***
Saturday couldn't come fast enough.
I drove the three hours back to Pennsylvania. Went through security—metal detectors, searches, signing in. Finally, they led me to the visiting room.
It wasn't what I expected. Not private booths with glass partitions like in movies. Instead, it was an open room with small tables and chairs. Vending machines along one wall. Guards stationed at intervals.
And then Luca walked in.
He was wearing prison khakis. His hair was shorter than I remembered. But it was him. Alive. Real. Right there.
"Valentino." He crossed to me and we were allowed to hug—briefly, the guard watching—before sitting at one of the tables.
"You look okay," I said, taking in every detail. "Tired but okay."
"I'm managing. You look exhausted."
"I haven't been sleeping well. The bed's too big without you."
His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you're going through this."
"Don't apologize. We're going through this together. Just... separately." I reached across the table and took his hands. The guard didn't stop us. "Tell me about it. What's it like in there?"
"It's minimum security, so it's not as bad as it could be. I have a cellmate—older guy, white-collar crime, keeps to himself.There's a routine. Meals, work detail, rec time. I'm in the kitchen detail, which is fine. Keeps me busy."
"Are you safe?"
"I'm safe. Some people know who I am. Most leave me alone. I'm keeping my head down, behaving perfectly." He squeezed my hands. "I want that early release. I want to come home to you."
"Eleven more months. We can do this."
"We can." He studied my face. "Are you working?"
"Yes. Stefan and Julian have me busy with PR campaigns. It helps. Keeps my mind occupied."
"Good. That's good." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "We have twenty-five minutes left."
Twenty-five minutes. Not nearly enough.
We talked about everything and nothing. His routine in prison. My work. The partners checking in on me. His plans to read through the prison library. My plans to finally organize the penthouse properly.
Normal things. Mundane things. Things that made this bearable.
When the guard announced visiting hours were over, I wanted to scream. Wanted to refuse to leave. Wanted to grab Luca and run.
Instead, I stood. He stood. We hugged one more time—longer than we should have, until the guard cleared his throat.
"I love you," I said against his shoulder. "I'll be back next weekend."
"I love you too. Drive safe."
Then I had to let go and walk away. Had to leave him there in prison while I drove back to freedom. The unfairness of it burned.
But this was temporary. Twelve months. We could survive twelve months.
We had to.
***
