Imagine Book 2

A Gift of Confidence- Michele Morrone (Italian Model)

Fem Y/N

Michele Morrone lounged on his leather couch, scrolling through his phone while waiting for Y/N to finish getting ready. They had plans to grab dinner at his favourite Italian restaurant in Milan, a cosy spot tucked away from prying eyes and paparazzi. As he heard her soft footsteps approaching from the bedroom, he looked up with an expectant smile that quickly faded into concern.

Y/N stood in the doorway wearing an oversized black sweater that hung loosely on her frame, paired with high-waisted jeans. Her arms were crossed protectively over her midsection, and she avoided meeting his gaze. Michele immediately noticed she wasn't wearing the emerald green crop top he'd carefully chosen for her at Christmas – the one that matched her eyes perfectly and that she'd seemed so excited about when she'd first opened it.

Come to think of it, she hadn't worn it once in the month since Christmas.

"Tesoro," he called softly, setting his phone aside and standing up. His bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor as he approached her. "That's the third time this week you've worn that sweater. It's warm for January, even in Milan."

Y/N shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. "I just... I like this sweater. It's comfortable."

Michele reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His rings were cool against her skin, making her shiver slightly. "You know what I think?" he asked, his Italian accent thickening as it always did when he was concerned. "I think there's something you're not telling me."

She bit her lip, and he noticed her fingers tightening around her arms where they remained crossed. "It's nothing, Michele. Really. We should go, or we'll be late for our reservation."

But Michele wasn't having it. He'd noticed this pattern developing over the past few weeks – the way she'd started wearing looser clothes, how she'd become more withdrawn when they went out in public together, the way she'd angled herself away from cameras when his fans approached them for photos. Something was wrong, and he wasn't about to let it fester any longer.

"The reservation can wait," he said firmly, taking her hand and leading her to the couch. "Talk to me, amore mio. What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

Y/N sank into the soft leather, still keeping her arms wrapped around herself like armour. The setting sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast a golden glow across her face, highlighting the uncertainty in her expression. Michele sat beside her, close enough to offer comfort but giving her enough space to not feel crowded.

"I..." she started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I saw some comments online last week. About us. About... me."

Michele's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice gentle. "What comments?"

"Just... people wondering why you're with someone like me. Saying you could do better. Saying I'm not..." her voice cracked slightly, "not beautiful enough to be with someone like you. And they're right, Michele. Look at you – you're literally a model. You could have anyone in the world. And I'm just... me."

Michele felt his heart breaking at her words. He'd seen those comments too, had his team working to remove the most vicious ones, but he'd hoped Y/N hadn't noticed them. He should have known better – she noticed everything.

"Is that why you haven't worn the crop top I got you?" he asked softly, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I don't want to embarrass you. You're always in the spotlight, and people are always watching, taking pictures. I don't want them to see me in something like that and make more comments about how I'm not good enough for you. The sweaters are... safer."