11. Solenne #2
We sit in comfortable silence, listening to the rain. The house feels different at night, quieter, the kind of space where difficult thoughts can surface without being pushed away.
The doorbell rings.
We both freeze. Odette’s not expecting anyone. Neither am I.
“Stay here,” she says, and goes to answer the door.
I hear her open it. Hear the rain, louder now with the door open. And then Odette’s voice, sharp with something I can’t identify.
“What are you doing here?”
I move before I’ve decided to, crossing the living room to the front hallway. Odette is standing in the doorway, her body blocking the entrance, her arm braced against the frame.
And on the other side, soaking wet, is Valentin.
He’s not carrying an umbrella. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his jacket dark with rain, water dripping from his sleeves onto Odette’s porch. He looks like he’s been standing in this storm for hours.
“Solenne,” he says my name like he’s not sure I’m real. “Please. I just want to talk.”
“She asked for space,” Odette says.
“I know. I’ve been trying to give it.” He’s looking past her, looking at me. “But I needed to say some things in person. Not through messages. Not through lawyers.”
Odette turns to look at me, a question in her eyes. I could tell her to close the door. I could walk away and let him stand there in the rain until he gives up.
“Give us a minute,” I say quietly.
Odette hesitates, then steps back and moves toward the living room. She leaves the door ajar, close enough to hear if I need her.
I step into the doorway. The rain is loud on the roof of the porch, the air thick with the smell of wet concrete. Valentin stays where he is, just outside, not trying to come closer.
“Delfina started telling me that night,” he says.
“I heard the rest the next morning. About the bracelet, the threats, the way my mother treated you. She told me about the phone call, the lie about Summer having a fever. And she told me you went to the fiesta anyway, that you were there with Summer, that you watched while I…”
He stops. Swallows.
“I stood there with Ginevra and let them take photographs. I didn’t step away. I didn’t look for you. I didn’t even know you were there.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“I saw the footage too. The security camera from the corridor. It showed Ginevra pushing Delfina first. It showed you protecting her.”
“You needed a camera?”
“No.” He shakes his head, water running down his face. “I should have let you finish a sentence. You didn’t owe me proof.”
The words land somewhere unexpected. I wait for him to make excuses, to explain why he didn’t believe me, to turn this into a conversation about his perspective. He doesn’t.
“Odette sent me the recording of Summer. From the hotel in Rome.” His voice cracks slightly. “Hearing her repeat what my mother said, what Ginevra said… I can’t stop hearing it.”
“Odette told me she sent it. When we got here.” I keep my voice down. “Summer shouldn’t have had those things to tell her.”
“I’ve removed my mother from the villa. She’s in Milan.
Ginevra has left as well, back to her family’s property.
Neither of them is welcome back.” He takes a breath.
“Delfina is running the household now. Teresa’s position is secure.
The bracelet accusation has been dropped.
There was never any evidence, and I’ve made it clear the matter is closed. ”
“Good. They deserve that.”
“They do.” He pauses. “And you deserved a husband who would have listened the first time you tried to tell him something was wrong. I’m not going to pretend that sending my mother away undoes what I let happen.”
Rain runs down his face, into his collar. He must be freezing, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t ask to come inside, doesn’t do anything except stand there and take whatever I’m willing to give him.
Part of me wants to reach for him. To pull him out of the rain and wrap him in something warm and pretend the last six months didn’t happen. That part of me remembers rooftops and promises and a version of us that felt unbreakable.
I stay where I am.
“It’s too late, Valentin.”
“I know.”
“I filed for divorce. I signed the papers.”
“I know that too.” His voice is steady, but I can see what it costs him.
“I’m not here to ask you to take them back.
I’m not here to demand anything. I just needed you to hear it from me, not through lawyers or messages.
I see what I did. All of it. The times you tried to tell me and I didn’t listen.
The times I asked you to keep the peace instead of asking what was wrong.
The way I chose comfortable lies over difficult truths. ”
“And now you want me to forgive you because you finally understand?”
“No. I want you to know that I understand, whether you forgive me or not.” He takes a small step back, away from the door.
“I’m not going to show up here again. I’m not going to pressure you or make this harder than it already is.
But I wanted you to know, face to face, that I’m not giving up.
Not on the possibility that someday you might be willing to talk.
Not on being the father Summer deserves. Not on any of it.”
“That’s a lot of not giving up for someone who just said he wouldn’t pressure me.”
“I know how it sounds.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face, gone almost before it appears. “I’ll leave you contact information. One way to reach me if you ever want to. That’s all. You don’t have to use it. You don’t have to respond. But it’ll be there.”
I don’t say anything. The rain keeps falling, filling the silence between us.
“I should go,” he says. “You’re getting wet standing in the doorway.”
He’s right. The rain is blowing sideways now, misting my face and arms. I don’t move.
“How did you get here?”
“Hired a car. The driver dropped me at the corner.” He gestures vaguely toward the street. “I’ll call another one.”
“It’s pouring.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He’s trying to make me laugh, or at least smile. I don’t give him the satisfaction, but something loosens slightly in my chest anyway.
“Go find somewhere dry to wait,” I say.
He looks toward the street. For a moment I expect him to ask for five more minutes, to find a reason he can’t leave yet.
“I will.”
“And Summer wants to show you her drawings. We can arrange that. Through Odette, for now.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
“That’s for her, Valentin.”
“I understand.”
He waits, but I have nothing else to offer him.
He turns and walks down the porch steps into the rain. I watch him go until he reaches the sidewalk and turns toward the main road, his figure blurring in the downpour.
I close the door and lean against it.
Odette appears in the hallway, a towel in her hands. “You’re soaked.”
“A little.”
She hands me the towel. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t push. “There’s more wine if you want it.”
“I think I’m going to go to bed.”
I climb the stairs slowly, stopping to check on Summer. She’s still asleep, Bunny clutched under her chin, her breath soft and even. I watch her for a moment, then continue to my room.
The guest room is quiet. I change out of my damp clothes and get into bed, but I don’t turn off the light. The rain has slowed, the drumming on the roof gentling to a murmur.
I can still hear him saying I didn’t owe him proof.
I pull the covers up, then push them down again. There is a damp patch on the pillow where I lay my head before drying my hair properly. I turn it over.
He listened tonight. He left when the conversation was finished. Both things should have been ordinary.
I turn off the lamp and try to stop replaying them.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I pick it up, expecting Odette checking in. Instead it’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.
I’m at the Montage, room 712. I’ll be here every day until you’re ready or until you tell me to stop. You were never a trap. You were the choice I would make a thousand times.
I read it twice. Three times.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I could block this number too, the way I blocked the other one in Rome. One tap and he’s silenced.
I don’t tap it.
I don’t reply either.
I set the phone back on the nightstand and lie in the dark, listening to the rain fade to nothing. He’s out there somewhere in this city, in a hotel room, waiting for an answer I’m not ready to give.
I turn onto my side, away from the phone.
I told him it was too late.
I leave him a way to answer anyway.