As I type, the words begin to flow, and I know exactly what to write, what Ineedto 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,thatRomano. 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 mantrusted 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.
