The Road to You Read online

  “To Manarola?” he asks, a small grin playing on his mouth.

  “Have you ever been?”

  “I have not.”

  “Then you should come. It will be something new for the both of us.”

  “I’d like that.” His smile widens. “We could make plans to stay a weekend there so you can really get the true feel of the area.”

  “Sounds perfect.” I smile, the fluttery feeling in my belly becoming even more prominent.

  ****

  “Well, this is it.” Kane opens the door to the apartment we will be staying in, waiting for me to step through the doorway before following me inside.

  I pause in the foyer, taking in the small space. It’s modern and clean but also full of Old Italian charm which I’m very happy to see. I was hoping to get the full Italian experience and it’s clear that is exactly what I’m going to get. The door ways are incredible arches and the wall that runs along the back of the living space is covered in deep red wallpaper that for some reason screams Italy to me. The furniture is stark white with end tables that look like something out of an art gallery.

  There’s a small two person table pressed against the outside wall of the kitchen and one doorway that sits at the back of the room. The space can’t be more than five hundred square feet total, unless the bedrooms are bigger.

  “I’ve stayed here the two times I’ve been in Italy.” Kane drops his suitcase to the side and crosses to the left where a small galley kitchen is tucked away in the corner. He continues to speak after he’s disappeared inside. “I know it’s small, but it’s a central location and as you saw from the drive in, it’s surrounded by tons of restaurants and shops. I could have gotten something bigger,” he says, re-emerging from the kitchen with two bottles of water. “But I thought you’d appreciate this location more.” He hands me one of the bottles when he reaches me.

  “It’s perfect.” I smile.

  “Just wait until you see the bedroom. The view from the window back there is amazing.” He puts the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink.

  “Bedroom?” I question, not missing the way he says it as in singular.

  “There’s only one bedroom here,” he admits, seeming completely comfortable with this.

  “One?” I choke.

  “Relax.” He chuckles, setting his water on the small door side table before hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “I can sleep on the couch,” he adds, carrying his luggage to the back of the room and disappearing inside what I can only assume is the one bedroom.

  Not sure what else to do, I grab my suitcase and drag it through the apartment toward the bedroom as well. When I step into the doorway, Kane already has his suitcase open and is hanging shirts in the closet which is really more of a wall with hanging racks and shelves, completely open to the rest of the room.

  I open my mouth to say something but become momentarily distracted when I catch sight of the large window, or rather the view out of that window. It takes up almost the entire back wall of the room, giving off a perfect view of the canal.

  Abandoning my suitcase in the doorway, I make my way to the window, not able to tear my gaze off of the incredible sight before me.

  Italy. I’m actually in Italy, I think to myself, for the first time actually taking it all in.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” I jump when Kane’s voice sounds directly next to me.

  “Incredible,” I admit, slowly turning to find his gaze locked on me.

  “I’ll need to keep all my things in here and of course, we will have to share the bathroom.” He points to a door behind me. “But you can have the bed.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m happy to take the couch. Besides, you’re way taller than me. You’d likely hang half way off that tiny thing,” I object.

  “I’ve slept on worse.” He chuckles like he’s remembering something funny before quickly adding, “Besides, you’re my guest. What kind of host would I be if I forced you to sleep on the couch?”

  “And what kind of guest would I be if I made you sleep on it?” I counter.

  “It’s fine, Elara.” He grins. “Really.”

  “Kane,” I say as he turns to walk away.

  “Not up for discussion, Elara. The bed is yours.”

  I’m seconds away from suggesting that we share it but quickly snap my mouth shut, knowing how absurd that would be. Even though it is a queen bed and we could both easily fit, I honestly can’t imagine sleeping next to him and not doing something I would very much regret after the fact.

  So instead I say nothing at all, watching him exit the room moments later without another word.

  It takes me all of fifteen minutes to empty out my suitcase, hanging the few outfits I brought with me right alongside Kane’s much fancier looking wardrobe that consists mainly of black suits, light colored collared shirts and ties –all of which I know to be for work. I trail my hand down the arm of one of the suit jackets, my mind wandering back to the only time I’ve seen him in a suit– at Kam’s funeral.

  “Hey.” Kane’s voice startles me. I quickly drop the jacket sleeve, bend down to pick up my toiletries from my bag, and do my best to pretend like he didn’t catch me oddly touching his clothing.

  “Hey,” I say, straightening my posture once I have my cosmetics bag, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and all my other girly things balanced in my arms.

  “I was thinking I’d take a shower. Then maybe we could go out for dinner in a little bit,” he offers, continuing to speak as I step into the tiniest bathroom in the world and deposit all my things on one of the built in shelves above the toilet.

  “I’d like that,” I say, emerging from the bathroom seconds later. “But you’ll need to give me time to shower as well. I feel like I’ve been in these clothes for days,” I say, looking down at my black yoga pants and gray baseball tee. I wanted to be as comfortable as possible for the eleven hour flight here but now I feel rather frumpy.

  “Of course. Why don’t you go first and I’ll make a few phone calls while I wait my turn.”

  “Okay,” I agree, letting out a small breath when he nods once and disappears from the doorway.

  Quickly crossing the space, I close the door and slide the lock before dropping my back against the old weathered looking wood.

  I’m pretty sure my heart has not beat properly since the second we stepped into this tiny space and I’m already wondering how in the hell I’m going to be able to exist with Kane in such close proximity for the next four weeks.

  I have a feeling I may have bitten off way more than I can chew.

  Spotting my cell phone on the edge of the bed where I dropped it, I remember I need to let my dad know we landed safely. Using the reminder to distract myself, I quickly type out a text and head for the shower.

  I take way longer than I should, making sure my apple butter scented body wash touches every single inch of my body at least twice. As if I can somehow wash off the effect Kane seems to be having over it.

  When I exit several minutes later, I hear Kane on the phone in the other room, only I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Walking to the door, I press my ear to the crack and listen closer, realizing that the reason I can’t understand him is because he isn’t speaking English.

  Kane speaks Italian?

  I wish the thought didn’t warm my cool skin but something about listening to the way the words roll from his mouth so beautifully, so sexy, makes him somehow even more attractive. I listen for several long seconds, taking deep breaths to try and steady my pounding heart, before I finally decide I can’t listen anymore.

  As if I wasn’t already fighting off the urge to throw myself at him, now I’m just plain torturing myself.

  I dress quickly, slipping on an off the shoulder pale yellow sundress that lands just above my knee. It’s one of those dresses that can be worn with just about anything and can be easily dressed up or down depending on how you accessorize. My mom al
ways said it’s not about the outfit itself, but about how you accent it that makes all the difference.

  And she would know. She always dressed so beautifully. Even when she was working around the house doing laundry or cleaning, she always looked stunning.

  I keep my hair tied up in the towel while I use the long free standing mirror in the corner of the room to apply a little makeup. I keep it simple; a little eyeliner, some light mascara, and the tiniest blush to my cheeks to give me a little color. Having not spent that much time outside this summer, my skin is starting to lose the golden tan that I usually have pretty much year round.

  Running a quick blow dry through my long hair, I leave it down, quite pleased with how the natural wave gives it some body. My hair is pretty hit or miss. Sometimes it looks amazing with just a quick brush, other times it takes me an hour with an iron to get it to do what I want. Thankfully today was not one of those days.

  Deciding to spruce up my outfit a little, considering I have no idea where Kane is taking me, I partner the pale yellow dress with a long silver double chain and simple drop earrings, before sliding into my favorite silver sandals to finish off the look.

  I’m still looking at my reflection in the mirror when a soft knock sounds against the door.

  “Come in,” I say, the door opening seconds later.

  Kane’s expression hardens as he catches sight of me in the mirror. His eyes darken as they trail up my body before finally meeting my gaze in the reflection. If I had any question that the attraction I feel for him was one-sided, it would now be gone. The look he’s giving me tells me something much different.

  As if realizing his mistake, he looks away, turning to drop his phone on the bedside table.

  “We’re going to need to get going soon if we want to have some daylight left,” he says, not looking in my direction.

  “Okay. I’m finished.” I turn away from the mirror, grabbing my own cell phone before quickly stepping past him.

  “Elara.” His voice stops me just as I reach the door. “You look beautiful.” His dark gaze meets mine and I swear that one look causes my entire world to tilt on its axis.

  “You look beautiful.” My words are followed by complete and utter silence.

  She’s staring at me; lips parted, cheeks pink, a million things running behind those incredible ocean blue eyes of hers. I didn’t expect such an innocent comment to completely stun her. Then again, there was really nothing innocent about it.

  She is beautiful.

  Hell, she’s more than just beautiful. I can’t recall ever getting weak kneed over a woman but that’s exactly what happens to me every time Elara looks at me. And she’s damn near bringing me to my knees with the way she’s looking at me right now.

  It takes all the willpower I have not to pull her to me. Not to take her face in my hands and taste the sweetness of her plump lips – to feel her melt into me the way I’ve pictured she would a million times over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

  “Thank you.” She finally breaks eye contact, offering me a soft smile before quickly exiting the room, her scent staying with me long after she pulls the door closed behind her.

  Fuck me…

  ****

  “So, tell me more about your plans for the future,” I press, spooning a bite of gelato into my mouth.

  I took Elara to one of the most incredible restaurants in the area where you can pretty much order just about any Italian food your heart desires and she ordered the plainest, most basic thing on the menu–spaghetti. Which prompted the conversation of all the foods she hasn’t tried, one very important one being gelato. Who hasn’t tried gelato, was my one and only thought. So, of course, I decided it was something I had to remedy immediately.

  “I don’t really know that I have plans.” She doesn’t meet my gaze as she swirls the spoon in the frozen mixture.

  “Come on, Elara. Everyone has plans. What did you want to be when you were a kid?” I try another angle.

  She thinks on that for a long moment, her eyes shifting up to meet mine. “You’ll laugh.” A small smile graces her lips.

  “I won’t,” I promise.

  “You will,” she counters.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Try me.”

  “You first,” she challenges, scooping a bite of gelato into her mouth. “You were right by the way. Incredible.” She practically moans as she swallows.

  I’m momentarily drawn to that action, the one small sound that sends my mind reeling in a completely different direction.

  “I...” I clear my throat and refocus. “I guess my top pick was to be a pilot. Either that or I wanted to join the military.”

  “Seriously?” She quirks a brow at me.

  “What?” I shoot back, not able to hide my smile.

  “You don’t strike me as a military man.”

  “Why’s that?” I counter, trying to hold my serious expression when I see her squirm slightly.

  “You just seem more…”

  “More what?” I cut in when she pauses. “I’m getting the impression here you think I’m too pussy for something as intense as the military. You might be wounding my manhood a bit,” I say, completely stone faced even though on the inside I’m finding this quite humorous.

  I expect her to try to explain herself, apologize even, so when she bursts out laughing I’m not really sure how to react.

  “Is something funny?” I cock my head to the side and narrow my gaze at her, fighting the smile threatening to split across my face.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t peg you for a man that throws around words like pussy. Just caught me off guard is all.” She bites her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself from smiling.

  “What kind of man did you peg me for?” I ask, leaning forward, placing my elbows on the small table between us.

  “I don’t know. You seem really serious. And your kind of intimidating,” she tacks on the last part.

  “I’m intimidating?” I question, not really sure how to take that.

  “You know, like you just always seem, god I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” She blows out a breath. “I guess you would have made a good military man. Perhaps a drill sergeant. You would have been amazing at that job.”

  She’s rambling and fuck me if it isn’t the most adorable thing ever.

  “You done now?” I chuckle when she finally stops speaking, not able to suppress the smile stretching across my face.

  “Yep. Officially mortified. We good now? Can I go home?” She hitches her finger toward the door.

  “You’re not getting off that easy. You still have to tell me what you wanted to be,” I remind her.

  “I wanted to be a trapeze artist,” she mutters, quickly shoving another bite of gelato into her mouth and slowly swallowing.

  “What was that?” I hold my hand to my ear like I didn’t hear her.

  “A trapeze artist,” she says a little too loudly, drawing the attention of the older couple sitting to our right. “In the circus. Okay?”

  “You don’t have to yell it,” I tease, loving the light shade of pink that reaches her cheeks.

  “Shut up.” She huffs.

  “So a trapeze artist, huh? Somehow that doesn’t really surprise me.”

  “Are you making fun of me right now?” She glares daggers in my direction.

  “Babe, if I were making fun of you you’d know it,” I say, not missing the way her blush deepens at my choice of words.

  “Whatever.” She brushes it off, clearly diverting.

  “Okay, so clearly trapeze artist didn’t work out,” I observe.

  “Clearly.” She rolls her eyes and sits back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  “So then was writing always your second choice.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She pauses before continuing, “When I was in high school I became obsessed with old movies and even more fascinated with how the entire process works. How they brought something to life wi
th nothing more than putting pen to paper, producing an amazing story. I guess it stuck.” She shrugs.

  “Hence the English major.”

  “Yep.” She nods, uncrossing her arms to take another bite of gelato.

  “What about outside of that?”

  “Outside of what?” she questions after she swallows.

  “Outside of career choices. You’re still pretty young, there has to be things you want to do.”

  “You’re almost as young as me,” she counters.

  “You’d be surprised what a difference three years can make. And that wasn’t my point anyway. How about marriage and kids? Is that something you see in your future?” My turn in the conversation gets her attention and within seconds she’s abandoned her spoon in her cup of gelato and has her hands knotted in front of her on the table.

  “Yes? No? Maybe?” I question when she makes no attempt to answer.

  “I think I’d like to get married one day,” she offers, finally meeting my gaze. “What about you?”

  “Yeah, I think eventually. Maybe once I’ve nailed down a more consistent employment and can be around long enough to actually have a relationship.”

  “I see.” She twists her fingers together but doesn’t look away.

  “Kids?” I ask.

  “No.” She shakes her head, her answer surprising the hell out of me.

  “No, you don’t want kids?” I clarify.

  “No, I mean yes, I do. But no, I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “Just what I said, I can’t.”

  “You can’t have children?” I soften my voice.

  “Nope.” She lets out a slow breath. “I got really sick when I was little and almost died. We didn’t know until many years later but the medication they gave me caused irreversible damage to some pretty key areas.” She gestures to her abdomen. “Therefore, no kids.”

  “Wow.” I sit back, not really sure what to say. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” I offer.

  “Don’t be. I accepted it a long time ago.”

  “Do you think you’d ever adopt?”