"Matteo's methods aren't subtle. But they love each other now. Got married last year." I took another sip of wine. "And Elio and Julian—Julian was running from an arranged marriage. Elio protected him. They fell for each other while trying to survive external threats."
"So everyone has a complicated beginning."
"Very." I met his eyes. "Does that help? Knowing we're not the only ones who started in darkness?"
"Yes. And no. Because they all got past it. Became real couples. Had weddings and lives and futures." He set down his fork. "Do you think we can have that?"
"I want to." The honesty came easier now. "I want this to be real. Want to build something with you that's more than coercion and complicated. Want you to meet my partners officially as someone who matters to me."
"They already know about me."
"They know I'm involved with a journalist I was supposed to be controlling. They don't know I'm falling in love with you."
The words hung between us. Bigger than I'd meant them to be. More honest than was safe.
Valentino stared at me. "You can't just say that."
"Why not? It's true." I leaned forward. "I'm falling in love with you, Valentino. Have been since you told me to fuck off. Maybe even before. And I know it's too soon and too fast and you probably don't feel the same yet but I wanted you to know."
His hand found mine across the table. "You're an idiot."
"What?"
"I'm falling in love with you too. Have been even though I didn't want to admit it. Even though it's probably the stupidest decision I've ever made." His grip tightened. "But I can't help it. I want this. Want you. Want to see if we can build something real."
Relief flooded through me so intensely I almost couldn't breathe. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He was smiling now. Genuine and warm and so beautiful it hurt to look at. "But Luca? If you hurt me—if this turns out to be another manipulation—I'm done. For real this time."
"It's not. I swear it's not." I turned his hand over, traced patterns on his palm. "I know I fucked up the beginning. Know I did this all wrong. But I'm trying to do it right now. Trying to be someone worthy of you."
"You already are."
We finished dinner talking about smaller things. Books we'd read, movies we loved, the mundane details that built intimacy. By the time we paid the check—I insisted, he protested, I won—the restaurant was mostly empty and the night had grown darker outside.
"Walk with me?" I asked.
"Where?"
"Back to my place. It's only a few blocks. We can walk along the river."
He studied my face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Let's walk."
We stepped out into the October night and I made a decision. Reached for Valentino's hand and threaded our fingers together.
He looked down at our joined hands, then up at me. "We're holding hands in public."
"Is that okay?"
"Yeah." His smile was soft. "It's good."
We walked west toward the Hudson River, hands linked, existing in our own small world. Manhattan moved around us—other couples, tourists, locals—but I was only aware of Valentino beside me. The warmth of his hand in mine. The way he leaned slightly into me as we walked.
Small things. Intimate gestures. Building something real.
"Thank you for tonight," he said quietly. "For dinner. For being honest. For wanting me enough to do this properly."
"Thank you for giving me the chance. For not running when you had every reason to."
