Page 49 of The Road to You
“It’s insane to think people slept here,” I say quietly. “Like…real people, with lives, and stories. They cooked dinner and laughed and cried and grew old inside this rock.”
Michele nods. “Sometimes, entire extended families shared one dwelling. There were no proper bathrooms, no ventilation. Kids and animals lived together. But they also had a strong sense of community. They lived close to the land. To each other.”
I glance at him. “You know a lot about this.”
He shrugs, one shoulder lifting. “I like history. Especially places that have seen everything and survived.”
I let that sit for a second.
“Do peoplestilllive in the Sassi?” I ask after a pause.
“Some, yes. A few locals moved back. But they’re mostly tourist spots now. You can even sleep in one.”
“Wait!Wecan sleep in one?”
His eyes twinkle. “If you want. I can see if there’s a hotel with a room open. Some of them are really beautiful. All restored inside. Still part of the rock, but with modern comforts.”
My heart skips a little. Not because of the novelty of staying inside a cave, but because of the way he looks at me while he suggests it, like he would do anything to make me happy.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Michele smiles, and it’s that smile again, the soft one that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t entirely understand. I want to hold onto this moment, bottle it up. The stone city glowing under the fading sun, the smell of old earth and rosemary in the air, and Michele beside me, looking like he belongs to this place in a way I never could, but somehow still makes me feel like I belong too.
We walk on, slowly, our footsteps echoing off the old walls. The silence between us now is the good kind that doesn’t need to be filled with shallow chatter.
Maybe some places are meant to be rediscovered.
And maybe some people are too.
By the timewe step into the fourth hotel carved into the cliffs of the Sassi, my feet are beginning to protest. The air is cooler down here in the winding alleys, shaded by the way the old stone buildings stack over one another, but it’s still August. Still southern Italy. Still a hundred degrees and climbing.
“I’m starting to think we should’ve booked ahead,” I mutter, wiping the sweat from my neck with the back of my hand as we step inside the arched entrance.
Michele smiles faintly, though there’s a sheen of heat on his forehead too. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The lobby is small and intimate. More like someone’s living room than a hotel reception. Worn terracotta tiles, low-beamed ceilings, and an old wooden desk where a woman with silver-streaked hair greets us with a warm, knowing smile.
“Buongiorno,” she says cheerfully. “You’re lucky, you know. Everyone’s booked, but I’ve just had a cancellation.”
Michele’s brows lift. “Really?”
She nods. “Our best room. The honeymoon suite. Very romantic.” Her eyes twinkle between us. “It’s perfect for a couple.”
I feel my face flush. A pulse of something I don’t have a name for ripples through me.
Michele glances down at me with a small, silent question in his eyes. Do we correct her? Do we keep going? Do we share a bed?
And I don’t hesitate.
I give him a grin and nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Sounds perfect.”
The woman gives us the key and points us toward a narrow stone stairwell that leads down into the earth, where the cool, damp air kisses my skin the deeper we go. We’re quiet as we descend, but my mind isn’t. It’s racing, with the echo of her words, with the realization of what I just agreed to.
Michele breaks the silence as we near the end of the hallway. “Just to be clear…we’re adults, right?”
I glance at him, smirking. “Painfully.”
“So sharing a bed doesn’t mean anything unless we want it to.”
