The Runaway Don’s Bride Chapter 08

The Runaway Don’s Bride Chapter 08

[Valentina’s POV]

My hands paused. I looked up at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Dominic.”

She leaned against the doorframe, her tone light, almost careless.

“On the wedding day, I told him how I felt. I said I regretted it. That I wanted to be with him again.”

Her eyes were fixed on mine.

“He turned me down.”

I went still.

“Then he pulled every connection the Mazzarella family had in Naples and searched for you for an entire

month.”

“He went to every place you might have gone. This was the last one.”

She straightened up, hands in her pockets. Something complicated flickered in her gaze.

“You finally won. Happy?”

The clay had stopped rotating on the wheel. I pressed the pedal again, let it spin.

“There’s nothing to be happy about.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Why not?”

I kept my eyes on the clay in my hands. My voice was barely there.

“Twenty–something years of being second in his heart. Getting chosen once–is that supposed to make me

happy?”

She had no answer for that.

I looked up and met her eyes.

“Tell them to go home. I know I’ll never beat you. I’ve always known. I don’t want to compete anymore.”

“I’m staying here. There are people here who like me, and that’s enough.”

“I never want to be the leftover again.”

She scoffed.

“Valentina, you’re still just the one who could never measure up. Don’t dress it up like philosophy.”

She turned and walked out. Her heels struck the stone path, one sharp click after another. Like a heartbeat.

The studio door had been left open.

Dominic was standing in the doorway. I don’t know how long he’d been there. He was holding something

I looked up at him. He didn’t step inside–just stood on the other side of the threshold.

“Valentina…”

I said nothing.

He walked in and set the object on the table.

The pink diamond necklace.

“I took it back. There’s only one like it in the world. It’s yours.”

I looked at it. The pink stone caught the light and fractured it into tiny, scattered sparks.

Beautiful.

There was a time I used to fantasize–if Dominic ever chose something carefully, just for me, how wonderful

that would be.

But this was still something he’d given my sister first.

“Give it back to Vittoria. Or keep it yourself.”

Dominic’s throat moved. He seemed about to say something, but footsteps in the doorway cut him off.

Lorenzo appeared with Leo.

He saw Dominic standing in the studio, and his step faltered for a moment.

Then, without a word, he settled beside me and we fell into our familiar rhythm–guiding Leo through the clay together.

We talked about pottery. About Leo’s progress.

Lorenzo wiped a smear of clay from my cheek.

Dominic finally broke.

He stormed out.

But the next day, he came back.

The day after that, he came again.

The fourth day, he finally didn’t show.

But his car was parked at the end of the street, from afternoon until dark.

Every day, he brought a different gift.

“Just one. Chosen only for you.”

I threw every single one in the trash.

“Dominic. It’s too late. It really is.”

His voice was still rough, still strained.

“Valentina, I don’t believe you. You loved me for all those years. You can’t just let go that easily.”

I set down the clay and stood to face him.

“Dominic. So you do know I loved you for all those years?”

His expression froze solid.