But I've been so focused on my wounded pride, so consumed by my anger at being deceived, that I lost sight of the most important truth: she did it because she loved me. She was desperate and trapped, and saw no other way to have even a fraction of what she wanted. What we both wanted, if I’m being honest with myself… which I wasn’t back then, and haven’t been since. I wanted her and I wasn’t allowed to have her, and I fought it so hard and pushed her away, making it so that she couldn’t talk to me. She couldn’t tell me how she felt or ask me what we should do. And so she lied to try to find a way forward for us to have one night… a night that spiraled because we both allowed it to.
In a world where every choice has been made for her, where her entire existence has been controlled and orchestrated by men who see her as a commodity instead of a person, creating Valentina was her one act of rebellion.
And she chose me.
Out of everyone she could have pursued, every man she could have tried to seduce, she chose me. She risked everything—her reputation, her family's standing, her father's wrath, her entire future—for the chance to be with me in the only way she thought possible. The deception was wrong, the lies were inexcusable, but the motivation behind them was the purest thing I've ever been offered: a love so desperate and all-consuming that it drove her to actions she knew were terrible but couldn't stop herself from taking anyway.
I understand that desperation now in a way I didn't before. I felt it last night when I thought I'd lost her. I would have done anything—lied, cheated, killed, destroyed everything I've built—to get her back. I would have traded my life for hers without hesitation, walked into that warehouse even if I'd known for certain I wouldn't walk back out, because the alternative was unthinkable.
So how can I keep punishing her for doing exactly what I would have done in her position? How can I hold onto my anger when I finally understand what drove her to such desperate measures?
I can't.
I've been cruel to her because I was hurt and my pride was wounded, because admitting I still loved her despite the deception felt like weakness. I made our marriage into a punishment, turned every day that we were together into an opportunity to remind her of what she'd done and how much I resented being trapped. Some part of me wanted her to sufferthe way I was suffering, feel even a fraction of the pain her lies had caused.
But all I accomplished was making us both miserable. All I did was waste time we could have spent creating the foundation for the family we're about to become, whether we're ready or not. And last night, when I thought I might die in that warehouse, when I felt the bullet tear through my side and knew there was a very real possibility I wouldn't survive to see morning, my only regret was that I'd never told her the truth.
I love her. I’ve always loved her. Before she was Valentina, and after, and when she was Giulia again. I loved her even when I hated her.
I couldn’t stop, even when I tried.
I was just too blind and angry to admit it.
Her eyes flutter open as I watch her. For a moment she looks disoriented, confused about where she is and why she's holding my hand. Then awareness floods back into her expression, and I watch as relief and fear cross her features in rapid succession.
"Luca." My name comes out as barely more than a whisper. "You're awake. Oh God, you're awake. How do you feel? Should I get the doctor? Do you need?—"
"I'm okay." My voice is rougher than I expected, scratchy from anesthesia and disuse, but it’s true, at least. The pain in my side is manageable, a dull throb rather than the sharp agony I vaguely remember from the warehouse. "How long was I out?"
"Hours." She sits up straighter, her hand still gripping mine like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go. "The surgery took forever, and then you were sleeping off the anesthesia, and I've just been sitting here waiting for you to wake up and—" Her voice breaks, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes. "I was so scared. When you went down in the warehouse, when I saw all that blood, I thought—I thought I'd lost you. I thought you were going to die, and it would be my fault, and?—"
"Stop." The word comes out more sharply than I intended, and I soften my tone immediately when I see her flinch. "It wasn't your fault. None of what happened last night was your fault. Alessandro is a psychopath who orchestrated a kidnapping because his pride was wounded. That's on him, not you."
"But if I hadn't—if I'd just accepted the engagement, if I hadn't created Valentina and lied to you and gotten pregnant—" She’s speaking faster now, and I can see her spiraling into the same guilt and self-recrimination that's been eating at her for weeks. "None of this would have happened. You wouldn't have been forced to marry me, Alessandro wouldn't have felt humiliated, and you wouldn't have had to risk your life to save me. This is all because of my choices, because I was selfish and desperate and?—"
"Giulia." I squeeze her hand, trying to pull her back from whatever dark place she's disappearing into. "Listen to me. What happened last night was not your fault. You didn't pull the trigger. You didn't orchestrate the kidnapping. You were a victim, and I—" I pause, swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat and the emotion choking me up. "I would do it again. Every single part of it. I'd walk into that warehouse a thousand times if it meant getting you out safely."
Tears spill down her cheeks, hot and thick. "I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry for everything. For lying to you, for deceiving you, for manipulating the situation…. I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you and betrayed your trust and—and I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve forgiveness. But I need you to know that I love you. I've loved you for years, since before I even understood what love was, and everything I did—all the lies, all the deception—it was because I wanted you so desperately I couldn't think straight."
Her words are tumbling out so fast she’s tripping over them, like she’s desperate to make me understand. "I know thatdoesn't excuse anything. I know it doesn't make what I did okay. But I need you to understand that it wasn't some calculated scheme to trap you or ruin your life. I just—I wanted one night with you. One night where I could be with you without all the complications and expectations and family politics. One night where I could pretend I was someone you might actually want instead of your best friend's little sister who you'd never look at that way."
"And then it spiraled out of control," she continues, her voice breaking on the words. "One night became multiple nights, and I fell deeper in love with you every time we were together, and then I found out I was pregnant, and I thought—I thought maybe this was the solution. Maybe this was how we could actually be together. But I was wrong. I was so wrong, and I've spent every day since then watching you hate me and knowing I deserve it and?—"
"Stop," I say it more firmly this time, and she actually does, her mouth snapping shut mid-sentence as she stares at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Just—stop for a minute and let me talk. Please."
She nods, her hand trembling in mine, and I take a moment to gather my thoughts and figure out how to articulate everything I've been feeling without making this worse than it already is.
"I'm not going to pretend what you did was okay," I say finally, and I watch her face crumple slightly at the words. "Because it wasn't. You lied to me. You created an entire false identity and used it to manipulate me into a relationship I wouldn't have pursued if I'd known who you really were. You took away my ability to make a choice about who I was sleeping with, who I was falling in love with. That's not something I can just forget or dismiss as unimportant."
"I know," she whispers, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "I know, and I'm?—"
"But," I continue, cutting off what I know will be another apology, "I also can't pretend that I don't love you. Because I do. I'm in love with you, Giulia. I have been for years, since you came back from boarding school. I can't remember what it felt like not to want you."
The shock on her face would be almost comical if the situation weren't so serious. Her mouth opens and closes without sound, and I can see her trying to process what I just said, trying to reconcile it with everything I've put her through over the past weeks.
"You—what?" The word comes out barely audible, her eyes wide with shock. "You love me?"
"Yes." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff. It’s both utterly terrifying… and feels liberating. Whatever happens now, at least we’re both being honest with ourselves and each other. "I love you. I've loved you through all of this. I loved you when I was trying desperately not to. I loved you even when I hated you, even when I was so angry I could barely stand to be in the same room with you."
