Free My Funny Valentina by Kelly Curry

he’d surprisingly agreed right away with no argument. ‘The camera always sees the truth and I can see in your eyes, it’s just not in you any more, Val,’ he’d said, ‘come on, I’ll give you a lift home, save you cab fare.’ 
    S he’d quickly accepted, hurriedly thrown on her long down-filled coat to cover herself, not wanting to take time even to stop at the studio on Canal for her clothes, just eager to get back home.  Get back to Stash.  She’d made her decision right then that her marriage was the only thing that was important and had told Lars the same on the ride home.  Told him her modeling days were now ‘officially over ’.  
    For good.  
    After fitting her key in the lock of their swanky upscale home, she entered the spectacular foyer with its twenty-foot high ceilings, fighting to pull the door closed against the whistling blowing winds.  Shaking the last melting flakes of snow off her coat, she hung it in the front closet right next to where Stash always hung his.  Valentina headed down the long hallway towards the master suite, stiletto heels of her boots tapping out her path on the gleaming hardwoods, so looking forward to taking a bracing hot shower to wash off her heavy makeup and changing into jeans and a warm sweater.  Looking forward, also, to burying at the bottom of the trashcan the outfit she wore that now felt tawdry.
    Cheap.
    S he’d make Stash a delicious dinner, she thought, planning out the menu in her head.  Grill a couple of juicy steaks, roast a few potatoes and make a tossed salad.   Yes, he always loved when she made him that meal…and finish it up with his favorite dessert – Black Forest Cake, a rich, decadent chocolate confection topped with whipped cream and cherries. 
    I just got a pint of cherries yesterday at the market.
    A sound from the vicinity of the kitchen stopped her booted foot in mid-step.  With a feeling of dread building, Valentina turned on her heel.  Walked in the halting steps of a condemned prisoner to the ultra-modern chef’s kitchen with its white, black and grey motif echoed in the subtle travertine mosaic backsplash.  The modern kitchen where Stash stood waiting in similarly themed dark dress pants, white shirt and grey silk tie, leaning with one lithe hip against the granite-topped island in the middle of the floor.  His arms were crossed over his broad chest in a pose that had probably meant ‘I’m pissed off’ way before language was even invented. An expressive black eyebrow zoomed skyward taking in the brevity of her outfit, the corners of his grim mouth going in the opposite direction. 
    ‘ Is that from the Macy’s winter collection?’
    Valentina ignored the sarcastic comment, her scarlet-tinted lips tightening into one line in anticipation of a battle.  ‘I didn’t expect you to make it home so soon in this weather.’
    ‘ Clearly.’
    ‘ I thought you would probably stop and check on your mother before you headed home since there’s a winter storm warning issued.’
    His lips twisted.  ‘So you’re going to try to make this about my mother , Val?’
    ‘ No!  I’m not making it about anything! ’ She hesitated, decided to take it to where it really needed to go.  ‘Look, Stash, if you’re angry about today…or about last night…just say so and let’s talk –’
    ‘ Now, why would I be angry, Val?  Angry I married a woman I love with the expectation we would one day have a family or at least talk about the decision if we don’t,’ Stash ground out the seething accusation.  ‘Angry because I left work early to make it home to my wife on Valentine’s Day, thinking maybe she needed a little romance – a little more of my time and attention.  Angry because I expected to share a nice cozy evening safe from the storm, enjoying a delicious homemade meal she’d slaved over all day?’
    ‘ Well is that what this is about, Stash?  You mean you’re finally hungry? ‘ She flung a few of her own