The farewell was brief. Tanya was boarding a train to Firenze, continuing her journey northward. By the time she arrived, they would be over three hundred kilometers apart. And when Cay and Judas eventually reached Venezia, the distance would stretch even farther.
After queueing for the ticket, Cay wondered why she hadn’t bought it earlier. She seemed well-prepared in other aspects of her travel. In the short two days they’d spent together, Cay had assumed she came from a wealthy background. Weren’t most Russian travelers similar? Tanya’s habit of dining out often—always with a glass of blanc or pinot—only added to the impression.
Yet this did nothing to deter his feelings for her. If anything, her wine-filled lunches made her seem more mysterious, more alluring. Every sip she took deepened Cay’s fascination.
She liked him—not just for his gentleness, though that was obvious from the way his rough hands caressed her skin—but for his frivolous biting at her neck, which left her flushed with excitement. Her body had responded, certain parts warming at his every move. They had shared food, shared laughter, and sampled Italian gastronomy as a newly-formed pair. And now, just as quickly, that bond had to be dissolved—for fear they might never see each other again.
Her train wasn’t set to depart for another thirty minutes, but she couldn’t wait any longer. The presence of the man who had almost made love to her was too much. She had given herself to him, wordlessly, and he had gently declined—not out of rejection, but caution. Cay regretted it, though he knew that to deepen a brief affair with a woman from a different world would only bring more ache.
“Well… this is goodbye,” Tanya said, locking her eyes with his.
“Yes,” Cay replied. Her eyes didn’t glow as they had the night before.
“I’m going to miss you,” he added as they embraced—a moment lasting barely a second.
When they parted, Tanya offered a half-smile and walked through the security gate, handing her ticket to the guard. She didn’t look back. Cay kept his eyes on her until the folds of her white sleeveless dress vanished into the crowd. Her dark skin disappeared among the sunburnt bodies of other tourists.
He wished he had said more—something memorable, something worth revisiting should they ever meet again. But the words never came. He turned and walked back to the hostel.
“You alright?” Judas asked, a flicker of concern in his voice.
“Yeah. It was fun while it lasted,” Cay replied with a forced chuckle—one that caught in his throat.
“Alright then,” Judas said, returning to his usual calm. “Where to next?”
“Villa Borghese Gardens. I like the calm there.”
As they stepped out onto the streets, their backpacks weighing heavy on their shoulders, Cay didn’t bother to check directions. He already knew the way. Serenity always leaves a trail for those who need it.
We should go on a short holiday—just the two of us, she had said.
Cay was working late on an assignment due in two days. The hum of his Asus Flipbook was the only sound until he stopped typing and turned around in his rotating chair. Jenna was perched on his bed, wearing almost nothing.
He loved imagining what he could do with that pale, silky skin. So much temptation lived in her soft, pink lips, her large eyes, her raven-dark hair, and the space between her long, delicate legs.
He didn’t hesitate. He stood from his chair and crawled toward her on knees and palms. She laid back, head resting on double-stacked pillows, legs slightly parted—welcoming him.
“Yes, I’d love to be somewhere with you. Anywhere but this gloomy island,” he said.
And then, they made love.
The passion between them had yet to wear out. They burned for each other, consumed by touch and words whispered in the dark. Their closeness was animalistic, primal. Afterward, they lay in bed, Jenna hogging more than her half of the mattress. Cay didn’t mind. A wave of relief washed over him. She was easing into their relationship now, more comfortable than she had been in the beginning.
Clothes became optional. Silence between them felt like safety. Though they had only just begun university, both felt sure they were better off together. Partly because neither liked being alone. But wasn’t that true of everyone?
They needed something from each other, and the balance felt fair. They believed in equivalent exchange—a system of mutual giving that evolved into something more than just lust. Something stable.
Cay was confident he loved her. He didn’t wait for Jenna to say it first. He kissed her hard on the lips and held her hand when they walked outside. They observed other couples, quietly judging, quietly learning. They were becoming the greatest love in their world.
“Honey, time to do the groceries.”
“Huh? I swear we just did that.”
“That was barely a week’s worth!”
“Fine. But you’re doing it twice next time. You eat more than I do.”
“That’s not fair. We bought mostly your favorites.”
“But you still ate them.”
“Fair enough.”
Like any couple in their honeymoon phase, Jenna and Cay were inseparable. There were signs, however, that the peak was passing—like the weekly arguments creeping in as spring approached. But they were still in love. They were more than “bandits in love,” as S.S. Montefiore once wrote in Red Sky at Noon.
Still, friction creates energy—and energy needs a direction. Daily sex wasn’t enough to defuse the growing tension.
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