Page 36 of The Road to You
I glance at him, my pulse stuttering, and my breath hitching just slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice what he’s done. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care. His grip is easy, casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be holding my hand. It feels so natural that the thought throws me off.
I don’t pull away. Instead, I let my fingers settle into his, warm and firm and steady, and something in my chest flutters wildly at the intimacy of it. I will never get used to it, but we’re just holding hands, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like I’m fourteen with my first crush, even if it feels exactly like that.
“Lena.”
His voice is teasing, and I blink up at him, realizing I’ve been staring at our joined hands instead of watching where I’m going. I feel my cheeks heat up, and not because of the sun.
“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing my gaze forward.
“You’re getting all flustered,” he teases, but there is something else in his tone. Something that sounds a lot like an unspoken question.
“I am not.” I blush even harder.
“You so are.” His smile threatens to split his face in two, it’s so wide.
“Shut up,” I huff, but my lips twitch, betraying me. I’m totally getting sentimental over holding hands, but I can’t admit that, not even to Michele, because it would mean admitting there is something stirring in my chest that I should nip in the bud before we go way too far.
Michele grins but says nothing else, just keeps walking, his fingers still wrapped around mine, like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Itfeelslike we have done it hundreds of times before.
We wander deeper into the park, past clusters of people lounging, past a pair of kids playing with plastic swords. It feels like we’ve stepped out of reality and into some golden, slow-moving dream where nothing exists but the two of us.
“Did you know Villa Borghese was once a vineyard?” Michele says, glancing at me.
I arch a brow. “Are you about to drop some Moretti-approved historical knowledge on me?”
I love it when he talks nerdy to me.
He smirks. “I might.”
“Okay, professor. Hit me with it.”
He squeezes my hand lightly, and that simple gesture, playful, easy, and intimate, sends a thrill down my spine.
“This whole park used to belong to the Borghese family,” he explains. “They built it in the seventeenth century as a private retreat with fountains, sculptures, and even their own little zoo. Obviously, they also had a vineyard, like most rich people during that era. Eventually, they lost it, and the city took over.”
“Huh.” I glance around, taking in the grandeur. “Rich people really do love their extravagant backyard projects.” I’m glad it’s not just a Hollywood thing.
“Oh, absolutely.” He grins. “You should see the inside of the Borghese Gallery. Paintings, statues, marble everywhere. It’s ridiculous.” He’s so excited about this that I feel like there’s more behind his passion for historical facts.
I hum thoughtfully. “And here you are, impressing me with your knowledge of the place. Are you secretly a history nerd?”
He scoffs. “Please. I just had an Italian education, which means I had this stuff drilled into my head whether I wanted it or not.”
I feel he’s downplaying it. Nobody knows so many facts about a topic unless they’re deeply interested in it, even if they are forced to study it in school.
“Right.” I nod teasingly. “So you’re just a reluctant history geek?”
“Exactly.” He grins, but I can see in his eyes that he’s just messing with me.
“You are not fooling me, Moretti. You like history.” I playfully bump my shoulder against his.
“Damn! I chose the smart girl, didn’t I?” He raises a questioning eyebrow at me.
I shrug. “I’ve just learned to read people, and you are definitely a history geek.”
He chuckles, but he doesn’t deny it. He seems almost shy about it, and it’s a reaction that surprises me. I’ve never seen himembarrassed about anything, and I feel honored that he shared this vulnerable side with me.
I’m so absorbed looking at Michele that I don’t realize we’ve reached the lake, and I stop in my tracks, my breath catching.
