Page 14 of The Road to You
Silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable, like the warmth of the sun or the steady sound of the water until curiosity gets the better of me.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
Michele’s eyes flick to mine, guarded yet amused. “Go ahead.”
I hesitate, but only for a second. “Aren’t you supposed to be working instead of playing tour guide? You don’t exactly look retired, but you’re too old to be in college and have the summer off.”
His chuckle is light, but for the briefest moment, something flickers in his expression, something unreadable, almost like pain.
“I’m in between jobs,” he says vaguely, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the table. “Taking some time for myself.”
It’s an answer, but not really. There’s more to it, something unspoken, something he’s not ready to share. And for some reason, that makes me want to know him even more. There is an intelligence, an emotional maturity that transpires between the jokes and the laughs. And something deeper that I can’t pinpoint. His eyes tell me that he’s been through a lot, and that makes me assume there are way more layers to peel back before you can say you really know him. And it’s a challenge I want to take on.
Michele is a puzzle wrapped in easy smiles and quiet confidence. And as I sit there, watching him with the lake shimmering behind him, I realize something. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t mind.
7
LENA
We arrive in Bellagio just as the sun begins its slow descent behind the mountains, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The town, nestled at the meeting point of the lake’s two branches, is a postcard come to life: elegant, timeless, and bathed in the golden glow of dusk. But what truly captures my attention isn’t the beauty of the place, it’s the way we got here.
Michele didn’t drive us around the winding roads that hug the lake. Instead, he rented a private limousine boat, slicing through the water with an ease that makes me wonder just who the hell this man is.
He claims he’s between jobs, yet he throws money around like it’s pocket change—private boats, secluded restaurants, the kind of indulgences that don’t come cheap. And judging by how effortlessly he arranged everything, this isn’t a spur-of-the-moment splurge to impress me. He knows the boat guy, has his number saved in his phone, and they talk like old friends. This is his world. I just happen to be stepping into it.
A part of me itches to ask questions, to peel back the layers of mystery surrounding him. But we aren’t that close, and pryinginto his business feels like crossing a line. I can only hope I’m not enjoying the generosity of a criminal mastermind. I mean, who has that kind of money without needing a job?
The hotel we walk into screams luxury, with its polished chandeliers and marble floors. The moment we approach the front desk, the concierge’s face lights up with a broad smile.
“Signor Moretti, che piacere.”
Even without speaking Italian, I can tell it’s more than just politeness. It’s familiarity, the kind that suggests Michele isn’t just any guest; he’sknownhere. I don’t think this is his first time staying in this place.
“The pleasure is mine,” Michele responds in English, his hand settling lightly on my back as he guides me forward.
It’s a small gesture, but I appreciate it. He’s making sure I’m included, that I don’t feel like an outsider. The concierge’s gaze flickers to me, and the recognition dawns in slow motion. His surprise is there, just for a second, before he schools his expression into professional warmth.
“It’s a pleasure to have you here, miss,” he says with a polite nod.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply with a smile.
Michele leans casually against the counter, flashing an easy grin that feels almost too charming. “Any chance you have a couple of rooms for tonight?” His voice is smooth, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it. “I know it’s last minute, and I wouldn’t normally ask during peak season, but I want her to experience a proper Italian getaway before she goes back to the chaos of Los Angeles.”
The concierge doesn’t even hesitate. He smiles like he already knows the answer. “There is always room for you, Mr. Moretti.”
I feel the tension in Michele’s body ease slightly beside me. I hadn’t even realized he was nervous. The fact that hewassurprises me. He’s gone out of his way to make sure I have a perfect time, and for what? I’m practically a stranger to him.
I’ve always heard about Italian hospitality, but this feels different. More than just cultural warmth, it’spersonal,and I don’t know how to place it in a relationship between two strangers, because this is, ultimately, what we are.
We’re given two lake-view suites, and I’m relieved when Michele doesn’t insist on paying for mine. He has a habit of picking up the bill before I can even reach for my wallet, and sometimes, it makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of him.
Tonight, at least, I get to contribute. But as I take the key from the concierge, my curiosity only deepens. WhoisMichele Moretti? And why do I get the feeling that beneath all his easy charm, there’s something he’s not telling me?
The hotel’sterrace overlooks the lake, its glassy surface reflecting the twinkling lights of the town across the water. A soft breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers, mixing with the distant lapping of waves against the docks below. The candle between us flickers, casting golden light over the crisp white tablecloth, adding an air of intimacy to the night.
It’s the kind of setting I’d picture for a honeymoon, a romantic getaway, the kind of night people dream about. Yet, with Michele’s easygoing smile and the relaxed way he leans back in his chair, it doesn’t feel awkward or forced. He isn’t trying to manufacture some grand romantic moment.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about him over the past couple of days, it’s that he doesn’t have a hidden agenda. He’s not putting on a show to impress me, not orchestrating all of this as some elaborate ploy to get me into bed. He’s just being him. Ihaven’t for a single moment felt pressured by him to go further. It could be him playing the long game, but for the little I know him, it feels out of character, far from the persona he’s shown me up to now.
