Page 300 of Valentino

“Papa.” Val turns toward me. “Ti presento la mia Anna” (translation) “This is my Anna.”

My Anna.

“Ah.” His father’s eyes light up and he claps his hands in excitement. “Anna.”

He kisses both of my cheeks and holds my face in his hands as he studies me. “ Stupendo, Valentino” (translation) “So beautiful, Valentino.” (Translation) “Vieni, tesoro” (translation) “Come, my darling.”

He links his arm through mine. “Ti preparo subito qualcosa da mangiare” (translation) “Let me make you something to eat.”

The house is small, lived in…and I can feel the love oozing out of the walls.

There are photos everywhere and the kind of furniture that feels like it has been there forever.

We walk out into the kitchen and something delicious smelling is bubbling on the old hotplate oven.

“Per festeggiare ti preparerò un vero manicaretto” (translation) “I’m making you the best meal to celebrate.” He pulls out the chair and sits me down.

“Papà, ti va un po’ di vino?” (Trranslation) “Papa, wine?”. Val opens a cupboard and pulls out a bottle of red wine, he pops the cork and fills three glasses.

“Sì, sì.” (Translation) “Yes, yes.”

“Papà, ricordi la ragazza che incontravo in biblioteca a Milano quando ero un ragazzino?” (Translation) “Papa, do you remember the girl I used to go to Milan to meet in the library when I was a boy?”

“Sì”, (translation) “Yes.” He smiles. “Come potrei dimenticare? Era il momento più felice della tua settimana” (translation)“How could I forget? It was the highlight of your week.”

“Ѐ lei” (translation) “This is her.”

“Oh” (translation) “Ahh.” His eyes widen as he looks at me. “All this time.” He walks around behind me and kisses the top of my head. “Finalmente sei qui con noi, Anna” (translation) “Finally you come to us, Anna.”

Aww….

This man is beautiful, and he wears his full heart on his sleeve.

He goes back to cooking and I want to make conversation. “Posso aiutarvi?” (Translation) “Can I do anything to help?” “No, non è necessario. Ti ringrazio.” (Translation) “No, no.” He waves his hand to me. “Prendi un po’ di basilico, Valentino” (translation) “Valentino, go and pick some basil.” He passes Val a small basket.

“D’accordo” (translation) “Alright.” He looks over at me. “Do you want to help?”

“Okay.”

We walk through the living area and past the buffet, I look over all of the photos in frames. His mom, the three of them together, and I get to the last photo and I stop still and pick it up. A photo of Val and Carlo, they’re about fourteen, wearing shorts and standing on a wharf with their arms around each other. They look sun kissed, carefree and happy. I look up to Val. “You didn’t tell your parents about what’s happened?”

“I couldn’t break their hearts.” He takes the frame from me and carefully places it back down.

“They know Carlo?” I ask.

“They love Carlo.” His eyes linger on the photo. “He spent more time here when he was growing up than he did at his place.”

My heart sinks, another depressing piece of the puzzle.

We walk down the back stairs and a warm breeze whips my skin, I’m hit in the face with the most incredible view over Lake Como. “My gosh.” I smile. “This is beautiful.”

“It is.” Val smiles as his eyes look over the lake.

“I should like to live here one day, with a view like this.”

“You would?”

“Yeah.” I smile into the wind.