The October evening was crisp and clear. Manhattan sparkled with lights as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Perfect date weather. Like the universe was cooperating for once.
I made it to Mezzaluna in ten minutes. The restaurant was one of my favorites—intimate Italian place tucked into a brownstone in the West Village. Good food, discreet service, the kind of place where privacy was understood. I'd chosen it carefully. Nice enough to show I was taking this seriously but not so over-the-top that Valentino would feel uncomfortable.
The maître d' recognized me immediately. "Mr. Romano. Your table is ready."
"Thank you, Antonio. I'm expecting someone. I'll wait here."
He nodded and disappeared back into the restaurant. I stood near the entrance, hands in my pockets, trying not to look as nervous as I felt.
What if this was a mistake? What if taking this public was too much too soon? What if Valentino walked in, saw the reality of being with me in a social setting, and realized he'd made a terrible decision?
The spiral of anxiety was interrupted by a car pulling up to the curb.
Valentino stepped out and every thought in my head evaporated.
He wore dark jeans and a grey sweater that made his hazel eyes look almost silver in the fading light. His curly hair wasslightly tamed but still had that wild quality I'd come to associate with him. He looked nervous and beautiful and so completely out of his element that my protective instincts immediately kicked in.
Then our eyes met and he smiled.
Just a small smile. Uncertain but genuine. And I felt everything click into place.
I met him on the sidewalk. "Hi."
"Hi." His voice was quieter than usual. "This place looks expensive."
"It's not as expensive as it looks." A lie, but a kind one. "Come on. Our table's ready."
I wanted to touch him. Put my hand on his back, or take his hand, or do any of the small intimate gestures that couples did. But we were in public and I didn't know what he was comfortable with yet. So I just walked beside him into the restaurant, hyperaware of the space between us.
Antonio led us to a table in the back corner. Private but not isolated. Perfect for conversation without being overheard but still part of the restaurant's atmosphere.
"Your server will be with you shortly," Antonio said. "Enjoy your evening."
I held out Valentino's chair and he looked at me with surprise before sitting. Small gestures. That's what I could do. Show him I was serious about treating him well.
"You're being very... gentlemanly," Valentino said once we were alone.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No. Just different. The persona meets modern dating etiquette." But he was smiling. Teasing. Some of the nervousness easing.
"I'm trying." I leaned forward. "This is our first real date. I want to do it right."
"Define right."
"Treating you the way you deserve to be treated. Like someone important instead of someone I'm controlling." I met his eyes. "Like someone I'm falling for."
The words hung between us. Too honest maybe. Too much too soon. But I'd promised him honesty and I meant it.
Valentino's breath caught. "Luca—"
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know." I picked up my menu, giving him an out. "The osso buco here is incredible. But everything's good."
He stared at me for a moment longer before picking up his own menu. "You can't just say things like that and then talk about food."
"Why not?"
"Because it's disorienting. You go from this intense emotional confession to restaurant recommendations like it's nothing."
