He looks at me then, and I see concern flash across his face. "What is it? Are you okay?"
This is it. This is the moment. I should tell him now, should just say the words and let the chips fall where they may. But he looks so stressed, so burdened, and I'm about to add to thatburden in the most catastrophic way possible. What if he can't handle it right now? What if the timing is so wrong that he reacts worse than he would otherwise? What if I lose him because I chose the wrong moment?
And the last thing in the world I want is to tell him here, surrounded by the heavy beat of the music and a crowd. I imagined us alone, in the quiet, intimate, and close like we’ve been all the nights before.
"Valentina?" His voice is gentler now, worried. "What's wrong?"
I open my mouth, close it, and then finally manage to speak. "It can wait," I hear myself say. "It's not—it can wait until things settle down for you."
He studies my face for a long moment, and I can see him trying to decide whether to push and demand the truth right now. But then he just nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Okay. We'll talk soon. I promise."
He crosses the distance between us and pulls me into his arms, and I cling to him like he's the only solid thing in a world that's spinning out of control. His lips find mine, and the kiss is gentler than it’s been before, the club fading around us as I feel his fingers against my chin.
"I have to go," he murmurs against my mouth. "But I'll text you. As soon as I can, we'll meet again." His thumb skims below my lip. “You should go, too. No one else, Valentina.”
And then he lets me go, walking past me toward the entrance of the club. I stand there, my heart pounding, and feel the panic rising like a tide.
I failed. I had the chance to tell him, and I failed.
And now he's pulling away, and I'm running out of time.
—
I go backto Liesl’s and sneak back in, feeling like I can’t breathe through the anxiety that's threatening to suffocate me.
What have I done?
I should have told him. I should have forced the words out regardless of his stress, regardless of the timing. Now I don't know when I'll see him again, and every day that passes is another day closer to the wedding, another day where my body changes and the pregnancy becomes harder to hide.
I have to tell him. I have to find a way. I can't wait any longer.
But what if he doesn't want to see me? What if these "few weeks" turn into longer? What if he's already pulling away, already losing interest, and I'm about to confess everything to a man who doesn't want me anymore? The thoughts spiral darker and darker, my heart racing.
I can't do this. I can't keep living this double life, can't keep carrying these secrets and pretending everything is fine when my entire world is falling apart.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but my mind won't quiet. It keeps playing through different scenarios, different versions of how the conversation will go when it finally happens. And now, instead of pushing away the one where he leaves, it’s all I can think about, playing on repeat and getting clearer and more vivid each time.
The version where he looks at me with horror and disgust, where he realizes that I've been lying to him for so long, deceiving him in the worst way possible. Where he feels that every moment we shared was built on deception, that I've been manipulating him, using him, playing him for a fool.
In that version, he walks away, and I'm left alone with a baby and a broken heart and the knowledge that I destroyed the only good thing in my life.
I push the thought away. That's not what will happen. It can't be what happens. I love him. And he loves me—I know he does, even if he doesn't know it's me he loves.
Love has to be enough. It has to be.
When I get a message from Luca three days later saying he wants to meet the next night the club is open, my heart lifts and then collapses just as quickly. For a moment, all I can think about is that he couldn’t wait more than a few days before he needed to see me again… and then I remember what I have to tell him.
I spend the day in a state of nervous anticipation, unable to focus on anything. My hands shake when I try to eat breakfast and my stomach churns with anxiety that has nothing to do with morning sickness. I tell my father I'm spending the evening with Liesl again. He barely acknowledges the information, too focused on some business problem that has him and Romeo locked in his office for most of the day.
But that evening, after Liesl has gone to bed, I look in the mirror as I start to get ready and realize that I can't do this as Valentina.
I can't tell him the truth while wearing a disguise, while hiding behind a false identity. I can't expect him to understand and forgive when I'm still lying to him in the most visible way possible.
I go into the bathroom and remove the wig carefully, setting it aside, then wash off the heavy makeup that transforms my face. I change out of Valentina's clothes and into my own—a simple black slip dress, nothing too provocative or club-appropriate. Just Giulia.
When I get to the club, I tell one of the attendants that I have a prior date set up with Luca Moretti, and I want to wait in the private room for him. She takes me up and lets me know she’ll bring him when he arrives.
All there’s left to do is wait. The minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. My hands are shaking. My mouth is dry. This is it. This is the moment where everything either comes together or falls completely apart.
