Chapter 17 - Valentin #2
We ordered one of everything to share off the menu, and found a small table nearby to settle down at.
Gela dives in with enthusiasm.
“So good,” she moans around a mouthful. “I haven't had decent tacos in ages.”
“I'll tell the chef at the house to add them to the rotation.”
“Gee, thanks!” she grins and drizzles some more habanero sauce.
“You’re going to burn your tongue,” I tell her.
“Oh, I’ve got a huge spice tolerance,” she tells me with an earnestness that makes me laugh.
We eat in silence for a while, and then she speaks. “Seriously, though. Thank you for today.”
“Anytime.” I smile back, softly.
“I’ve been thinking about these new clients, and what it means for me, you know?”
“Oh yeah?” I lean in, curious to know her plans.
She finishes the last bite of her taco. “I'm starting to see a real path forward.”
I nod, encouraging her to continue.
“If things go well with TriCore and SkyMark, I could expand. Hire a couple of people, maybe get a small office space again.” Her eyes sparkle with ambition. “I could really build something, you know? Something that's all mine.”
“That's great,” I say, meaning it. Her passion is contagious, and I find myself getting excited for her. “You deserve it.”
“And then, once things settle down with the Zakharovs, I could get my own place again. Something with good security, of course. I've always wanted a loft downtown, with big windows and a view of the city. With these kinds of clients, I think I could afford it, even.”
I feel my heart sinking with every word she says, and whatever she says next just doesn’t register. It’s like my mind’s frozen on her words. She wants her own place, without me.
“Valentin?” She waves a hand in front of my face. “You okay?”
I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Just tired,” I lie, setting down my taco because my appetite’s just left the building. “We should probably head back. It's getting late.”
She looks confused, but I ask for the cheque anyway, paying as quickly as I can so we can get the hell out of here.
The truth is, Gela’s making plans for her future, and that future looks like it’s meant for just one. I don’t know how to tell her that nothing about her plans seems right, that if only she’d open her eyes, she’d realize I’m reeling here.
Can’t she see? I don’t want a future without her in it.
The drive home is quiet. Gela tries to make conversation a few times, but I only answer when it’s absolutely necessary, and that too, in grunts.
The truth is, I can’t exactly tell her what I want, because she’ll only run.
So I bite my tongue to keep her at ease, even though my heart is racing, my palms are clammy, and all I feel is soul-sucking disappointment at what she’s dreaming up without me.
I can sense her growing frustration, but I’m unable to bring myself to stay engaged in the conversation. Every time I throw a glance at her, I remember her talking about plans that clearly don't include me.
“Are you okay?” she finally asks directly as we turn onto the road leading to our estate.
“Yeah, fine,” I mutter, staring straight ahead.
I’m afraid that if I start telling her how I truly feel, I won’t be able to shut up.
When we arrive home at last, I exit the car quickly and don’t bother waiting for her as I usually would before heading inside.
I need space to process this unexpected twist of feelings.
“Valentin,” she calls after me as I walk up the stairs of the mansion. “What's going on? You've been acting weird since the taco place.”
I keep walking, heading for my office where I can pour myself a drink and sort through these thoughts.
“Don't you dare walk away from me,” she says, grabbing my arm. Her touch stops me in my tracks. “Tell me what's wrong.”
I turn to face her, torn between wanting to confess everything and wanting to guard my heart.
She’s made it pretty clear, over and over again, that we’re nothing more than a temporary arrangement.
The thought of pouring how I feel at her feet, only to be doused with the same disappointment again, feels like a spectacularly stupid thing to do.
“Nothing's wrong. I told you, I'm tired.”
“I don’t believe you!” Her eyes flash with anger. “We were having a great time, and then suddenly you shut down. What happened?”
“Gela, just drop it!” I hiss.
“No!” She raises her voice and crosses her arms in front of her. “I won’t just drop it. You’re clearly upset, and I want to know why.”
The disappointment transforms into a hot, red rage, and everything I’ve been suppressing comes out like volcanic ash.
“Fine!” I ask. “You really want to know what’s wrong?”
“Yeah.” She furrows her brows. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m not a goddamn mind reader.”
“Alright then. Here’s the thing, Gela. You should rethink your plans because I’m not letting you go!”
She recoils slightly. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means that when I listened to you talk about your grand plans for your business, your employees, and your downtown loft—” I step closer. “—I noticed that those plans weren’t passed by me!”
She takes a step back and shakes her head. “Are you even hearing yourself, Valentin? This arrangement is temporary, remember? Once the danger passes, we go back to our normal lives!”
“Forget Normal, Gela,” I groan, taking a step toward her, but she takes one back. “It doesn’t exist anymore. You’re a part of this life now. You can’t just walk away!”
She pales and shakes her head. “I'm not yours to let go of, Valentin!”
“That's not what I meant—”
“Then what did you mean?” she nearly shouts. “Because it sounds like you expect me to just fall in line with whatever future you've decided for us.”
“I haven't decided anything,” I protest. “I just want you to consider—”
“You can't just insert yourself into my future because we've slept together!” she shouts. “That's not how this works!”
Her voice makes me flinch. Everything I’m saying is coming out wrong. If only I knew how to express my feelings to her.
“Gela, what I’m trying to say is, we should talk about such decisions together, because…because you’re a part of my life now.”
Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think she might understand what I'm trying to say. But then her expression hardens.
“I'm tired,” she says flatly. “I'm going to bed.”
“Gela—”
“No. I can't do this right now.” She backs away toward the stairs. “You don't own me, Valentin. Remember that.”
She turns and walks up the stairs without looking back, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
Her words keep repeating themselves in my head.
You don’t own me.
You don’t own me.
You don’t own me.
Of course, I know that, but I wish she could see we have a good thing going here.