Page 10 of The Road to You
I let out a humorless laugh. “Nope. I heard it from the tabloids first.”
His jaw tightens, and he mutters something in Italian under his breath.
I arch an eyebrow. “What does that mean?” It didn’t sound nice at all, especially paired with the disgust on his face.
His lips quirk. “Che pezzo di merda.” He pauses before translating. “What a piece of shit.”
I burst out laughing, feeling the burden lift, as if I’ve been holding it forever. The knot in my throat, the weight in my stomach every time I talk with someone about what happened, is not as heavy anymore. And for the first time since landing in Italy, I feel a flicker of something I hadn’t dared to think of.
Hope.
5
MICHELE
“Thatrisotto alla Milanese with ossobucowas something I will remember for eternity.” Lena beams at me with a wide smile, and her cheeks flushed from the wine. The way she pronounces the Italian words, with that charming accent, makes my lungs forget how to work.
I knew it this afternoon, but dinner confirmed it. She makes me forget.
For the first time in months, I don’t feel like a man whose career is slipping through his fingers. I don’t think about the team that cut me loose, the injury that haunts my nights, or the uncertainty clawing at me like a shadow I can’t outrun. With her, I forget the pain gripping my leg most of the time.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t see the baggage I carry, the weight of expectations, or the headlines dissecting my downfall. With Lena, I’m just Michele. No past, no pressure.
“I know! I was stunned the first time I had it after moving to Milan.” I chuckle, reaching out instinctively when she stumbleson the uneven cobblestone. She catches my elbow, her fingers gripping tightly as she steadies herself.
It could be the wine, or the late hour, or the sheer absurdity of how easy it feels between us, but I don’t want tonight to end. I don’t want to go back to my empty apartment, to lie awake staring at the ceiling, drowning in spiraling thoughts that make my nightmares become almost tangible.
“You’re not from here?” she asks curiously, looking at me with those big blue eyes that mesmerize me.
It’s refreshing that she doesn’t know. She has no idea how long it’s been since I had a night like this, feeling light and letting my mind rest. It’s been years since the last time I allowed myself to be something different than the soccer player, just Michele, and nothing more.
I shake my head, smiling. “No. I’m from a small town in Puglia, in the south.”
Her expression softens. “Really? I’ve heard the south is amazing in the summer. I’d love to visit someday.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice, like she doesn’t believe it’s possible.
I wonder why she feels like she can’t do something this simple, visiting a place she wants to see. She is already here, and from what she told me, she’s staying for a while. Nothing should stop her from doing what she wants.
“It really is,” I say. “The colors, the scent of fruit warm from the sun, the way people smile and live slowly like they’ve got nowhere else to be, it’s something else. Even the taste of food is different.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. We walk aimlessly, just enjoying this moment. And I realize I don’t want to say goodnight yet.
“Come with me,” I say, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.
She turns to me, brow furrowing slightly. “I…” There’s hesitation in her voice, and I rush to reassure her.
“It’s a public place. Plenty of people. Nothing to worry about.” I wink, trying to put her at ease.
She exhales a soft laugh. “Sorry. I guess I’m just used to men expecting something in return after dinner. And I’m not interested in…that.”
My stomach twists. It’s infuriating that she even has to say it. It’s disgusting how some men treat a meal like it’s a transaction.
“They’re not men,” I mutter. “They’re pathetic losers who can’t get a woman any other way.”
She’s quiet for a beat and gazes at the paved street under her feet. Then she says, so softly I almost miss it, “My ex was like that. He always expected something in return.”
I glance at her, but she keeps her head down, shoulders slightly hunched, like she’s ashamed. And that pisses me off more than anything. What an asshole
“Look how that turned out,” I say, not bothering to filter my irritation. “He didn’t even have the balls to tell you he had his dick buried in someone else’s ass.”
