Adriana Trigiani - Brava, Valentine

I’ve known Bret since I was a girl, and I’ve never seen him like this. “You can’t go. Come with us. We’re going to Tess and Charlie’s.”

“I can’t. I should go home.” When he says the word home , a look of complete devastation fills his eyes.

I take Bret in my arms. I hold him close, his face against my neck as he begins to cry. I take the coat and pull him inside, to warm him. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

I feel his lips against my neck, and then softly on my cheek. The ease we have, the comfort we feel with one another, all the history, wraps around me like fine cashmere. I want to comfort Bret. I want to hold him. I want to be here for him. His warm tears turn cold against my cheek. I feel his lips against mine. He pulls away at the exact same moment I do.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“No, I’m sorry.” I can’t believe what just happened. What did I do? I wanted to comfort him, not kiss him.

I hear the snap of the screen door behind me. I turn. I look for Gabriel, but it isn’t him.

It’s Gianluca.

I have a feeling of doom in my gut, but I can’t leave Bret alone. I look to Gianluca, and extend my hand, and I’m about to explain the kiss, but he has already pushed through the screen door and is gone.

“Val, I don’t know why I kissed you. I shouldn’t have,” Bret says. “Forgive me.” He lets go of me and goes to the door. I implore him to stay, but he’s down the steps before I can stop him again.

I turn to follow Bret, pulling the coat close to me. I have to find Gianluca and explain what happened. He’ll understand when I tell him that Bret’s wife left him on Christmas Eve. I was only trying to help. The kiss was a total accident. I bury my hands in the pockets of Gianluca’s coat.

Deep inside, there’s a box in the pocket. I feel its size, and its velvet texture.

My heart begins to race. Instead of going down the stairs, instead of following my instinct to do the right thing and go to Gianluca and explain, I stay.

I move to the trellis, where the roses were, by the light. I reach down into the pocket and pull out the box. I know I shouldn’t, but I open it. It’s an emerald-cut diamond, in a polished platinum setting. Dramatic and brilliant, its facets grab the blue light and it glistens in the dark.

I snap the box shut and shove it into Gianluca’s coat pocket.

A wave of sheer panic peels through me. Marriage. A husband. A life. Am I ready for this? And then, I’m deeply ashamed for having looked…for ruining everything .

Couldn’t I tell that Gianluca’s intention from the very beginning was to marry me and to take care of everything? Gianluca did not change when he fell in love with me; he remains who he always was: a traditional man. And I am his great love. He has made this as clear as the white-hot diamond that hides in his coat pocket.

I look up into the sky and search it as if a sign will appear to guide me forward, something, anything, to help me understand what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to say.

I look for the moon. But it is nowhere to be seen. I look for light, from anywhere, from the stars, but there are none. Not even a cloud passes over to remind me that the sky is always in motion-changing. Instead, it is bleak and completely still. Not a clue as far as my eye can see. Where are the puzzle pieces that June made for me in the night sky? They too are gone.

I race down the stairs. Gianluca is in the kitchen with Gabriel, packing up the desserts.

“Bret said to tell you he was going home,” Gabriel says.

“Thanks.” I take off Gianluca’s coat and place it on the back of one of the dining room chairs.

“Okay, we’re all set,” Gabriel says. “Let’s go, kids.”

I go to the closet for my coat. I pull it on. “What do you want me to carry?”

“The Tupperware,” Gabriel says. “In the shopping bag.”

I’m afraid to, but I look over at Gianluca, who takes a seat on one of the stools at the counter. He snaps the lid shut on the cooler that rests on the counter and locks it.

“Gianluca, if you don’t mind, take the carryall, please?” Gabriel says.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’m not going,” Gianluca says quietly.

“Why not? You don’t feel well?”

“No,” he says.

“Well, then, the last place you need to be is a fish fry. Is it your stomach? There’s Brioschi in the cabinet. Throw a capful in a glass of water and chug. You’ll feel better in no time.”

I can’t look at Gianluca, but I feel his gaze on me.

“Gabe, I can’t go either,” I say.

“What’s your problem?” Gabriel looks at Gianluca and then at me. “Okay, okay, I get it. Little Christmas Eve private time going on here. A little whoo-hoo-hoo by Ye Olde Tannenbaum.”

“Yes, that’s it,” I say.

“So, what do I tell the family? That you’ve been hit by a bus?”

Gianluca doesn’t answer. So I say, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“They’re gonna be pissed. Especially Tess. She ordered steamers. You know that requires a head count.”

“She’ll be all right,” I tell him. “Will you be okay getting to the train?”

“Screw the train. I’m taking a cab.”

“To Tess’s?”

“That’s right, sister. A yellow cab all the way to Jersey. Merry Christmas to me,” he says, gathering up the bags and carryall. “Have fun you two,” he says. “Don’t wait up for me,” he calls as he goes down the stairs. The entrance door in the foyer snaps shut behind him.

Gianluca stands and turns to face me. He folds his arms and leans against the marble counter. I stand behind the chair and run my hand over his cashmere coat.

I remember this same standoff from the Spolti Inn, when I didn’t have any idea what Gianluca wanted from me. Now I know, and I’m still standing behind a chair for protection.

“Let’s go up to your roof,” he says. “I need air.”

I follow him up the stairs with dread. He called it my roof. That’s a bad sign. The last time he was in New York, when Gram fell, he came up to this same roof and asked me to choose him, and I couldn’t. He didn’t like my river then, and now he probably detests it. I’ve ruined everything all over again.

Gianluca pushes through the screen door and walks out onto the roof. He goes to the wall that overlooks the Hudson and leans against it. I stand next to him. It’s a clear Christmas Eve. The city is quiet, just a car or two on the West Side Highway. Gianluca looks out over our corner of the Village. Finally, he asks, “Did you kiss him or did he kiss you?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s important.”

“His wife left him. She has fallen in love with someone else. She told him tonight.”

“And you comforted him?”

“No. He couldn’t be comforted.”

“Then why did you kiss him?”

“I went with Bret for almost ten years. From the time I was a teenager to my late twenties. He was my first love,” I explain.

I’m thirty-five years old and I’ve read all the books that advise women to stay mum about their romantic past with their current lover. But my romantic history is a simple one, and he’s met both Bret and Roman Falconi already. Besides, the eighteen-year age difference means that Gianluca has a certain wisdom about love and life. And after the past couple of nights we’ve shared at the Soho Hotel, honesty is the only choice on the room service menu.

“Do you want to go back to him?” Gianluca looks at me.

Tears well in my eyes. “No.”

“Then why did you kiss him?”

“I don’t know, Gianluca. But as soon as it happened, I knew it was wrong. I don’t love him in that way. I feel sorry for him-he’s losing everything.”