Chapter 67
SIXTY-SEVEN
VALENTINA FERRARA
I couldn’t stand still.
I paced back and forth in the small room carefully prepared for the press conference, feeling as if my heart might explode at any second.
Enrico had insisted on personally picking up the reporters, determined to make sure everyone knew from the very beginning that the inauguration was about me, about the Institute, about my work.
“You’re the star today,” he’d said with a warm smile before leaving.
And now, as the moment drew closer, my anxiety seemed to double in size.
I took a deep breath for what felt like the hundredth time, trying—uselessly—to calm the nervous energy consuming me.
The side door opened suddenly, and I turned quickly, expecting to see Enrico returning with the reporters. Instead, Marcos Albuquerque walked in with an easy, friendly smile.
The restorer responsible for the historic building where the Institute would operate was tall, with warm brown eyes and a charming smile.
In the two months we’d been working together, I’d noticed how his relaxed, easygoing manner always seemed to calm the spaces around him—and I felt oddly grateful for his presence in that moment.
“Nervous?” he asked, stopping near me, hands tucked casually into his pockets, a posture completely incompatible with my internal chaos.
I let out a short, nervous laugh and shook my head.
“I don’t know how you manage to be so calm. I’m about to explode.”
He smiled, glancing around the room as if evaluating everything with professional ease.
“I’m used to this. I’ve done plenty of press conferences like this. In the end, it’s just a conversation. You’re going to do great, Valentina. Everyone already loves you and your project.”
I inhaled deeply again, trying to absorb some of that confidence.
“Thank you for saying that. I really hope you’re right.”
He looked straight at me, a playful confidence in his smile.
“I usually am.”
This time, I laughed for real, feeling a bit of the tension loosen its grip.
We walked over to the table where, in just a few minutes, we’d be sitting in front of the journalists. Marcos leaned back against the edge of the table in a casual stance.
Instinctively, I mirrored him, feeling slightly lighter as I matched his relaxed posture.
“And the restoration?” I asked, desperate to focus on something other than my nerves.
“It’s going really well. I even managed to locate some original materials from the period. We’re going to preserve much more than I initially expected.”
I smiled, genuinely happy.
“That’s amazing, Marcos. I can’t wait to see everything finished.”
He studied me curiously, a faint smile on his lips.
“You’ve already done so much, Valentina. None of this would exist without your dedication. Today is about celebrating everything you’ve built.”
A pleasant warmth spread through me—but before I could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway.
My heart started racing again, violently, and Marcos noticed immediately.
“Ready for the show?” he asked.
I let out a weak, nervous laugh and met his gaze honestly.
“No. But I’m going to do it anyway.”
For a brief second, he just looked at me.
Then, before I could say anything else, Marcos pulled me toward him and pressed his lips against mine in a completely unexpected, cinematic—and entirely unwanted—kiss.
My body froze in absolute shock, my mind unable to process what was happening.
At that exact moment, the door burst open, voices and footsteps flooding the room—announcing the arrival of the reporters and, most likely, Enrico as well.
Chaos erupted before I could even react.
I shoved Marcos away with every ounce of strength I could summon, my heart pounding violently as I struggled to breathe. Panic consumed me, making each breath feel like a monumental effort.
Marcos stumbled back a few steps, wearing a perfectly rehearsed expression of surprise and innocence.
I lifted my eyes in desperation—only to realize the room was already full of journalists and photographers, all staring at the scene with avid interest. Cameras raised. Photos snapped. Videos recording.
My gaze searched frantically for Enrico.
I found him immediately—his blue eyes locked onto mine. Like everyone else, he stood frozen, his expression unreadable, a mix of shock and something I couldn’t name.
My heart dropped into my stomach as our eyes held for two long seconds—each one a small death.
It was over.
There would be no explanation good enough. No words that could fix this.
He wouldn’t believe me. He probably wouldn’t even let me explain—
Enrico took a step forward, and instinctively I lowered my head, bracing myself for the verbal blow that was surely coming.
My entire body was tense, every muscle locked, shame burning my skin.
But instead of the harsh words I expected, I heard sudden movement—and the violent sound of impact.
I lifted my head in shock.
Enrico lunged at Marcos and struck him with a punch so hard the man fell to the ground, dazed. Enrico hit him again—and again—in a furious sequence.
“Enrico!” I screamed, hand flying to my mouth as I watched, stunned.
Security finally intervened, pulling Enrico away from Marcos, who lay groaning on the floor.
Enrico straightened slowly, astonishingly composed, calmly adjusting his hair and jacket despite bruised knuckles and drops of blood scattered on the floor.
“Get this man out of here,” he ordered coldly, his voice firm and commanding.
Ignoring the chaos around him, Enrico walked straight toward me and held out his hand.
I stood frozen, unable to move, shock still flooding every thought.
When I didn’t respond, he stepped closer, wrapped an arm gently around my waist, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
That gentle touch shattered the paralysis holding me in place.
My eyes finally met his—already flooded with tears.
“I’m sorry I lost control, love,” he murmured softly so only I could hear. “But no one is ruining your day.”
I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat, drowned by emotion.
“You… you…” I managed weakly.
Enrico smiled, discreetly squeezing my hand as he guided me toward the small podium in front of us.
“The journalists are waiting, love,” he said calmly, kissing my forehead once more before positioning himself beside me.
He took a deep breath and faced the room.
“I apologize for that,” he said, his tone steady and decisive.
“But I believe you’ll agree the idiot had it coming.
We won’t be discussing our personal lives right now.
Any answers you want regarding what you just witnessed will be provided later today by my personal press office.
This moment is reserved for the Clara Ferrara Institute.
I ask that you respect that. Anyone who violates this will be removed from the press conference and will not receive the information previously promised.
Without further delay—the president of the Clara Ferrara Institute, my wife, Valentina Ferrara. ”
Polite applause filled the room.
Inside, my heart was still in complete turmoil as I stepped forward, fighting to regain my composure and begin the presentation I had prepared so carefully.
The press conference passed in a blurred haze.
Every word I spoke felt distant, disconnected from myself. The bitter taste of tension lingered, the fear that Enrico might explode at any moment and shatter all the happiness we’d fought so hard to rebuild.
When we finally got home, the silence felt heavier than ever.
I watched Enrico closely, searching for any sign of anger, resentment, or doubt—but he simply moved calmly, removing his jacket and loosening his tie.
My heart still raced as I gathered the courage to speak.
“I’m going to pack,” I said quietly, trying to sound firm—but my voice trembled.
Enrico frowned, confused.
“Pack?” he repeated slowly, as if he hadn’t understood.
I exhaled deeply, the knot in my throat tightening.
“I know you pretended to be okay to avoid a scandal. To protect Clara. I understand that, Enrico. You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary.”
Enrico laughed—softly, unexpectedly.
He stepped closer, cupped my face in his hands, and instead of answering, he kissed me.
His lips moved over mine with absolute tenderness, radiating a trust that felt impossible after what had happened earlier.
Each second of that kiss slowly dissolved my doubts and fears, replacing them with a deep sense of safety and love.
When he pulled back, we were both breathless.
I stared at him, stunned.
Then—to my complete shock—Enrico dropped to his knees in front of me, holding my hands gently, his gaze locked onto mine.
“Valentina, I never got the chance to say my vows to you—and that’s unforgivable.
Will you marry me?” His voice was steady, sincere.
“I don’t need explanations. I trust you.
I know whatever happened was not with your consent or participation.
Nothing else matters now—only that you say yes to me, to our life, to our family.
Please say yes, Valentina. I don’t know how to live a life that doesn’t include you. ”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at him, my heart beating strong and sure.
“But… we’re already married.”
He laughed softly.
“I know. But I did it wrong the first time. I want the chance to do it right. Will you marry me again? With everything—church, celebration, honeymoon, all of it?”
My answer came without hesitation.
“Yes, Enrico. A thousand times yes.”
He stood quickly, grinning as he pulled me into a passionate kiss. Effortlessly, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom, where we spent the night wrapped in each other—celebrating our decision with love, passion, and unrestrained happiness.
The sun was already rising when, lying on his bare chest, I felt his strong arm around me, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my naked skin.
I looked at him and smiled softly.
“I can already picture Clara as the flower girl. She’s going to look so beautiful in that twirly dress, throwing petals down the aisle.”
Enrico’s smile lit up his face.
“She’s going to steal the entire show—you know that, right?”
I laughed quietly.
“Definitely. And I’m going to love it.”
He kissed my forehead, sighing happily.
“And our honeymoon? Where do you want to go?”
I thought for a moment, biting my lower lip before looking back at him with excitement.
“I want something that’s really ours. Just you and me. Somewhere quiet, far from everything. Maybe a little house in the mountains—with a fireplace and lots of wine.”
He laughed, nodding approvingly.
“Sounds perfect. A cabin hidden from the world. No phones. No distractions. Just you and me, enjoying every second.”
I sighed happily, snuggling closer.
“I can’t wait.”
Enrico held me tighter, kissing my shoulder as he murmured tenderly:
“You’re everything I ever wanted, Valentina. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Enrico. And this time, nothing is going to stop us from being happy,” I promised.
As if the universe itself objected, the phones began vibrating nonstop.
Enrico didn’t hesitate.
“We’re not looking,” he declared, pulling me closer.
We both knew what it meant. The news from the day before had probably started breaking.
Enrico had already told me he’d handled everything with our press team before we even left the Institute, so I agreed—happy to extend that perfect moment a little longer.
We stayed together, making love again, determined to ignore the outside world.
But a few hours later, as we were getting ready to start the day, Enrico’s phone rang insistently. He sighed and answered on speaker.
“Do you ever sleep, André? For God’s sake, it’s Sunday morning.”
“Have you seen the news?” André sounded genuinely worried.
Enrico frowned.
“No. I know exactly what they’re running. I approved the statements.”
There was a pause.
“You should look. I’m sorry.”
Without hesitation, Enrico opened the browser on his phone and typed in his name.
My heart froze when I saw the images and videos—Marcos publicly claiming we were having an affair and that I would leave Enrico for him.
I felt dizzy, nauseated, my skin draining of color.
“Hey—hey—hey… it’s okay, love. It’s okay,” Enrico said immediately, pulling me firmly into his arms. “I’ll call you back later, André,” he added, ending the call.
“It’s a lie, Enrico! I never—”
“I know.” He kissed me softly.
Still shaken, I whispered, “But the people… I don’t know if I can go through this again. The judgments, the looks—and now… now there’s Clara.”
He held my face firmly, making me look at him.
“I’m going to fix this. I’ll prove your innocence and expose who’s really behind all of this. This is our story. Our happily ever after. And no one—ever again—is going to interfere with that.”
“Thank you,” I murmured as his thumbs stroked my cheeks.
“What did I tell you?” he said gently. “You never have to thank me for making you happy. That’s my job, Valentina. And I take it very seriously.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his chest.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“You’re the love of my life, Valentina. Forever.”