“Don’t start,” I warned lightly, sliding into the chair across from him.
He raised a brow. “I didn’t say anything.”
Monty leapt into my lap without ceremony and immediately settled in, tail wagging.
“Traitor,” my father muttered, shaking his head, “I feed him, and yet here we are.”
“Dogs know where the drama is,” I said, sipping the espresso a server placed in front of me. “He thrives in emotionally rich environments.”
My father laughed. “So tell me, how are you faring? With the boy…with the event and new role?”
I leaned back, swirling the coffee in the tiny porcelain cup. My father was a kind man, but he also did not beat around the bush. He hit you right on with what was going on. I inherited the trait, with a little less finesse. I jumped right over the ‘the boy’comment and into the event that took up most of my working thoughts other than the aforementionedboy. “It’s a big event, but everything’s running smoothly. Most of the big things are locked in, the press schedule is finalized, and driver’s teams have confirmed their commitments. The whole track should be in attendance.” I was rather proud of that too. It was rare to get everyone on the same page, or everyone to one event, especially considering that it was post-season. Usually everyone would bejetting off to their preferred vacation spots, or home to their families. But I had good relationships with the teams and the drivers. So between me, Anna, and the boys, getting the drivers to attend had all come together. It felt like nothing short of a miracle, and I was quietly stunned and thankful for my group of friends who had rallied behind me.
He nodded slowly, watching me with that quiet intensity.
“You’ve grown into this role,” he said finally, “I’m glad you asked to join the track this year.”
At the beginning of the season, I was so determined to find my place, to make a path for myself. And I had done the damn thing—not just the usual visiting my dad during races but beingimportanthere, helping make a difference. Now I was heading up the Moretti Foundation and dating a driver. It all felt like some fever dream.
“You taught me well,” I smiled. “No one controls my destiny but myself.”
His eyes softened. They were his own words he had told me after the breakup when he caught me crying in the living room watching a movie in the middle of the night, which was rare.
I didn’t cry, let alone in front of anyone. The last time my father had seen my tears, I had been a child crying over a broken toy, so I’m sure it was jarring to say the least.
“I know I pushed you hard when you came back. I wanted you to succeed, to find your place here.You’ve always loved the sport so much.” He paused and looked a bit sad. “I’m sorry for not seeing that sooner. Your brother never held the same fire you have for racing. I wanted him to want it so much, I think I overlooked you.”
“OhPapà, you haven’t, I just needed to find my voice first.”
“Tesoro, you have always had a loud voice.” He smiled, really smiled, reaching up crinkling around his eyes.
“I get that from you.” I smiled.
“I’m happy as long as you are happy, Nicola. Doing the Moretti name proud.”
“But I’m not just here because of the name. I’m good at this, Papà. And I want to be here. Not for the legacy. Forme.”
He reached across the table and took my hand. “I know. And I’m proud of you.Not just because you’re succeeding—but because you stayed when it got hard.”
I blinked away the sudden sting in my eyes and nodded.
“Matteo’s lucky,” he added. “Even if he doesn’t always realize it.”
“Oh, he realizes it,” I said with a smirk.
“Are you still feeling confident about announcing at the gala?” he asked, not letting me avoid that particular topic anymore.
I let out a sigh I felt I was holding, then smiled. “We face things head on.”
My father chuckled and stood, checking his watch. “I have to go charm investors. But I’ll see you at the circuit?”
“I’ll be there—with Monty.” I scratched behind the dog’s ears. “He’s got a media interview at noon, apparently.”
“Tell him not to say anything controversial this time,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
I laughed softly, watching him go.
As I rounded the corner into the paddock hospitality lounge, I spotted two very familiar faces: Lucia—glasses perched on her nose, iPad in one hand, coffee in the other—and Anna—twirling a baby pink pen like she was plotting world domination.
