Page 78 of The Road to You
“Of what?”
“That this, what we have, will just fade when I leave. That it’ll turn into some dreamy memory of a summer that never had a chance.”
He exhales hard, then reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “It won’t fade for me.”
My chest aches. “I wish I could stay.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “And I wish I could ask you to.”
I close my eyes. “But we both know we can’t.”
His thumb brushes against my wrist, slow and tender. “I knew this would end. I just didn’t know it would hurt like this.”
I nod. “I didn’t think I’d fall in love with you.”
His breath catches. He pulls back just far enough to look me in the eyes. “You did?”
He seems genuinely surprised, and I can’t stop a small smile from escaping my lips.
“Of course I did,” I say softly. “How could I not?”
His lips part, like he’s about to speak, but then he just wraps his arms around me and pulls me in tight, burying his face in myneck. I hold him just as hard, feeling the tremble in his body, the quiet heartbreak we’re both pretending we can survive.
When he finally pulls away, his voice is barely audible. “I love you, Lena.”
Tears blur my vision. “I love you, too, Michele.”
We sit there in the last golden light of the day, clinging to something we can’t name, something bigger than either of us. Something we didn’t plan, but that happened in the sweetest way, and that changed us both. And even though I’m leaving, even though Rome, and everything after, is waiting, a small part of me hopes that love is enough to find its way back.
27
MICHELE
The air is still cool when I slip out from under the sheets, careful not to wake Lena. She’s curled on her side, one hand under her cheek, the other stretched toward the space I just left. For a moment, I just stand there watching her softly breathing, tangled hair, the early morning sun painting gold along her bare shoulder.
We didn’t have the strength to sleep in separate rooms last night, not after the confession that broke our hearts into a thousand pieces. If my parents complain about it, I’ll explain, but I think my mother already knows what happened. Her eyes never left Lena and me during dinner, her mother’s intuition ramped up to a higher level, if that’s even possible.
I step outside, basking in the scent of coffee and freshly-baked bread. Under the pergola, the world is silent except for the soft rustling of olive branches and the distant coo of doves waking with the sun. I sit on the stone bench and rest my elbows on my knees, pressing my palms together. My leg gives its usual throb, a quiet, cruel reminder of what might never be again.
Marco’s words echo in my head like a bell I can’t un-ring.“Make a decision or I walk.”He’s not wrong. I’ve beenfloating. Avoiding the mirror. The rehab. The calls. Hell, my own thoughts. But my talk with Lena last night brought everything back in full force, slamming against me, pushing me down, suffocating the breath in my lungs, and squeezing my heart in my chest.
She made the decision for both of us, and even though I wasn’t ready, I’m glad she did. The bubble we’ve been living in was always meant to pop at some point, and I knew it would hurt. Just not this much.
“You’re up early,” Mamma says from behind me. I turn as she pads over in her house slippers, her cardigan pulled tight around her body even though it’s already warm.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmur.
She sits beside me without another word. I don’t speak either. We just sit there for a long moment, the kind of moment only mothers and sons know how to share.
Then she asks softly, “What’s bothering you,tesoro mio?”
I let the breath out slowly. “Marco gave me an ultimatum. He says he’ll drop me if I don’t make up my mind about how to fix my leg. About playing again.”
“And what do you want to do?” Her voice is soft, like every time she guides her kids through a difficult decision.
She has always been like that, always listening, always the light of reason in our confused minds.
“That’s the problem.” I rub a hand over my face. “I don’t know. I keep waiting to wake up with clarity, to just know. But instead, I keep waking up like this: tired, confused, angry.”
