Page 245 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“I’m not sure what we can be,” she admitted. “It’s so strange, things being different now. But I do know that I’d like to try. With you. If that’s…”

Brightness flashed across his face, transforming it completely although his expression changed little. “Valentina!”

“It was such a whirlwind, the first time,” she said. “I barely had time to register what was happening before I was married and gone. But this time, I want to do it right. We’ll date—” the term sounded laughably backward and she winced even as it came out of her mouth “—and spend time together. I’m trying to repair my relationship with my mum, and possibly my stepfather, and that’ll take time. And you…”

“I’m working on things. Talking to someone.” He looked so uncertain—more uncertain than she’d ever seen him before. “I…contacted one of my uncles, as well, and we’ve been talking.”

“Desmond, that’s wonderful.”

“It’s strange as hell.” He lifted his brows. “I’ll tell you more. But later.”

She nodded and her next breath shuddered through her whole body; the tension was leaching out, a little at a time.

Desmond Tesfay was in love with her.

“I love you, too,” she said. “Let’s eat.”

* * *

They ate magnificently. They talked. They laughed. They shared.

For the first time, without any reservations or awkwardness.

And for the first time in nearly ten years, Desmond Tesfay felt at peace.

When they emerged from the restaurant the sun was setting in a soft mosaic of purples and grays and oranges, and the air had cooled.

“We should get back, before the mosquitos eat us alive,” Valentina murmured.

He nodded. “My hotel isn’t far from here.”

She hesitated, just for a moment. “You could…come home with me, Desmond. It isn’t far, and I’d love you to meet my mother.”

“I’d like that.”

She stood on her toes and tipped her face back, offering herself freely. All thought ceased; he bent lower, hovered over her upturned face for just a moment, and kissed her.

It felt so different this time. He still wanted her just as much as he ever had, but it was without the desperation of trying to hold on to something that constantly slipped through his fingers like sand. He’d never felt so free to kiss her with such tenderness, to take his time, to show her his whole self without fear of judgment.

And when she put her arms round his neck and tucked her face into the nook where his neck met his shoulder, he knew that time no longer mattered, not for them.

* * * * *

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