Couture. Spring-Summer 1983. Black dress with silver-white embroidery, Bückles with a huge multiple bow at the side, in chiffon and taffeta. Gloves, bracelet, and earrings by Valentino. Vogue Italia, March 1983. Photo © David Bailey.

As for the 2000s, Giammetti recalls, “the fashion companies, not just Valentino, became conglomerates, became groups. More heads telling you what to do; more people that we never knew who they were, but they were able to have importance. What was taken was the freedom of Valentino, his courage, and when you don’t have courage, you don’t produce the same thing in a nice way. You try to make everybody happy—and you make no one happy. So Valentino started to decide, ‘I don’t want to live like this.’ And this happened a few years later, in 2006. We were thoughtful, because you don’t just leave a company with your name after 40 years. But for us it was much more important to have the dignity of staying who we are, be who we are, believe in what we do, and not be one of those designers in the hands of business people.”

Garavani and Giammetti’s relationship—they famously met as teenagers in a cafe in Rome; the rest is literally history—is discussed by them in the book. “This is not a story about money or fashion,” Giammetti says in their conversation. “It is a story of love.” When I ask Mr. Giammetti for his favorite image in the book, he promptly chooses a candid Jonathan Becker image of him and Valentino on a private jet, both men caught in, shall we say, candid discussion. “Our life has not always been, ‘Oh, we agree’,” Giammetti says, laughing. “And because there is a certain moment where there is no need to share everything; when you trust somebody and you know what he does is the best for all of us, it’s stupid to complain. But of course if you remember there was a movie, The Last Emperor,” Giammetti went on to say, “in which Mr. Tyrnauer, who was the director, loved to emphasize our disputes, which was fun for the film, but not really the essence of us together.”