Page 13 of The Road to You
Michele is none of that. He’s rougher, a little unpolished, like he belongs more to the road than in a boardroom. And damn if that doesn’t make him look like he gives women the time of their life.
We arrive in Varenna,and I can’t decide where to look first. On one side, the mountains rise like a sturdy wall, their peaks covered in thick vegetation. On the other side, the lake stretches out, calm and glassy, mirroring the pastel-colored houses that cling to the mountainside. The entire town looks like it was plucked from a postcard, with red, yellow, and pink facades standing in perfect contrast against the lush greenery.
Michele parks the car near a cobblestone square lined with iron benches and a handful of trees that offer sparse shade. Across the street, a church stands tall, flanked by its ever-present bell tower. I’ve seen places like this in pictures, but experiencing it in person is something else entirely. This is the Italy I always imagined, the one that doesn’t need filters or staged angles to feel breathtaking.
There aren’t many people around, just a few elderly locals going about their morning routines and the occasional tourist snapping pictures. It’s nothing like the usual chaos that follows me in Los Angeles.
“I get what you meant about this place,” I say as Michele leads me through an arched stone passageway between aged walls rich with history. “It’s not exactly empty, but there aren’t a lot of people who’d sell a story to the gossip magazines.”
He nods, his hand brushing the rough stone wall as we descend a set of narrow stairs. “Don’t let the quiet fool you. Teenagers on vacation with their parents might recognize you, but at least you won’t have a mob of paparazzi waiting at every corner.”
I smirk. “I’ll take that over getting ambushed outside my home any day.”
The winding streets of Varenna are a maze of tucked-away hotels, flower-draped balconies, and staircases that seem to lead nowhere until, suddenly, we emerge onto a terrace overlooking the lake. My breath catches in my throat.
From here, I can see the coastline stretching in the distance, tiny villages dotting the green slopes like constellations against an emerald sky. The mountains roll down to meet the water, and the lake’s colors soften their peaks. The whole scene feels untouched by time, like something out of another era.
“This is incredible,” I whisper.
Michele steps closer, his chest just barely grazing my back and his presence warming my skin. The touch is so light, but it sends a ripple down my spine. He lifts an arm, pointing toward the left side of the lake.
“That’s the Lecco branch,” he explains, his voice lower, almost intimate. “Varenna is right in the middle, facing both the Como and Lecco sides.”
I frown, turning slightly toward him. “Isn’t it the same lake?”
He chuckles. “Technically, yes. But there are two branches, one under the Como province, one under Lecco. They have a bit of a friendly rivalry.”
I arch an eyebrow. “So, what, you guys split the lake like divorced parents?”
Michele laughs, his voice rich and warm reverberating through my chest. “Something like that. Each side swears theirs is better.”
I smirk. “I guess I’ll have to see both and decide for myself.”
He leans in slightly, his face brushing against mine, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne, something woody and clean, like cedar with a hint of citrusy soap. “I already planned on that,” he murmurs, his breath teasing my skin before he straightens, giving me space. The fresh air left by his body’s absence is almost bothering me.
I swallow, willing my pulse to slow down. The way he commands a moment without overpowering it is almost too much. And yet, I find myself leaning into him, reaching for that warmth he left behind.
“Come on,” he says, suddenly grabbing my hand in his firm grip. “Weneedto have breakfast on the lakefront. You can’t miss that.”
I let out a breathless laugh, trying to focus on his words and not the way my hand tingles where he’s holding it, the way it perfectly fits in his. “You know my trainer is going to hate me after this trip, right? I swear, all I’ve done in Italy is eat.”
Michele glances at me over his shoulder, and a smirk plays at his lips. “You’ll walk enough to burn it off.” He winks, and damn it, he’s right.
By the time we reach the café, I feel like we’ve climbed half the town, ducking under low arches, navigating winding alleyways, dodging overgrown branches spilling from hidden gardens. But the effort is worth it when we finally sit at a table right by the water. The lake laps lazily at the stones a few feet away, and the late-morning sun kisses my skin with just the right amount of warmth.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. “This place is unreal.”
Michele leans back in his chair, tilting his face toward the sun. “Yeah. I love it.”
“It’s so quiet,” I admit. “I’m not used to this.”
He watches me for a long moment before speaking. “I imagine it’s a big change from LA.”
I huff a laugh. “That’s an understatement. I don’t know how to be a tourist. Even when I’m on vacation, I bring work with me. A script to read, a book that’s being adapted into a movie I might audition for. This whole ‘doing nothing’ thing makes me feel…lazy.”
Michele smiles, but there’s something knowing in his gaze. “Then I’ll teach you how to live like an Italian.”
The way he says it—like it’s a fact, not a suggestion—makes me bite back a grin. “Deal.”
