As I struggled to maintain my balance on the snowy slope, the slippery surface betrayed me, and I tumbled down with laughter escaping my lips. The world spun for a moment as I rolled, eventually coming to a stop in a soft patch of snow, the cold seeping into my body. Exhausted, I closed my eyes, the peacefulness of the moment lulling me into an unexpected nap.

Moments later, I felt a gentle nudge at my shoulder, and I blinked open my eyes, startled to find a handsome man standing in front of me. His dark eyes were filled with concern as he gazed down at me, his expression a perfect blend of worry and curiosity. "Que faites-vous ici, dormant dans la neige?" he asked in French, his brow furrowed. His voice was smooth, melodic, with a rich Italian accent that made every word sound like it carried more weight.

He paused, realizing the mix-up, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Oh! I’m Italiano, not French,” he said with a light laugh. “But I see you American. You must be lost in the snow to fall asleep here like this.” He extended his hand, offering it with an ease that spoke to his gentlemanly nature. “I’m Marcello, by the way. Marcello Muratori.” Gently, he helped me to my feet, his grip firm and reassuring. "I’m glad I found you before the snow decided to keep you company any longer," he added with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Now, let’s get you somewhere warmer, yes?"