Page 58 of The Road to You
I scowl at him, but it’s hard to keep it up. There’s just…so much lovehere. Unfiltered, uninhibited affection. The kind of joy you can’t fake. And I get it. I really do. I’m used to family affection. I grew up in a house full of noise and hugs and people who couldn’t care less about personal space.
But I’m still American. And this is a whole other level.
I’m being kissed and hugged and introduced to sisters and brothers and kids whose names I’ll never remember. I’m being dragged from one pair of arms to another like I’m a prize on parade, my feet barely touching the ground.
And I’m laughing. I’m laughing because it’s too much and too loud andso very Italian,and when I catch Michele’s eyes across the crowd and shoot him a desperate, pleading look, he just grins wider.
I think I might murder him.
Later. After lunch.
If I survive this welcoming committee.
20
MICHELE
The scent of roasted tomatoes, fresh basil, and something sweet I can’t quite place fills the air, thick and familiar, as I lean against the worn stone wall just outside the kitchen. The midday sun pours through the open windows, casting long beams of light over the chaos inside.
There, right in the center of it all, is Lena. She’s standing at the massive wooden table, sleeves pushed up, listening intently toZiaCarmela as she gestures wildly, trying to explain how to slice the mozzarellajust right.Lena nods thoughtfully, brows furrowed, with a knife in hand, and I watch her bite her bottom lip to hide a smile when she very clearly doesn’t understand a single word coming out of my aunt’s mouth.
Francesco, my thirteen-year-old nephew, is at her elbow, translating in a mixture of broken English and exaggerated hand signs, his chest puffed out like he’s just been given a military assignment. Annalaura, his younger sister, pipes up now and then with corrections, bossing him around in both languages. I could go and play the knight in shining armor, rescuing her, but she doesn’t need to be rescued. She is perfectly capable of handling my crazy family, and somehow, she enjoys it.
Lena laughs, nods, and tries again.
Something soft breaks open inside me. It’s only been a few hours since we got here, and already, she’s managed to slip into the rhythm of my family like she’s always belonged. She’s not just smiling through the chaos, she’slivingit, leaning into the noise and warmth the way someone does when they know exactly how precious it is.
I drag a hand through my hair, feeling something shift deep inside me, slow and relentless, like tectonic plates realigning. It’s shaking me to my core like an earthquake I can’t escape.
One night. We had one night together. One night of reckless, incredible sex that still buzzes in my blood when I let my mind wander. And yet it feels like I’ve known her forever. Like every chaotic, joyful part of my life has been leading up to this moment, where I stand in my parents’ home and watch a woman I barely knew a few months ago fit herself right into the center of it.
“Sei innamorato, fratellone?”
The teasing voice makes me turn. Mariasole, my youngest sister, grins up at me, a dish towel slung over her shoulder, flour dusting her jeans. Her dark eyes sparkle with mischief, the same way they did when she used to steal my cleats before a game just to mess with me. I don’t miss the hope in her voice when she asks me if I’m in love. She’s always had a soft spot for my love life and tried to set me up with every woman she deemed worthy of her big brother.
“Ciao, Sorellina,” I say, ruffling her hair even though she’s almost thirty now and will probably murder me for it.
She swats me away, laughing, then nods toward Lena. “So. Spill. How did you meet her? And don’t you dare say ‘it’s complicated.’”
I chuckle under my breath, shoving my hands into my pockets. “It’s not complicated. We met in Milan. She’s a friend.”
“Just a friend, huh?” Mariasole arches a brow, unconvinced.
I shrug, even though my heart is still tight from watching Lena laugh with Francesco. “We are friends. We…traveled together.” Well, at least that is true. The other part is…well, complicated.
She smirks. “And now you bring her home. Tothis.” She gestures around us, at the noise, the heat, the dozens of relatives already fighting over who gets to sit next to Lena at lunch. “Pretty serious for a friend, no?”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling too. “Don’t start planning a wedding, Mariasole.”
“Too late.Mammaalready whispered something about grandchildren.”
I groan, tipping my head back against the wall. “Dio, aiutami.” And I really need God’s help if this is the way it’s going to be after just a few hours.
Mariasole laughs and bumps her shoulder into mine. “You’re happy. I can see it.”
I look at her, really look, and realize she’s not teasing anymore. She’s just happy for me.
I glance back toward the kitchen where Lena is throwing her hands up in victory after finally mastering the mozzarella technique; Francesco and Annalaura clap, as if she just won a medal.
