Page 27 of The Road to You
He chuckles, the tension between us easing. But even as his lips curl into a smile, I see the lingering sadness in his eyes. And all I want to do is pull him into my arms and promise that he’s more than his career, more than his fame, more than what he’s lost.
But I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of intimacy yet.
11
MICHELE
We left the house in the Tuscan hills at midnight. Now that the paparazzi have caught wind of us, it’s only a matter of time before they track us down. The only option is to keep moving. Keep them guessing.
So as soon as we got back from that ill-fated grocery run, we packed our bags, had dinner, and called around for a hotel willing to take us in Florence. Not an easy feat in the middle of July, but somehow, we pulled it off.
Now, we stand outside the Galleria dell’Accademia, and I’m ready to work my charm to get us past the massive line.
I step up to the ticket counter, flashing my most practiced, devastating smile. “Ciao!”
The woman behind the counter lights up, her polite customer-service expression shifting into something warmer. “Buongiorno.”
“We’d like to buy two tickets.” I switch to English deliberately, and as expected, the moment she registers Lena beside me, her eyes widen in recognition. Bingo.
“Of course,” she says, fumbling at her computer, suddenly a little nervous.
I lean in slightly, resting my forearms on the counter. “Any chance we could skip the line? We’re happy to pay extra.” I flash the full force of my signature playboy grin, the one I know works.
From the corner of my eye, I see Lena roll her eyes. She’s onto me. But she doesn’t seem annoyed, just amused.
The truth is, I don’t love using my fame to bypass normal inconveniences. But standing in line for hours, surrounded by people who might recognize us, is a risk I can’t take. For me, it’s an inconvenience. For Lena, it’s a headline. And she’s been through enough of those because of that jerk of an ex. I only made things worse when people recognized me and put me in the magazines with her.
The woman hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “Do you have a reservation?” She already knows the answer, but she has to do her job.
“No,” I admit, then grin. “But we can make one right now…for five minutes from now.”
She giggles despite herself. “That’s not how it works, but you know what? If you sign an autograph for my dad, I can call someone to take you through a different entrance.”
I knew I could count on something like this. Everyone in Italy knows about soccer players, or knows someone who knows about us. It’s almost a given that I can use my face to open doors. Which is why I never use it, unless it’s an emergency. And considering how Lena is uncomfortable in crowded spaces, I say that this is an emergency. Or maybe I just want to spend as much time with her as possible, without being mobbed by fans. That’s also a good reason to do it. A selfish one, but I don’t linger too much on the guilt creeping into my stomach.
I barely resist the urge to pump my fist in victory. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
As she rummages around, Lena nudges my side. “You’re bad,” she mouths, her smile full of mischief.
I just smirk and shrug. She shakes her head, but she looks more amused than pissed about it. I sigh in relief.
After I sign the autograph and snap a quick selfie with her, on the promise that she won’t post it for at least a week, a man arrives to escort us through a side entrance.
Lena glances up at me as we walk. Her expression is teasing. “Do you always use your fame to get what you want?”
Her question is laced with more curiosity than annoyance.
“No,” I say, feigning offense. “I usually take the conventional route. But let’s be honest, most of the time, doors just open for me. What about you?”
Considering how famous she is, I have to believe there are places where she uses her fame to her advantage.
She tilts her head, considering. “Yes and no. If I go somewhere celebrities frequent, I get perks. But outside of those places, I’m just a regular person. No one’s handing me a priority pass at the gym or at the grocery store.”
“Never skipped the line at a club?” I ask because I did it a lot when I was younger.
She blushes slightly, and she is adorable. “Yeah. I did do that,” she confesses
I chuckle, but my attention lingers on her. The more time I spend with her, the more I want to know about her life, her quirks, and her thoughts. It’s unsettling. I don’t usually linger on the personal details. And yet, with her, I do. I tend not to get too close to women I don’t date. The whirlwind of people surrounding my life makes it impossible to know each one of them. It sounds arrogant and lazy, but that’s the reality. I have little time for relationships, and I can’t give everyone the attention they deserve, so I tend to surround myself with people that I know I want in my life longer than a night out.
