After a night spent in Taz’s arms—with comfort morphing into blistering sex—Millie woke feeling steadier. Not completely herself, but the grief-tinged panic seemed to have receded. She could go to the track today. Watching the race itself might be too much—she’d already decided she’d retreat to Taz’s trailer if necessary—but she’d said her goodbyes to Ben yesterday. Now it was time to do her job.
The Italian sun warmed the hotel patio, and the lush gardens surrounding them buzzed with life. Millie poured fresh coffee into their cups, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the al fresco breakfast. Across the table, Taz looked distracted, his dark brows pulled together. He hummed with energy, and she knew today would be hard for him. For a man who thrived in the heat of competition, who craved control, being sidelined was agonising.
‘I don’t think you realise how touched I am by what you did yesterday,’ she quietly said. ‘I’m so grateful, Taz.’
‘You thanked me last night, Millie,’ he said, reaching for his coffee.
He was so comfortable basking in track victories and in front of cameras and doing deals, but he frowned and shifted in his seat when he was praised for being sweet and sensitive. Millie resisted the urge to say more, hoping Taz knew the depth of her gratitude.
Ben’s memorial ceremony, and Taz’s role in organising it, had made headline news this morning. Taz had been enjoying some good press for a while now, but this was the kind of story the media loved—a touching blend of tragedy and hope—but Millie knew Taz hadn’t done it for the cameras. He’d done it for her.
This man, so tough and impenetrable, could also be tender and infuriatingly thoughtful when he chose to be. He was an enigma wrapped up in a puzzle guarded by layers of computer code. Unhackable.
She bit into a strawberry, watching him. ‘Did you have a big funeral for Alex?’
His hand tightened around his fork, his jaw going rigid. Millie winced internally. Wrong question. But she pressed on, hoping for a response. Any response. ‘It’s so strange and awful that two De Rossi drivers died so young. What was Alex like?’
For a moment, she thought he might answer, but then he replied, his voice colder and unexpectedly clipped. ‘Look him up online.’
Her stomach sank. She recognised the tone: His walls were up, the subject closed. But she couldn’t let it go. Not entirely.
‘I don’t want the internet’s version of Alex. I wantyourversion, Taz.’ She leaned forward, cradling her coffee cup. ‘What was he like as your brother? I could tell you a thousand little things about Ben—how he cried during animated movies or hated needles. That he loved shoving asparagus stalks up his nose to make me laugh. It’s the stupid things, the little things, that made himhim.’
‘What’s with the interrogation, Millie? We’re sleeping together, not sharing our deepest secrets.’
His words hit her like a slap, but she didn’t flinch. She knew his sharpness masked pain, that he lashed out when he felt cornered. ‘I’m trying to have a conversation with you, Tazio, about your brother. This is what people do.’
He tossed his serviette onto the table and released a huff of annoyance. ‘I don’t,’ he snapped.
She should back off, but she had come this far, she might as well see it through. Yesterday had been cathartic for her, and she wanted Taz to feel the same peace. Oh, she still didn’t know who exactly she was or where she was going, but she wasn’t nearly as lost as she was before.
She felt less emotional, and some of her ghosts had been laid to rest. She wanted Taz to feel of little of the relief she did. Was that so wrong?
‘Alex is someone to be proud of, to be celebrated,’ Millie gently stated. ‘He was a good guy, so why don’t you talk about him? He was your big brother and part of your life. And while we’re on the subject, why don’t you talk about your dad?’
‘Millie, I have a busy day ahead of me, and I don’t want it to begin with a fight.’
Millie wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t want to fight either. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.’
‘We can talk about anyone or anythingbutAlex—or my dad,’ Taz quickly added.
‘Why is everything that matters off-limits with you?’ Millie asked, keeping her tone gentle.
Taz’s chair scraped against the stone as he stood abruptly, his movements sharp with tension. ‘You don’t have the first clue about Alex. Or my father. And I don’t owe you any explanations.’
She looked up at him, her heart twisting. ‘I agree you don’t owe me anything, Taz. But holding all this in—it’s only hurting you.’
His laugh was humourless, the sound hollow. ‘Stay out of my head, Millie.’
And with that, he walked away, leaving her alone on the sunlit patio. As she watched his broad back retreat, she felt something shift between them—a crack widening, impossible to ignore.
When Millie arrived at the Autodromo Internazionale Enzo e Dino Ferrari later that day, she was alone. After storming off, Taz had left the hotel without speaking to her again, forcing her to call an intern to collect her, a humiliation to go along with her shredded nerves.
It was race-day, and her earlier courage had dissolved like water droplets on a hot pavement. Now she was holding herself together with fine, fraying threads of mental superglue. One hour until the race. She glanced at her watch, the ticking hands a constant countdown. Coffee was out, but a cup of chamomile and ginger tea might soothe her jangling nerves, and she’d swallow a few of the homoeopathic anxiety pills she kept tucked in her bag.
Her rational brain told her she was being absurd. What had happened ten years ago was a freak accident and statistically impossible to repeat. But rationalisations didn’t quiet her anxiety. It wasn’t only the track or the memories, it was the coming together of too many emotions—her deepening feelings for Taz, her lack of sleep and her inability to understand how they could veer from passion to tension to frustration and back again in a matter of minutes.
Millie stepped into the hospitality suite grateful it was empty. The muffled roar of the crowd drifted through the window, and Millie wondered what had caught their attention. Refusing to look out the window, she rubbed her burning eyes.
