1. Solenne #2
“It matters though.” He doesn’t frame it as a question. “Your work matters.”
“It does.” I meet his eyes across the candles, not flinching from it. “This is hard. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. But I’m making a choice, and it’s my choice to make.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can see him wrestling with something. The guilt, probably. He carries it around like a stone in his pocket, this idea that he’s dragging me away from my life.
“I hate that you have to choose at all,” he says finally, his voice low.
“I know.” I reach across and cover his hand with mine. “But here’s the thing. I’m choosing you. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Because when I think about the next ten years, I want you in them. You and Summer and whatever comes next.”
He looks at me for a long moment, something raw moving through his expression, and turns his hand over to lace his fingers through mine.
“What did I do to deserve you?” His voice is rough.
“Absolutely nothing.” I squeeze his hand and let go, sitting back in my chair. “You just got lucky.”
That startles a laugh out of him, which is what I was aiming for. I don’t want this night to get heavy. We have enough heavy waiting for us.
“Come on,” I say, standing and holding out my hand. “Dance with me.”
He looks up at me, not moving yet. “There’s no music.”
“So make some.” I keep my hand held out between us, waiting for him to take it.
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through something, and then a song starts playing from the speaker, something slow and jazzy, the kind of thing we used to listen to in our apartment before
Summer was born, when we had time for things like lying on the couch and doing nothing. He stands and pulls me close, one hand on my waist and the other holding mine against his chest.
We’re not really dancing, just swaying, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady and sure, and the city glitters below us, and for this one moment everything is exactly right.
“I’m going to miss this,” I murmur against his shoulder, my eyes half-closed. “Nights like this.”
“We’ll have nights like this in Sicily.” His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer.
“It won’t be the same.” I can feel the rumble of his voice through his chest when I press my cheek against it.
“No,” he agrees, his lips brushing my hair. “It’ll be different. But different doesn’t mean worse. We’ll find a rooftop there too. I’ll bribe someone if I have to.”
I tilt my head back to look at him, amused despite myself. “You’d bribe someone for a rooftop?”
“For you?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my jaw. “I’d do worse than that.”
I believe him. That’s the thing, I believe him completely. Whatever else I’m worried about, I’ve never doubted that Valentin loves me. It’s been the one constant in four years of marriage, the foundation under everything else.
We sway through the rest of the song and into the next one, and I let myself stop thinking about scripts and villas and all the unknown things waiting for us across an ocean.
Right now there’s just this. His arms around me.
The smell of jasmine and wine. The particular way he hums off-key when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
“I need to tell you something,” he says eventually, his voice going serious against my ear.
I pull back enough to look at his face, my hand still resting on his chest. “What?”
“I know you’re scared. About the move, about fitting in, about all of it.
” He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and I go still under his touch.
“And I need you to know that I see it. I see you trying to be brave and act like everything’s fine, and I love you for it, but you don’t have to pretend. Not with me.”
My throat goes tight, and I have to swallow before I can speak. “Valentin…”
“Let me finish.”
He holds my gaze, steady and intent, his hands warm against my face.
“I know my world is different from yours. I know it’s going to take time to find your footing.
And I know I haven’t exactly been present these last few weeks, with everything happening so fast.” He swallows visibly, his thumbs still moving gently against my cheeks.
“But I need you to hear me when I say this: you will never regret choosing me. I swear it. Whatever happens, whatever we have to face, I will spend every day making sure of that.”
I want to say something, but my voice won’t cooperate. So instead I kiss him, soft at first and then deeper, and his hands slide into my hair and we stand there on that rooftop while the music plays on, and I let myself believe that he’s right.
We finish the wine. He tells me it’s a Marchetti vintage from a friend’s estate in western Sicily, and I file that away as something to remember.
We eat the rest of the risotto, which has gone slightly cold but still tastes perfect. He tells me about a boat his father used to own, a little sailing thing they’d take out on calm days, and how he wants to teach Summer to sail once she’s old enough.
I tell him about the worst audition I ever had, the one where I got so nervous I walked into the wrong room and did my entire monologue for a commercial casting before anyone stopped me.
He laughs so hard he almost knocks over his water glass, and I watch his face in the candlelight and think: this is my husband.