitting me is the first step, go ahead.”
“You’re insane!”
“Am I?” he challenged, his lips now dangerously close to mine. “Then tell me to stop, Valentina. Tell me right now… or I’m going to kiss you.”
I opened my mouth to speak — to demand he step back — but the words died on my lips.
I couldn’t say anything.
I just stood there, frozen, staring at him, trapped in that unbearable moment.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
And before I could react, his lips crashed into mine in a fierce, urgent kiss.
The world stopped.
Every wall I had so carefully built collapsed in an instant, leaving only desire, resentment, and a desperate need for him.
My hands, which had been pushing him away, now clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Enrico’s hands locked around my waist, pressing me against him as our breaths tangled, frantic and desperate.
There was no reason left. No logic. No barrier.
The moment our mouths met, my entire body ignited.
The kiss was hot, hungry, devastating. His mouth molded to mine with near-desperate urgency, making me tremble from head to toe.
His hands slid along my waist, gripping me possessively, demanding more closeness. My heart hammered wildly as I parted my lips instinctively, letting him deepen the kiss. His tongue met mine in an electrifying dance that stole all my breath.
My fingers climbed into his hair, tugging with a need that bordered on madness. I wanted to feel him, taste him, absorb him.
I wanted to leave behind every grievance, every wound, every moment I’d forced myself to stay away from him.
It was as if that kiss freed me from a torture I hadn’t even realized I was still enduring.
Enrico’s hands slid down my back, pressing me hard against the counter, his solid body aligned with mine, making me feel every muscle, every inch of the man I hated to desire so intensely.
His grip was desperate, possessive — and I wanted nothing less in that moment.
He broke the kiss briefly, just long enough to catch my lower lip between his teeth, biting lightly. A hot, almost painful wave of pleasure shot down my spine, pulling a low, involuntary moan from my lips.
“My God, Valentina,” he groaned against my mouth, rough and intense, before kissing me again with even more force, as if starving, as if I were his only air.
My legs nearly gave out. I had to cling to him to stay upright. The intensity was intoxicating, overwhelming.
Every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue, every firm grip burned into me, marking me in a way I knew I would never erase.
And in that moment, I knew — with brutal clarity — that I had never stopped being his.
No matter how much I tried to deny or resist it, my body, my soul, my heart belonged to Enrico Ferrara in a visceral, painful, inevitable way.
And that was exactly why I needed to stop this immediately.
Before it was too late.
Except… I couldn’t.