Temporary Measures

[The next morning dawns too bright, too soon, sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains and painting stripes across the floor. I blink awake slowly, my head fuzzy with sleep and the lingering effects of last night’s revelations, Valentina’s words still echoing in my mind.

She’s lying beside me, her face soft and unguarded in sleep, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow. I watch her for a long moment, my heart aching in my chest, before finally easing out of bed, careful not to wake her.

Downstairs, the house is already bustling, the smell of coffee and bacon hanging heavy in the air. I find Mamma in the kitchen, humming to herself as she flips pancakes on the griddle.

“There you are,” she says, smiling at me over her shoulder. “I was starting to think you’d sleep all day.”

I shake my head, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “Just tired,” I murmur, my voice still rough with sleep.

Mamma hums, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate and handing it to me. “You’ve been tired a lot this weekend,” she observes, her eyes sharp on my face.

I flush, ducking my head over my coffee cup. “It’s been a long few days,” I mumble.

Mamma nods, her expression softening. “I’m glad you came,” she says gently. “It’s good to have you home.”

I smile, my voice choked. “It’s good to be home.”

We eat in companionable silence, the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of voices from the other room the only sounds. I’m just finishing my second pancake when Valentina appears in the doorway, her hair rumpled, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice rough as she makes her way to the coffee pot.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye, my heart leaping into my throat. “Morning,” I echo, my voice hushed.

Valentina pours herself a cup of coffee, leaning a hip against the counter as she takes her first sip. “You’re up early,” she observes, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of her mug.

I shrug, my gaze dropping to my plate. “Couldn’t sleep,” I mumble.

Valentina hums, her eyes searching mine for a long moment before she finally looks away. “Me neither,” she admits quietly.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of forced normalcy, of too-loud laughter and too-bright smiles, of sidelong glances and casual touches that feel anything but casual. We pack our bags in near-silence, the burden of everything unspoken lingering between us, the reality of our impending return to the city looming large.

“You’ll come back soon?” Mamma asks as we load our bags into the car, her eyes worried on my face.

I nod, pulling her into a hug. “As soon as we can,” I promise, my voice rough.

Mamma holds on tight, her arms wrapped around me like she never wants to let go. “I’ll hold you to that,” she murmurs into my hair.

I hug her back, my voice choked, my eyes stinging with tears I won’t shed. “I know,” I whisper.

Valentina and I climb into the car, waving to my family as we pull out of the driveway, the house disappearing in the rearview mirror as we make our way down the winding road.

The drive back to the city is quiet, the silence between us charged with everything we’re not saying. I watch the scenery blur past the window, my mind racing, my stomach churning with nerves.

“You’re quiet,” Valentina murmurs, her voice soft beside me.

I shrug, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Just thinking,” I say shortly.

Valentina shifts in her seat, her hand coming to rest on my thigh, her thumb stroking the inside of my knee through the fabric of my jeans. “About what?” she presses gently.

I close my eyes, my breath faltering at the warmth of her touch. “About how we’re going to do this,” I admit quietly. “About how we’re going to go back to our real lives and pretend like everything’s the same when it’s not.”

Valentina’s thumb stills on my knee, her fingers tightening a fraction. “Do we have to pretend?” she asks carefully.

I open my eyes, my head turning to look at her, my heart leaping into my throat. “What do you mean?”

Valentina shrugs, her expression guarded. “I mean, do we have to go back to the way things were? Or can we—try something new?”

I stare at her, my pulse pounding in my ears, 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 cover mine where it rests on the gearshift, her fingers threading through mine. “Don’t answer yet,” she murmurs, her voice low. “Just—think about it. Okay?”

I nod, my voice choked, my fingers squeezing hers. “Okay,” I whisper.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur, the city skyline rising up to meet us as we make our way home. Valentina’s hand stays on my thigh, her thumb stroking idle patterns through the fabric of my jeans, her presence a steady, comforting weight beside me.

We pull up in front of our building just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, tinting the sky shades of orange and pink. I kill the engine, the sudden silence deafening in the small space.

For a long moment, neither of us moves, the air between us heavy with unspoken words, with the burden of everything that’s changed between us. Then Valentina is leaning in, her hand coming up to cup my face, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.

“Okay,” she whispers against my lips, her breath warm on my skin. “Now you can answer.”

I close my eyes, my heart in my throat, my stomach fluttering with nerves and hope and a thousand other feelings I can’t name. “Okay,” I echo, my voice rough. “Let’s try something new.”

The next few days pass in a blur of too-easy proximity and loaded glances, of casual touches that feel anything but casual. Our apartment, once a sanctuary of easy coexistence, now thrums with silent strain, the space between us heavy with unvoiced thoughts.

It’s in the way Valentina’s hand lingers on the small of my back as she passes me in the kitchen, her touch warm and sure through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. It’s in the way my breath catches when she laughs, her head thrown back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It’s in the way we move around each other like opposing magnets, drawn together and repelled in equal measure, neither of us quite brave enough to close the distance between us.

We’re dancing around the truth, both of us too afraid to take the first step, to voice the feelings that have been building between us since that first fateful kiss at the rehearsal dinner. We’re stuck in a limbo of our own making, too scared to move forward, too invested to go back.

It comes to a head on a Tuesday, almost a week after our return to the city. We’re in the living room, half-watching some inane reality show, when Valentina shifts beside me, her leg brushing mine, her hand coming to rest on thigh, her thumb stroking idle patterns through the fabric of my sweatpants.

I freeze, my breath snagging in my throat, every nerve suddenly aware of the warmth from her touch. “Val—” I start, my voice rough.

She turns to look at me, her expression open and unguarded, her eyes dark and intent on mine. “Sabrina,” she murmurs, her voice soft, and there’s a world of meaning in that single word.

I swallow hard, my heart hammering in my chest, my stomach fluttering with nerves. “We should—” I try again, my words barely a whisper over the drumming of my pulse in my ears.

Valentina moves closer, her hand gliding up my thigh, her fingertips grazing the edge of my shirt, her touch warm and certain against my skin. “We should,” she agrees, her voice low, her eyes never leaving mine.

I close my eyes, my breath faltering, my head swimming with the scent of her, warm and sweet and uniquely Valentina. “Val, I—” I start, my voice rough, and then her lips are on mine, soft and seeking, and I’m lost.

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. It’s a kiss that feels both familiar and terrifyingly new, a kiss that steals my breath and sets my heart racing, a kiss that I never want to end.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads pressed together, our lips swollen and red. “Sabrina,” Valentina whispers, her voice rough, her eyes searching mine.