“Yeah, but you guys have to love me.”
“Pretty sure that’s debatable,” I teased, bumping her shoulder gently.
She blushed. “I’m glad I came. And that I fake dated your best mate. Which is not so fake anymore.”
“You guys are sickening,” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s…yeah,” she blushed.
“That man adores you, and Gia. Honestly, I couldn’t have picked someone better to be by your side. After everything with your ex, after the dark days…you deserve to be happy.”
She looked at me with watery eyes, the kind of look that sucker-punches your chest.
“You know you’re the same, right?” she asked softly. “Maybe it’s how Mom and Dad raised us, but you put everyone else first, too. With your jokes, your whole happy-go-lucky act. But underneath that…you deserve to be truly happy. Not just the people-pleasing kind. The real kind.”
I looked down at my coffee and sighed. “Damn, I wasn’t ready to be called out like that at six in the morning.”
She smirked. “Sorry. Occupational hazard of being your sister. So, go get your girl or whatever.”
I blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“You and Nicola.” She sipped her coffee, as if that clarified everything.
“Fuck. How do you know about that?” I whispered, glancing over at Gianna. She was trying to wear one of my race-day shirts, the bright red fabric nearly swallowing her whole.
“I know everything. Obviously.”
“You sound like Nic.”
“Oooh, Nic, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Nope.”
“Zio, look! I’m ready!” Gianna waddled over, half-tripping over the shirt. I laughed, genuinely and fully, and pulled out my phone to snap a picture. It went straight to the family group chat, no questions asked. Lucia pulled Gianna into her arms andpressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good luck today. We’ll see you in the paddock.”
Gianna mimicked her mom with a kiss of her own, and then they were gone.
I flopped down on the couch and ripped into the pastry bag.
I needed a fucking sweet treat.
19
NICOLA
Ishifted the strap of my tote bag higher on my shoulder as I walked briskly through the team’s hospitality suite, the click of my heels softened by the plush carpet underfoot. The hum of conversation, the clinking of espresso cups, and the occasional burst of laughter echoed through the space. The weekend might have just begun, but I was already deep in logistics mode.
Back to business. Back to normal.
The screen of my tablet lit up as I scanned over the updated run-of-show for our next charity event post season in Rome. A high profile black tie gala. The whole thing had to be seamless. I needed it to be perfect, which meant having every driver in attendance, a variety of sponsor donations, and a few big celebrities in attendance. Henrietta had become a bit of a mentor: we’d shared calls to go over details, she’d shown me how to run an event, forwarded contacts she suggested. I’d already met with two brand liaisons this morning and had another call scheduled in an hour.I was prepping for the whole pitch to the board of Moretti Racing to sign off on Monday. And seven daysfelt like it would barrel past me in no time. Everything moved faster during the season.
No more boats. No more cliffside views or kisses that made my knees weak.
I passed a group of interns setting up sponsor signage and offered them a tight smile before turning into the team’s private suite. My father stood tall in a navy suit with a subtle Moretti lapel while speaking with one of our long-time engineers, but looked up when I entered.
“Nicola,” he said with a nod, his voice warm but clipped in the way it always was when people were around. “How are preparations for Rome coming?”
