Temporary Measures

I nod, my throat constricting, my hands curling into fists in my lap. “Go,” I rasp, my voice a low murmur beneath the pounding of my heart.

She hesitates, her eyes searching mine, before finally nodding, turning and walking away.

I watch her go, my chest aching, my stomach churning with nerves. I don’t know what this is between us, what it means, where it’s going. All I know is that I’m falling, fast and hard, and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to stop it.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of too-loud laughter and too-bright smiles, of sidelong glances and casual touches that feel anything but casual. By the time everyone finally starts drifting off to bed, my nerves are shot, my control hanging by a thread.

I find myself alone in the living room, the fire crackling in the hearth, unspoken burdens pressing down on my shoulders. I’m staring into the flames, lost in thought, when I feel more than hear Valentina enter the room.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice soft, tentative.

I turn to find her hovering in the doorway, her expression guarded, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her sweatshirt. “Hey,” I echo, my voice rough.

We stare at each other for a long moment, the silence stretching between us, taut and fragile as spun glass. It’s Valentina who breaks first, crossing the room to sit beside me on the couch, her weight dipping the cushion.

“Sabrina, about earlier—” she 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.”

Silence falls again, thicker this time, charged with everything we’re not saying. I can feel Valentina’s eyes on me, can almost hear the questions she’s not asking.

“I’m scared,” I blurt out, the words escaping before I can call them back.

Valentina goes still beside me, her eyes widening a fraction. “Of what?” she asks carefully.

I shake my head, my voice constricted. “Of this,” I say at last, my voice raw. “Of us. Of what happens when we go back to the city, to our real lives.”

Valentina’s expression softens, her hand finding mine, her fingers threading through mine. “What do you mean?” she asks gently.

I draw an unsteady breath, my eyes falling to our linked hands. “I’ve never been good at this,” I admit, my voice low. “At relationships. At letting people in. I always end up pushing them away, sabotaging things before they can even start.”

Valentina’s thumb strokes the back of my hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Why do you think that is?” she asks softly.

I shrug, my shoulders hunching in on themselves. “I don’t know,” I lie, my voice rough. “Practice, I guess.”

Valentina is quiet for a long moment, her gaze heavy on the side of my face. “You know that’s not an answer,” she says at last, her voice gentle but firm.

I close my eyes, my jaw tight. “I know,” I murmur, my voice rough.

Another silence, this one softer, more patient. I can feel Valentina waiting, her presence a steady, comforting weight beside me.

“It’s because of my parents,” I say at last, the words escaping on a sigh. “They—” I break off, shaking my head. “They loved each other, you know? Really, truly loved each other. And it still wasn’t enough. They still ended up divorced, bitter, barely able to be in the same room together.”

Valentina’s fingers tighten around mine. “Oh, Sabrina,” she breathes, her voice heavy with sympathy.

I shake my head again, my voice constricted. “I know it’s stupid,” I say, my voice rough. “I know that what happened with them doesn’t have to happen with me. But knowing that and believing it are two different things.”

Valentina shifts beside me, turning to face me more fully. “Look at me,” she murmurs, her free hand coming up to cup my face, her thumb stroking my cheekbone.

I comply, my eyes meeting hers, my breath faltering at the tenderness I see there.

“You are not your parents,” Valentina says firmly, her gaze intent on mine. “You get to write your own story, Sabrina. You get to choose how it ends.”

I swallow with effort, my eyes dropping to her lips, my heart hammering in my chest. “And what if I choose wrong?” I whisper, my voice nearly silent.

Valentina’s lips quirk into a soft smile, her thumb stroking my cheekbone again. “Then you choose again,” she says simply. “You keep choosing, every day, until you get it right.”

I stare at her, my heart in my throat, my stomach churning with nerves. “Is that what you did?” I ask at last, my voice low.

Valentina’s smile falters, her expression turning guarded. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “You’re so good at this,” I say, my voice soft. “At the casual thing, the no-strings thing. But this weekend—it’s been different. You’ve been different. And I just—I wonder why that is.”

Valentina goes still beside me, her eyes widening a fraction. “Sabrina—” she starts, her voice rough.

I shake my head, my hand coming up to cover hers where it still cups my face. “Please,” I murmur, my eyes searching hers. “I need to know.”

Valentina hesitates, her jaw tight, her eyes dropping to my lips for a fleeting moment before meeting mine again. “It’s not—I didn’t—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” I say softly, my thumb stroking the back of her hand.

Valentina draws an unsteady breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment before opening again, meeting mine with a raw, vulnerable honesty that robs me of breath. “Her name was Tasha,” she says at last, her voice rough. “We were together for two years. I thought—I thought we were forever, you know? I thought she was it for me.”

My throat tightens, my stomach churning with a jealousy I have no right to feel. “What happened?” I ask softly.

Valentina shrugs, her shoulders hunching in on themselves. “She got a job offer,” she says, her voice flat. “In London. I wanted to go with her, to try to make it work long-distance, but she—she said no. She said she needed a fresh start, a clean break. That it wasn’t fair to either of us to drag it out.”

I flinch, my heart aching for her. “Valentina—”

She shakes her head, her expression hardening. “I was a mess for a long time after that,” she admits, her voice rough. “I didn’t date, didn’t even look at anyone else. I just—shut down, I guess.”

“And then?” I prompt gently, my thumb still stroking her hand.

Valentina takes another shaky breath, her eyes meeting mine again. “And then I met you,” she says simply, her voice soft. “And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to try again.”

I stare at her, my heart in my throat, my stomach fluttering with a hope I’m almost afraid to feel. “Valentina—” I start, my voice rough.

She shakes her head, her free hand coming up to press a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Let me finish,” she murmurs, her voice low.

I nod, my lips tingling where she touched them, my heart hammering in my chest.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Valentina says, her eyes searching mine. “I didn’t mean to fall for you. But I did, and—I don’t know how to walk this back. I don’t know how to pretend I don’t feel the way I feel.”

I swallow with effort, my eyes dropping to her lips again, my breath faltering. “How do you feel?” I whisper, my voice nearly silent.

Valentina’s lips quirk into a soft smile, her thumb stroking my cheekbone one last time before her hand drops, her fingers tangling with mine again. “Like I’m not ready for this to end,” she says simply, her voice rough. “Like I want to keep choosing you, every day, until we get it right.”

I stare at her, my heart in my throat, my stomach churning with nerves and hope and a thousand other feelings I can’t name. “Valentina—” I start, my voice rough.

She leans in before I can finish, her lips brushing mine, soft and sweet and tentative. I melt into her, my free hand coming up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer as I deepen the kiss, pouring every ounce of my fear and my hope and my longing into the press of my lips against hers.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads pressed together, our lips swollen and red. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice rough. “Let’s keep choosing each other.”