The Supreme Macaroni Company by Adriana Trigiani Page A

and Dom made their way up the stairs, balancing two leaning towers of Tupperware. I would have liked to follow them, but I didn’t dare leave Bret and Gianluca alone. The shop was oddly quiet except for the clang of the radiator.
    “I owe you an apology,” Bret said, breaking the tension. “And you too, Valentine. I’m sorry about what happened the other night.”
    “I’ve had some difficulties in my life, and I understand why you needed someone to talk to,” Gianluca said. “But if it happens again, I’ll throw you off the building.”
    “And I would deserve it,” Bret said as he pulled on his coat. “I’ll check in with Alfred about the annual report.”
    Bret, who usually gave me a quick kiss on the cheek when saying good-bye, didn’t this morning. He simply gathered his briefcase and left.
    “I don’t like that you work together,” Gianluca said.
    “He mostly works with Alfred.”
    “I don’t see Alfred here.”
    I wanted to argue the point, but instead I pushed the box of leather samples across the work table.
    Gianluca opened the box and began to shuffle through the squares. Soon the large squares filled the table like a mosaic of tiles. There were tone-on-tone striae in the leather, damask-style cutwork on one of the suedes, and soft stripes woven out of calfskin. There was a pearlized pink calfskin that I couldn’t resist.
    “I knew you would like that one,” Gianluca said.
    “It’s like velvet.”
    “You want velvet?” Gianluca flipped through the box until he found a sheet of cream-colored suede. “Look.” He brushed his hand over the surface, turning the grain in a different direction. It gave the suede a different hue entirely, one that appeared more soft blue than white. Gianluca’s hands were magical. I may have fallen in love with him because of them. I watched as he rolled the end of the suede expertly until it was one sleek cylinder. He handed it to me. “Order it.”
    Gianluca took me in his arms and kissed me. I knew how rare it was for love and work to dovetail together seamlessly in a woman’s life. I was going to marry a man who understood my work and therefore understood me. I thought of Mackenzie and Pamela, the women I knew who didn’t have the luxury of marrying men who got them.
    How many signs did I need from the universe that Gianluca was not only the dream, but the facilitator of all dreams to come? I hadn’t given up anything to be with him, and choosing him felt as if it was shoring up my creative life, not draining it. I wasn’t going to wake up on some random Tuesday morning ten years from now and find myself unrecognizable in the mirror. I wouldn’t wander into church or a bodega and find a new man that understood me because the one at home was unavailable or too busy to notice that I was unhappy. Life would only become more rich, and thicken like a good sauce. I would not be a watered-down version of the person I was today, as long as I remembered that my life had a purpose that was well in place before I ever met Gianluca. I wasn’t giving up anything. I reminded myself I was only adding to a purposeful life.
    “I really love what you do,” I told him. “I mean, when you cut leather, it’s a master craftsman at work at the top of his game.”
    “Why do you watch me so closely?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe because I couldn’t do what I do without you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have what I need to make shoes.”
    “I have a feeling you would find a way.” He smiled.
    “When are you taking Gram and your dad to the airport?”
    “In a couple of hours.”
    “Did you check out of the hotel?”
    “I can.”
    “You should. Gabriel is staying at the Carlyle tonight. The manager gave him the room for New Year’s.”
    “You’re all alone here?”
    “Just me and my big old diamond ring.”
    Gianluca kissed me. “And me.”
    I untied the enormous red ribbon on the dress box. There was a tag hanging from it:
    Merry Christmas Ma, Love