Saint Valentine

5

"Oh, it's the least we could do," Mum says. "Would you like to join us for tea or is it straight to packing?"

"Sainte can have tea," I respond. Valentino's gaze shoots my way. Something flashes in his eyes, but I can't tell if it's anger or confusion. "I'll start packing."

"You should show him your room," Dad suggests. "You can learn so much from someone's room."

"He doesn't need to see my room, Dad."

"I'd love to see it," Valentino responds. I furrow my brows at him. He doesn't look away, keeping his eyes on mine until I agree.

"Fine. Come with me," I lead him through the hallway to the back of the house. My room is the last one. Valentino enters first. There's not much special about it.

My bed is set up in the middle of the room, with the back wall leading to my wardrobe, and the other showing off my collection of American Girl Dolls and Steiff Bears. There's a framed Taylor Swift tour poster on the wall opposite my bed, still from my teenage years. It's a childish room, but I didn't decorate it. My mum did after I moved out for college. All the children's toys and blankets I'd forced into storage during my adolescence were brought back out and put on display. I moved back home after I graduated, but I never bothered to change it. The plan was always for me to move out. First, with the man my parents had arranged for me to marry. When that didn't work out, I tried finding a place on my own, but the only place I could find a decent apartment was in the city. That's too far away. I could've rented a house on this side of town, but it didn't feel safe living in a house on my own. Besides, it wouldn't be much different from living at home. I'd have more freedom, but I'd rather be here with my sister.

Valentino scans the room, taking it all in. It's a nervous feeling. I know I'm being judged.

"You collected all of these?" he motions to the shelves of dolls and teddy bears.

"As a kid, yeah," I nod.

"That's impressive."

"I tend to get obsessed with things," I admit. "It's hard for me to let go sometimes."

"Is that how it is with Taylor Swift?" he looks at the poster. It's from the Red era.

"Pretty much, yeah," I laugh. "I went to her concert 3 days in a row when I was 14. I took a day off school and everything."

"That's cute," an amused smile pulls at his lips. This is good. We're connecting.

"Did your parents keep your childhood bedroom?" I ask.

"I don't think so, no."

"What did it look like?"

He shrugs. "The same as my room now."

Empty? It has no personality.

"You didn't have toys or video games or anything?"

"As a kid, I did, but I wasn't allowed after I turned 16."

"Why not?" I scowl.

"I had to train."

"Oh." That's miserable. I didn't think about that. He would've been able to take charge of the family as soon as he turned 25. He'd have to prepare for that. "There must've been something you did for fun."

"I didn't really have time, but I always tried to watch football with my brother during the season."

"Football like NFL or football like soccer?"

"Soccer."

"What's your team?"

"Palermo. Do you know them?"