His mother was replying in the same language, but it was all passing me by while I looked at him, sipping his orange juice and shovelling my father’s homemade palacsinták onto his plate.
I didn’t know him at all. Not in the way I thought I did. Not enough.
What I did know was a variety of neon-green flags and bloody, burgundy ones, unhinged with warning.
I wanted to unwrap those layers.
And I wanted some palacsinták.
I picked one up with my knife and fork, dragging it to my plate and slathering on some apricot jam.
Zolt’s lips twitched into a beaming smile as he stared wide-eyed at my plate, then me.
Okay, it was an obscene amount of jam. But my muscle memory hadn’t moved on much from when I was eight.
I rolled it up, keeping threatening eye contact, daring him to judge me.
He reached over, grabbed another, and loaded the biggest tablespoon of jam onto his before rolling it up. It made wet noises.
He took a ravenous, caveman bite — which shouldn’t have been attractive — and thenlicked his lips. All while keeping his eyes steady on mine.
I glanced over to Everly. Thankfully, she was too busy chatting to Luca for her to notice that Zolt’s tongue mademy eyes roll, thinking about how he’d made me moan last night.
Zolt’s mum queried me about my master’s and my life in London. And I found out the most about Zolt.
She’d grown up in Cape Verde until she travelled to Europe and fell in love with Zolt’s father. He’d died when Zolt was young, and his paternal grandfather had stepped in until he passed last year.
I knew Simon Farkas. He was often a man of honour at award shows and races, and I’d been lucky enough to shake his hand once or twice.
My entire childhood, I’d interacted with impressive racers.
There was something about Simon Farkas that was beyond confidence. Knowledge. Care. Expression.
Zolt had a bit of it — he knew he was bloody good at what he did.
And then she was up, and they were leaving, my father crushing me with a hug and asking if we could have breakfast before the next race. As a family.
I wanted Zoltán Farkas.
And I hated to admit he was right, but… he was.
If there was anything between us, we should have declared it this morning because now it was too late. We were a family.
We were step-brother and sister.
And it was too late.
Too late to confess.
Too late to undo it.
Too late for me.
We were family. There was potential here.
And when I saw Nagyi appear, her fragile, wrinkled hand on Imre’s shoulder and her beaming smile aimed at me… I knew I couldn’t risk everything for a man I couldn’t trust.
11
