Page 32 of The Road to You

MICHELE

T he morning sun filters through the lace curtains, casting soft shapes across the terracotta floor.

The scent of freshly brewed espresso wafts through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the masseria.

I balance a tray with two cups, a small bowl of sugar, and a plate of almond biscotti as I tiptoe down the hallway.

Lena’s door is slightly ajar, and I push it open gently. She’s still nestled under the linen sheets, her hair a tousled halo around her face.

“ Buongiorno, tesoro ,” I whisper, setting the tray on the bedside table.

She stirs, blinking sleepily. “Mmm, what’s that smell?”

Her voice is groggy from sleep, and I smile when she peels an eye open to peek at me. She is adorable when she’s all sleepy and confused.

“Espresso. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up. You know, after my performance last night,” I tease her.

She groans and puts the blanket over her head. “You are terrible.”

“You weren’t complaining last night. On the contrary, you seemed very, very pleased.” I smirk at her and she gives me the side-eye, but a smile tugs at her lips.

She sits up, and the sheet slips to reveal her bare shoulders. “You’re spoiling me,” she says, eyeing the tray on the nightstand.

I hand her a cup, our fingers brushing. “Only the best for you.” I wink and she blushes, hiding a smile behind the porcelain rim.

We sip our coffee in comfortable silence, the morning light dancing across her features. Outside, the cicadas begin their daily chorus, a soundtrack that reminds me of my childhood.

After dressing, we make our way to the pergola-covered patio where my mother, father, and nonna are already seated, enjoying the morning breeze.

“ Buongiorno , Lena!” my mother exclaims, rising to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. “Did you sleep well?”

I translate for her, realizing how much work my cousin and sister did yesterday to keep the conversation flowing and merging the two languages.

“Very well, thank you,” Lena replies, smiling warmly.

My grandmother pats the seat beside her. “Come, sit. Eat. You must try the fresh focaccia,” she says in Italian, and I translate for her.

We join them, plates filled with sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and slices of pecorino. It’s so late for my family that they’ve already had breakfast and are at their mid-morning snack. If we can call it that. There is enough food on the table to feed a family for several days.

The conversation flows easily, laughter punctuating stories of family and local gossip.

My mother and grandmother don’t refrain from telling Lena about my embarrassing moments when I was a kid.

They chuckle when she throws her head back in a sincere laugh and ask questions that my mother eagerly answers.

My father, always a man of few words, looks between his wife and Lena and smiles, from time to time throwing a glance at me.

I know he has something to say, but he will keep it for himself until we are alone.

He is not a man who shows his feelings easily.

I watch Lena interact with my family, her laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. She fits here, in this moment, as if she’s always been a part of our lives. The thought fills me with a warmth I can’t quite describe.

After breakfast, I take her hand. “Come, I want to show you something.”

We walk through the olive groves, the ancient trees standing sentinel over the red earth. Their gnarled trunks twist and turn, each one a testament to centuries of resilience.

“These trees are incredible,” Lena says, running her fingers along the bark. “How old are they?”

“Some are over thousands of years old,” I reply. “They’ve seen empires rise and fall.”

Sha gapes at me, but I shrug. I was stunned, too, when they told me how these trees stood proud throughout invasions and wars. It’s a miracle they’re still here.

“No wonder the olive oil is fantastic.” She smiles, and I chuckle.

Lena has discovered fresh-baked bread, or focaccia, drizzled with olive oil, and said from now on she will eat only that for the rest of her life. My mom chuckled at this, especially after she had said the same thing for another dozen plates of food my family had cooked.

“I’ll make sure you’ll always have some, even when you’re in Los Angeles.” I wink at her and she lights up in a grin that takes up her whole face.

We continue walking until we’re out of sight of the masseria. The sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. I sit under an olive tree, resting my back against it. Lena sits next to me, facing me slightly. She rubs a hand over the cargo pants covering my scar.

She frowns, probably noticing the stiffness in my muscles, and turns to face me. “How’s your leg?”

I sigh, looking down. “It’s…not great,” I admit. At this point, it is impossible to hide anything from her or my family. They both know me well enough to call me out on my bullshit.

She studies me for a long moment. “What do the doctors say? And don’t give me the usual nonsense you tell everyone who asks. What do they really say?”

I smile, grabbing her hand massaging my leg and intertwining our fingers. “The doctors say I might need surgery, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to play at the same level again.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Is it something that could improve your mobility?”

“Maybe. They’ll have to take apart my muscle and restitch it together, hoping this time it will heal right.

It’s kind of massive. The recovery time is uncertain.

” I confess my biggest fear. “I don’t know how long it will take to heal.

My body didn’t react as the specialists had hoped, and they’re all at a loss as to what to do.

If the guys from the ambulance who peeled me from the side of the car hadn’t recognized me, they would have probably amputated my leg. It was that bad.”

She places a hand on my arm. “But you don’t know how much time it will take to recover either way, right? Surgery or not.”

I nod slowly, considering her words. She doesn’t pity me with the usual “I’m so sorry for you,” I’ve heard a million times since it happened. She just puts something into perspective that I’ve already discussed with my agent, Marco, a million times.

“Right. However, there’s also the problem that the procedure’s not guaranteed to fix my leg.

It could get worse and leave me limping for the rest of my life.

We can’t know. Most of the specialists I found don’t want to risk their careers to try and fix something that probably can’t be fixed.

I’m famous, way too famous to put their names on the line for a surgery that could damage me and their career.

My leg works as it is now. Badly, but it works. ”

“But you still feel pain and limp more often than you care to admit. Your life is already upside down because of this injury. Maybe it can’t be fixed, but maybe it can, making your life better.”

I nod, considering her words. She’s not completely wrong. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to lose my leg, at least not that I know.

“Then maybe it’s worth trying,” she says gently.

I look into her eyes, finding a strength in her gaze I didn’t know she had. Not for me, anyway. She looks like she wants to infuse hope into my heart somehow, and the thought scares me to my bones. I can’t hope. I can’t afford to, because if it’s crushed, I’ll be dead.

We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of the conversation settling between us. Then, without a word, she leans closer, wrapping her arms around me.

I hold her tightly, the scent of her hair mingling with the earthy aroma of the grove. Our lips meet, a tender kiss that deepens with each passing moment. The taste of hope and love lingers on her lips and fills my chest with heat.

There is no rushing this moment between us.

We kiss and nip each other’s skin, tasting and breathing in our scents.

It’s a moment of discovery for both of us.

The chemistry we had in bed the last time leaves room for something else, something more profound.

It’s like we discovered our bodies the first time, but now we’re discovering our souls.

I grab a fistful of Lena’s blonde hair and tilt her head to deepen the kiss.

She moans in my mouth, pulling a groan from deep in my chest. Her tongue fights with mine in a dance that leaves both of us breathless.

When we separate, she locks her eyes with mine and grabs my T-shirt, leaning back and pulling me on top of her.

Her eyes are hooded, filled with lust and love I didn’t expect to find there. It unlocks something in my chest I didn’t even know was buried beneath the surface. I crush my lips on her again, deepening the kiss and nestling myself between her legs.

I feel my arousal build against the heat of her sweet thighs and can’t stop the urge to roll my hips against hers. She moans deep in my mouth, and I enjoy every single second of it, feeling it reverberating in my chest, down to my groin.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I whisper against her lips when I realize she is stretched out on dirt and leaves.

She shakes her head. “Please, fuck me, Michele,” she moans.

I chuckle. “Since you ask so nicely,” I murmur, tracing a path of kisses along her neck.

She grabs the hair at the base of my neck and pulls slightly, eliciting a groan from my chest. I kiss my way down her collarbone, reaching the swell of her breasts, slipping a hand under the yellow sundress that’s been driving me crazy since seeing her this morning, and caress my fingers over her soaked panties.

“Fuck,” I murmur when I feel how ready she is for me. For us.

She squirms under my touch when I pull her panties aside and slip a couple of fingers over her wet folds.

“More, please,” she whines while she grips my hair firmly, closing her eyes and throwing her head back. She is so beautiful when she lets herself go that it almost hurts to look at her.

I push inside her with one finger, and I enjoy the moan escaping her lips.

I add a second one and smile when she parts her legs wider to give me full access.

I stroke her with slow, lazy movement, watching her lips part and her eyes flutter shut.

I push deeper into her and she bites her lip, encouraging me to draw my fingers almost out and push them inside even deeper, then rewarding me with a deep groan.

“Please, Michele, fuck me,” she pleads, locking her eyes on mine.

I chuckle, but it soon dies on my lips when I realize what that entails.

“Fuck,” I groan lowering my head on her chest.

She tilts her head up and frowns at me. “What?”

I look at her with a sheepish smile. “I don’t have a condom,” I confess.

She smiles. “Wasn’t your plan all along to seduce me in the olive grove?”

I give her a don’t-mess-with-me look, but a grin pulls at my lips.

“Actually, this wasn’t planned, but you’re so irresistible I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “Are you Italians always so flirty?”

I pretend to be offended. “We’re always flirty, it’s in our DNA.”

She chuckles, but her smile sweetens. “We can go without it, if you want. I’m on the pill and clean.”

Her proposal takes me by surprise. It’s a big deal going without a condom, but she looks at peace with it, no trace of doubt on her face.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m clean, too, but it’s not like we have to do it.” Even if my cock throbbing between her thighs begs otherwise.

She nods. “I’m sure,” she says, kissing my head.

The knot in my stomach flips and then dissolves into a warm feeling that spreads all through me.

She helps remove my cargo pants and boxer briefs while I take off her panties. I nestle between her legs again and put my elbows on either side of her, looking her straight in the eyes, while aligning my shaft to her entrance and slowly pushing inside her.

“Fuck…” A growl escapes my mouth. This feels so intimate my body trembles against hers.

She lets out a soft moan and wraps her arms around my neck, her legs over my butt.

I cradle her body against mine, and I thrust into her, slow and deep.

I take my time savoring the feeling of our sensitive skin against each other.

She raises her hips, matching my thrust with hers.

I feel her hip bones against mine in a dance that alters the space and time around us.

I’m so lost in the sensation of her heat around my cock, that when she puts her hands on my buttcheeks and pushes me against her, I completely lose the battle of restraining myself and thrust deep and fast inside the most delicious being I’ve ever made love with.

Because this isn’t casual sex, not anymore.

Not for me, and from the way she’s looking at me, not for her either.

Our bodies dance in sync, the sound of skin against skin drawing out the sound of the cicadas and crickets around us.

Or maybe they’re just silent and blushing in view of this spectacle of love and lust and everything in between.

“Come inside me, Michele. Please,” Lena whispers against my ear, and it’s the only permission I need to worship her body even harder and faster.

She clenches around my cock with a moan muffled by her mouth biting my shoulder and I come undone, pushing deep inside her and releasing my pleasure, trembling and breathing hard, leaning my forehead into the crook of her neck and almost whispering those words that press against my lips.

I love you, Lena . And I’ve never been more sure about something in my entire life.

I roll to the ground next to her, breathing hard and tightening my grip around her body, dragging her against my chest. The ancient olive tree above us stands witness as we come down from a high that drained our bodies but filled our souls, because I feel deep in my gut that everything changed today.

In this moment, everything else fades away—the uncertainty, the pain, the fear. All that remains is us, here, now.

As we lie together beneath the canopy of leaves, I realize that this isn’t just a summer fling. It’s something deeper, more profound.

And I don’t want it to end.