Page 33 of The Road to You
My heart jolts. It’s not a refusal. She is entertaining the idea as much as I am. Maybe she wasn’t ready the first time, but a lot has happened since then.
I smirk. “Now seems like a good time.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but there’s amusement there too. “In front of all these people?”
I gesture around us. “Why not? The world already thinks we’re having some kind of summer fling. If someone takes a picture, it’s not exactly a shocking revelation.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, like she’s actually considering my point.
Finally, she sighs, shaking her head with an exasperated smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“And yet, here you are.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. Then she exhales slowly and steps closer, tilting her head up. “Fine. But make it worth it, Moretti.”
Oh, I intend to.
I reach for her, fingers brushing against her cheek before sliding into her hair. Her breath catches, and my pulse kicks up as I lower my head toward her.
The moment our lips meet, everything else disappears. The city moves around us, voices and footsteps, the distant melody of a street musician playing a violin. It all disappears in the background.
It’s not some polite, testing kiss. There’s no hesitation, no question about what we’re doing. It’s heat and urgency and something deeper that I can’t quite put a name to.
Her hands grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, and I’m drowning in her. The warmth of her, the way she tastes like the lingering sweetness of gelato, the way she sighs against my mouth like she’s been waiting for this just as much as I have. Everything is pulling at my chest, tightening it in a vise that almost hurts.
My tongue moves with hers in a languid dance that heats me up from the inside. I want her. No, I need her. I need the way shemakes me feel alive again, how she lights a spark in my chest and blows until it’s a fire burning with passion and desire. It’s been months since I felt this excited to live my life, and I’m starting to think that I was dying inside without realizing it.
She takes away the numbness the accident filled me with, and it’s exciting and terrifying all at once. I don’t know if my heart is ready for this, but I’m eager to try. In this moment, there’s only her and the life she instills into my battered chest.
When we finally pull apart, she stays close, her forehead resting against mine.
“Well,” she breathes, her voice slightly unsteady, “that was…thorough.”
I chuckle, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I aim to please.”
She laughs, and that sound, that light, carefree sound, is better than any wish I could’ve made at the fountain.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t care what happens next. I just know I want more.
14
LENA
Iwake up slowly, wrapped in the hazy warmth of sleep, my body still buzzing with the memory of yesterday. The sensation is faint, like an echo reverberating through my skin, but it’s there, the lingering imprint ofhim.
Michele Moretti. The soccer player. But for me, just Michele, the man who makes me forget everything else in my life.
My fingers brush my lips, and I close my eyes, exhaling softly. That kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a shift, a crack in the carefully laid foundation I’d built around myself. I’ve been kissed before by men who knew they were handsome, who knew their touch could make me weak. Men who thrived on the chase, the power of the hunt, who saw seduction as a sport, and me as the trophy.
Michele is different. There was no selfish possessiveness in his kiss, no attempt to claim me as his prize. He seemed to claim me because he didn’t want to let me go. He didn’t push for more, didn’t treat it as an invitation for something beyond that moment. And when we pulled apart, when my breath was still uneven and my heart pounded against my ribs, he justsmiled. Easy, unbothered, like we hadn’t just shattered a delicate boundary between us.
And then…we moved on. He didn’t make it awkward. He didn’t push or pull away. We continued exploring Rome as if nothing had changed, except everythinghad.
I shift under the sheets, stretching my limbs. The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city waking up. A sliver of sunlight spills through the curtains, painting golden streaks on the tiled floor. Outside, I hear the faint ringing of a bicycle bell, the occasional chatter of passersby, and the unmistakable scent of fresh bread wafting through the air.
I smile to myself, rolling onto my side, watching the light dance along the walls. Rome feels like a dream, like I’ve stepped into an old movie, playing the role of a woman who gets lost in a city of history and romance. Of kisses and whispered secrets.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Frowning, I push the sheets away and pad toward the door, still in my nightgown, a silky, cream-colored thin layer of fabric that barely grazes my thighs. I should probably grab a robe, but curiosity gets the best of me.
