Chapter 28
Valentina
I sit at my desk in our dusty old library, staring at an empty screen. I can still hear the journalists outside several days on, and I do my best to block out their constant, intrusive noise.
I let out a breath as I run my fingers through my hair, now the natural brunette I’ve not seen since I was a teenager. It’s a small way in which I can shrug off my past, show the world the real me.
I’ve looked like my Fabiana persona for so many years, when now I look in the mirror, I’m someone I don’t recognize. It’s an odd sensation, but one I find I like.
I’m not pretending anymore. I’m Valentina Romano. If I’m not your cup of tea, don’t drink me.
I type a sentence and then delete it. Then another and delete that.
Where do I start with this article? There’s so much that’s happened in the past weeks.
I’ve gone from being Fabiana Fontaine, a royal journalist who hid my identity behind my entertaining, sometimes frivolous reports and TikToks, to a woman who fell in love with the prince.
Now, I’m the story, hunted by the press, hiding out in my nona’s house, a prisoner of a different sort.
What’s more, once I was a woman who wasn’t looking for love. I didn’t think I even needed it in my life. Now, I’ve fallen for a man who won’t see me. A man I’ve not heard from since that fateful day at the palace.
A man I can never forget.
My heart literally aches when I think of what I’ve done to him. What I did to myself. He opened up to me, allowed himself to be vulnerable with me, and in return I broke his trust by not telling him my truth.
If I could go back…But I can’t. What’s done is done. There’s no point in even thinking about it.
All I can do now is move forward with my life as Valentina Romano and try to right some of my wrongs.
I type a few words and then stop to read them.
My apology will never be enough, by Fabiana Fontaine
Yes. That’s it.
As I type, the words begin to flow, and I know exactly what to write, what I need to write. It’s what’s in my heart, the part of my story that needs to be told before anything else.
This will be my last column as Fabiana Fontaine, because as most of you now know, she doesn't actually exist.
I am Lady Valentina Romano.
Yes, that Romano. The daughter of the disgraced lord who fled this country fifteen years ago, leaving behind scandal, shame, and a twelve-year-old girl who thought changing her name would change her fate.
Part of me is angry my father left me to face the consequences of his actions alone.
Part of me is angry that he's never admitted his guilt, making it impossible for me to fully move on.
And the twelve-year-old part of me that still remembers his care packages and piggyback rides just misses my papa and wishes things could be different.
For years, I've hidden behind Fabiana's sharp wit, using her as my armor against a world that knew my family's disgrace. And it worked. I had a career, a life. I became so comfortable living as someone else that I forgot the weight of lies until I met someone who deserved the truth.
I was too much of a coward to give it to him.
And now I’ve hurt someone who meant so much to me. I cannot change what I’ve done, no matter how much I want to. So, this is an open letter to him.
I hope he’ll read it, but I don’t expect he will.
This man trusted me with his genuine self, giving to me unreservedly. He showed me kindness I didn't deserve.
In return, I kept my secret from him. I chose the comfortable lie over the difficult truth, and in doing so, I betrayed the trust of the one person I should have protected, the one person who grew to mean so much to me in such a short time.
I was a coward, pure and simple.
There's no justification that doesn't sound like excuse-making. I lied. I built our relationship on deception, then had the audacity to fall in love while maintaining that deception.
Because yes, I fell in love with him. Completely. Totally.
Hopelessly.
I've forfeited any right to forgiveness. Loving someone requires honesty, and I failed in that respect quite spectacularly.
What I need to tell you all is that every cruel thing I've written about him was wrong. He isn't the man-child I once described. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.
Strong, kind, with the kind of humility I was blind to, the kind of humility that shows up in him every single day.
The humility I missed when I labelled him as less than he is.
So, this is where Fabiana Fontaine signs off. What remains is simply Valentina, the flawed, regretful, and finally truthful daughter of a once proud lord.
This man deserved better than my lies, and he certainly deserves better than my flawed love.
But he has both.
Valentina Romano xx
I don’t add any hashtags as I read over what I wrote.
I don't change a word. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s exactly how I feel.
I share it with Judith. It's not what she's looking for.
It's not a tell-all about my relationship with Max.
It doesn't shed any light on what happened to my father all those years ago.
What it is, is my simple truth, an apology that needs to be made.
The article is published within three hours, and if I thought the media circus outside my front door was intolerable before, now it’s the Olympics of overexposure, complete with commentators narrating how I take out the rubbish.
“They'll move on to the next story soon enough, Val,” Nona says as I once again stand at the window, wishing the mob away.
I turn to look at her and Mr. Beckman, sitting side by side on the sofa. They’ve been grinning at each other like a couple of teenagers since he snuck in through the back door about half an hour ago.
“I think I just added a drum full of fuel to the fire with my article,” I say.
“You said what needed to be said. Now, you can leave Fabiana Fontaine behind. You can reinvent yourself as Valentina.”
“It’s always best to be your authentic self,” Mr. Beckman agrees as he gives Nona’s hand a squeeze.
“Unless, of course, you’re a horrible person like that Miranda Thorne,” Nona replies.
“Oh, she’s public enemy number one as far as I’m concerned,” he agrees.
I flop down on the sofa opposite them. It gives a creak in protest, and one of the springs digs uncomfortably into my butt cheek.
It’s a metaphor for my life right now.
I shift along until I find a sunken spot without metal armor. “I don't exactly have any choice but to be my authentic self.”
“Do you want a choice?” Nona asks.
I worry my lip. If I had the chance to do it all again, would I remain as Fabiana Fontaine? Would I protect myself from falling in love with the prince?
Although it hurts like heck, I wouldn’t give up those precious moments spent with him. Not for the world.
“I don't want the choice,” I reply.
“That's my girl. Be proud of who you are. You are my granddaughter, after all.”
“And what a grandmother you have,” Mr. Beckman says, gazing at my nona with love in his eyes.
Seriously, it’s like his eyes have morphed into little heart emojis.
“What would I do without you, Nona?” I ask, my throat heating up.
“You’d have a conservatory full of dead orchids for starters.”
I smile. “I’ll be sure to ask St. Nick for a green thumb this year.”
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up to see which journalist is calling me now only to see Ronan Clementine's name appear on my screen. Instantly, my heart rate kicks up.
My first thought is that it’s actually Max, and for some reason he’s using Mr. Clementine’s phone. Totally illogical, but when is hope logical?
“I think it's the palace PR guy,” I say.
Nona leans forward with interest. “I suggest you answer that one, Val.”
Apprehension builds in me, but I answer anyway. Part of being the new Valentina Romano is being brave.
“Hello?”
“This is Ronan Clementine, Ms. Fontaine…or rather, should I say, Lady Romano.”
“Hello, Mr. Clementine,” I reply, my heart drumming.
“I understand you’ve been, err, swamped, shall we say, and I wanted to ensure you receive a package that’s being sent to you today.”
My heart sinks. It’s probably legal documents. They’re going to sue me. “A package?” I ask.
“Expect it in about an hour.”
“All right.” When he doesn’t reply, I say, “Mr. Clementine?”
He clears his throat. “Ah, Ms. Chen says to say hello.” I can hear a voice in the background. “Hello, Fab, to be precise.”
I smile despite myself. “Say hi back.”
“I certainly will. And Lady Romano? For what it’s worth, I think it’s a shame what happened. You had been producing some good work for the prince. He owes you a debt.”
I swallow down a rising lump. “He doesn’t owe me anything.”
Within the hour, a package arrives, just as Mr. Clementine said it would, and I collect it from the delivery man, who looks just as frazzled as Judith had on my doorstep. I carry it into the living room and place it on the coffee table.
“It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” I say as I stare at the package. It’s at least ten times the size of the usual document packages I receive.
“Are you going to open it?” Mr. Beckman asks.
I twist my mouth. “I’m not sure.”
“Shall I do the honors?” Mr. Beckman asks. “I’ve never seen a package from the palace. It’s all rather exciting.”
“No, I’ll do it.” I slide a knife along the taped edges and push the cardboard to each side. There’s a layer of tissue paper, sealed with a black and gold sticker. “What the heck is this?” I pull back the tissue paper and suddenly, I can’t breathe and my hand flies to my mouth.
“What is it, Val?” Nona asks with concern in her voice.
She and Mr. Beckman crowd around me, peering inside the package.
“Looks like a dress to me,” Mr. Beckman says.
“Valentina, my darling, it matches your eyes perfectly,” Nona croons.
I reach out and touch the emerald green silk, deep and rich.
With trembling hands, I pull the dress from the box, and it spills out.
Gold embroidery shimmers on the bodice and edges of the strapless dress, cut in a sweetheart shape.
As I shake it out, the skirt billows out like a princess dress. A fairy-tale dress.
A note drops to the floor, and I lean down to pick it up and read it. All it says is the date of the ball and the location, at the grand ballroom at the palace.
In shock, I look up at Nona. She’s smiling at me, her eyes soft.
“He wants you at the ball, my darling,” she says.
“But…why?” I ask.
“Love is a very powerful thing,” Mr. Beckman says, nodding his head sagely. “You’ve captured that man’s heart. Mark my words.”
Clutching the dress in my hands, I sit back down, suddenly overwhelmed.
“So?" Nona asks. "Will you go?"
I stare at the dress for a long moment, my mind racing through all the possibilities. The best case, the worst case, and everything in between.
"I honestly don't know," I admit. "Part of me wants to believe this means something wonderful. But the other part—?" I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
"The other part?" Mr. Beckman asks kindly.
"I guess the other part is terrified that hoping for too much will break whatever's left of my heart."
Nona and Mr. Beckman exchange concerned looks.
“Why don’t you sleep on it, dear,” Nona suggests. “There’s no rush to decide. The ball isn’t for a few days.”
I slide the dress back into the box and close it over. I head toward the stairs. "I need to sleep on it. Tomorrow I'll decide.”
“You’ll know the right thing to do,” Nona says.
The dress is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but I'm not sure I'm brave enough to wear it.
I'm not sure I'm brave enough to hope.