Temporary Measures

The rest of breakfast passes in a blur of too-loud voices and too-bright smiles. I push my food around my plate, my stomach churning with nerves, my mind racing with questions I don’t know how to ask.

Did last night mean anything to her? Was it just sex, a way to scratch an itch, or was it something more? Does she regret it? Am I just another in a long line of women she’s left behind?

I risk a glance at Valentina, only to find her watching me, her expression indecipherable. She offers me a small, tentative smile, and I feel myself returning it before I can think better of it.

“We’re going to the market this morning,” Mamma announces, tearing my attention away from Valentina. “To get ingredients for dinner. You girls want to come?”

Valentina and I exchange a look. On one hand, a crowded market seems like the last place I want to be right now. On the other, the thought of being alone with her, of having to actually talk about what happened last night, is downright terrifying.

“Sure,” Valentina says, her voice a little too bright. “We’d love to come.”

Mamma beams. “Perfect! We leave in twenty minutes.”

I nod, pushing my plate away, my appetite gone. “I’m going to get changed.”

“I’ll come with you,” Valentina says, standing up, her chair scraping against the tile floor.

We make our way back upstairs in silence, the tension between us thicker than ever. I can feel Valentina’s eyes on my back as I dig through my suitcase for a clean outfit, can almost hear the questions she’s not asking.

I settle on a pair of jeans and a light sweater, turning to find Valentina watching me, her expression guarded. “Val—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she interrupts, holding up a hand to stop me. “We can just… pretend it didn’t happen. If that’s what you want.”

I open my mouth, then close it again. Is that what I want? I don’t even know anymore. “Okay,” I say at last, my voice hushed.

Valentina nods, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Okay.”

The market is a bustling, colorful chaos, stalls overflowing with fresh produce, cured meats, and wheels of cheese. Mamma and Nonna lead the way, haggling with vendors in rapid-fire Italian, loading our baskets with everything we’ll need for dinner.

Valentina and I trail behind, our hands brushing as we reach for the same tomato, our eyes meeting for a fleeting moment before we both look away.

It’s torture, being this close to her, wanting to touch her, to kiss her, and not being able to. I can feel the burden of everything unspoken between us, the questions and the fears and the longing.

At one point, Valentina leans in close, her breath brushing my ear. “Your mom is watching,” she murmurs, her hand finding mine, our fingers tangling together. “Act natural.”

I force a smile, leaning into her side, playing the role of the doting girlfriend even as my heart races, my stomach fluttering. “Like this?” I ask, my voice low and intimate.

Valentina’s breath hitches, her fingers tightening around mine. “Yeah,” she says, her voice rough. “Just like that.”

We spend the rest of the morning like that, hands brushing, eyes meeting, smiles exchanged—always for the benefit of our audience, never for us. By the time we make our way back to the house, I’m wound tight, my nerves frayed, my control hanging by a thread.

We help unpack the groceries, Valentina’s hand brushing mine as we reach for the same bag, her hip bumping against mine as we move around the kitchen. Every touch is a brand, every glance a promise I’m afraid she’ll never keep.

Finally, Mamma shoos us out of the kitchen, insisting we’ve done enough. Valentina and I make our way upstairs, the silence between us charged, heavy with everything we’re not saying.

At the top of the stairs, Valentina hesitates, her hand on the door to our room. “Sabrina, I—”

I don’t let her finish. I step forward, my hands fisting in her shirt, yanking her towards me as I slam my mouth down on hers. Valentina makes a startled noise, her hands coming up to grip my hips, yanking me closer.

The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue and searing heat. It’s everything I’ve wanted to say, everything I’ve wanted to do, since I woke up this morning.

When we finally break apart, we’re both panting, our foreheads pressed together, our lips swollen and red.

“Fuck,” Valentina breathes, her eyes wide, her pupils blown. “Sabrina, I—”

I kiss her again, softer this time, my lips moving gently against hers. “Later,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to look at her. “We’ll talk later.”

We spend the rest of the day playing our parts, Valentina’s hand finding mine as we help set the table for dinner, her arm wrapping around my waist as we stand by the fireplace after, her head resting on my shoulder as we listen to Nonna tell stories of the old country.

It’s torture. It’s bliss. It’s the sweetest kind of agony I’ve ever known.

That night, after everyone else has gone to bed, Valentina and I find ourselves alone in the living room, the fire crackling in the hearth, all our unvoiced thoughts hanging heavy between us.

“Sabrina, about this morning—” Valentina starts, her voice low, hesitant.

I shake my head, my heart leaping into my throat. “Not yet,” I murmur, my eyes meeting hers. “Please.”

Valentina hesitates, then nods, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay.”

The next day, Mamma declares a family outing to the lake, packing a picnic lunch big enough to feed an army. Valentina and I are enlisted to help carry the baskets, falling into step beside each other as we make our way down the winding path.

“You’re quiet today,” Valentina muses, bumping my shoulder with hers. “Everything okay?”

I nod, my eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Valentina presses, her hand finding mine, our fingers tangling together.

I hesitate, biting my lip. “About how good you are with my family,” I say at last, my voice soft. “About how easy this all feels, even when it shouldn’t.”

Valentina’s breath catches, her fingers tightening around mine. “Sabrina—”

“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Please. Not yet.”

She nods, her jaw tight, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.

The lake is beautiful, the water clear and cool, the sun warm on our skin. We spread out blankets on the grass, unpacking the picnic baskets as the kids race each other to the water’s edge.

Valentina and I sit side by side, our shoulders brushing, our hands finding each other in the gap between us. I watch her as she laughs at something Zio Bruno says, her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. She looks so happy, so carefree, so beautiful it makes my chest ache.

“You’re staring,” Valentina murmurs, her lips quirking into a smile as she turns to look at me.

I don’t bother denying it. “You’re worth staring at,” I say simply, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

Valentina’s smile softens, her eyes going warm and fond. “Charmer,” she teases, bumping my shoulder with hers.

I smile back, but there’s a weight to it, a seriousness I can’t quite shake. “I mean it,” I say quietly. “You’re amazing, Val. You fit in here like you’ve always been a part of this family.”

Valentina’s expression turns guarded, her smile faltering. “Sabrina—”

“Don’t,” I say again, my voice rough. “Please. Just—let me have this. For now.”

She hesitates, then nods, her fingers squeezing mine. “Okay,” she murmurs. “For now.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon like that, hands clasped, shoulders brushing, a comfortable silence settling between us. Valentina teases me about my terrible poker face, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leans in close, her lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Your aunt Maria is watching,” she murmurs, her voice low and intimate. “Better make it look good.”

I shiver, my fingers tightening around hers, my heart leaping into my throat. “Like this?” I ask, turning my head, my lips brushing her cheek.

Valentina’s breath hitches, her free hand coming up to cup my face, her thumb stroking my cheekbone. “Yeah,” she breathes, her eyes dark and intent on mine. “Just like that.”

The moment stretches between us, charged and heavy, the rest of the world falling away until it’s just us, just this, just the pounding of my heart and the heat of her skin against mine.

And then Nonna calls for Valentina to help her with something, and the spell is broken, the real world rushing back in like a tidal wave.

Valentina pulls away, her smile tight, her hand slipping from mine as she stands. “Duty calls,” she says, her voice rough around the edges.