The Temporary Wife: Chapter 13

I stare at my phone, willing myself to reply to Natalia’s messages and failing to. I should be putting some effort into getting to know my fiancée, but instead I ignored her for a week straight, until she showed up at my office.

I can’t see myself marrying her, but I have no choice. One way or another, I’ll have to learn to live with her. I sigh and run a hand through my hair, my thoughts turning back to last night.

Sitting through that dinner with Natalia was much harder than I expected it to be. All night, all she talked about was fashion shows and holidays she wants to go on. She was somewhat concerned about what our wedding would be like, and whether it’d be extravagant enough for her tastes, but she wasn’t remotely interested in what a marriage between us would look like.

But then again, neither was I.

I inhale deeply and shake my head. It isn’t like I didn’t try at all. I tried asking her what her interests are, and I tried to explain my job to her, but it felt like I was talking to a brick wall. It was almost like we were having two different conversations. As far as I can tell, we have nothing in common, and she doesn’t even remotely understand what I do for a living. She doesn’t seem to be interested in finding out either.

It’s never been that way with Valentina. We’ve had dinner together more times than I could possibly count, and each time, we’re lost in conversation for hours on end. To be fair, often it’s all about work, but still. It’s always felt so effortless with her that the contrast between Natalia and her feels even greater.

What was Grandma thinking? How could she, even for a single second, believe that things could work out between Natalia and me? I can’t see a future with her, and I’m worried we’ll just end up making each other miserable.

A soft knock sounds on my door, and I look up to find Valentina walking in. My heart does this weird thing — it skips a beat despite the pain seeing her causes. Lately, I can no longer look at her without my heart feeling heavy. Would it have been easier if I never knew what she tastes like? If I never witnessed her losing control for me?

She’s smiles at me politely, but today it doesn’t even faze me. I drink her in, my eyes roaming over the white blouse she’s wearing, down to her red pencil skirt and matching high heels. Every inch of her is beautiful, in a completely understated way. Her beauty is real and fucking awe-inspiring. I could stare at her for hours and never tire of it, yet I can’t say the same about the woman I’m supposed to marry.

There’s only one way to describe how Valentina makes me feel, standing in front of my desk, her long hair falling over her chest all the way down to her waist. Helpless. She makes me feel fucking helpless. It’s an emotion I’m not overly familiar with, yet she elicits it in me.

Valentina places a document on my desk, but I can’t focus on what she’s telling me. My mind is insistent on torturing me with thoughts of her. All night, as I sat opposite my fiancée, I thought of her. Every word that left Natalia’s mouth reminded me of Valentina.

“Luca?”

I blink, snapped out of my thoughts. “Valentina,” I murmur, her name feeling foreign on my lips. How could I have been thinking about Valentina when I should be focusing on Natalia? Guilt hits me hard, and I look away. I need to remember that we can’t be more than co-workers — especially considering the way things were after I kissed her. I grit my teeth and force a smile onto my face. “Can you please order me some flowers?” I ask, my voice soft, defeated. “Please send Natalia a hundred roses.”

Valentina’s eyes widen a fraction, something I can’t quite identify flashing through them. She stares at me, her lips falling open as though she’s about to speak, but then she clamps them shut. She turns her head and looks out the window for a moment, shielding her expression from me.

Something about her demeanor increases the aching of my heart. Why is it that everything feels changed between us when nothing has?

“Luca,” she repeats, her tone different. She looks back at me, and my stomach drops. I’ve never seen her look at me that way before. Regret and pain mix in those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers, nearly bringing me to my knees. “I quit.”

I blink in confusion, falling silent for a moment, certain I misheard her. “You… you what?”

She inhales deeply and tries to force a smile to her face, but this time, she fails. “I’m resigning. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me, and for your continued guidance. I know you were forced to work with me, and you’ve never enjoyed it, but I appreciate every second I’ve spent with you, nonetheless. I learned more than you could ever imagine, and thanks to you, I’ve grown in ways I didn’t think I could.”

I rise to my feet and place my hands on my desk, leaning forward to face her. “No,” I tell her.

She tries to smile again and inhales shakily before reaching for something in the folder she’s holding. She slides a piece of paper toward me, and I stare at it in disbelief. A resignation letter.

I grab it with trembling hands and read it over, certain there must be some kind of misunderstanding.

“No,” I repeat. “I’m not letting you go.” I clench my jaw as I rip her resignation letter apart, letting the pieces fall to my desk.

She looks at me, her expression carefully blank. “HR will be receiving a digital copy shortly, and so will you.”

“Valentina,” I plead. “You can’t do this. Why… why would you leave me?”

She looks down and shakes her head. “Ultimately, this is just a job, and I’m just another one of your employees. I’ve outgrown this position, Luca. You know that as well as I do.”

She takes a step back, and at last, she manages to force one of her fake smiles for me. She’s right, of course. She could be doing my job if she truly wanted to. She could be the CEO of Windsor Finance, and she’d do a magnificent job. The moment our competitors find out she’s looking for a new job, they’ll come after her. Rightfully so.

“Please,” I murmur. I’ve never pleaded with anyone, but I’ll go down on my knees for her if that’ll make her stay.

Her eyes widen, and she pauses. I see her hesitate, but then she steels her spine and shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I watch her as she walks out of my office, leaving my heart feeling an awful lot like the pieces of paper scattered across my desk — torn apart and discarded.