Marco inhaled deeply.
“If we’re going to do this, I need to be able to talk to her like I know her. Tell me something about her.”
Elena smiled faintly for the first time.
“She’s passionate about architecture. She loves old movies. And she believes good bookstores no longer exist.”
“And something only a mother would know?”
Elena thought for a moment.
“When she’s nervous, she touches the back of her left ear, like she’s checking if her earring is still there.”
Marco nodded.
“Good.”
He adjusted his posture and turned slightly toward the main entrance. He didn’t need to ask what Valeria looked like.
At that moment, the doors opened.
The woman who entered wore a dark red dress, the color of deep wine under the light. Later, Marco wouldn’t be able to explain exactly what left him speechless at first sight. It wasn’t just the dress, though it was beautiful. It wasn’t just her face—calm, clear, with a kind of beauty shaped more by strength than vanity.
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