“I don’t have a dog,” I protested weakly.
“Well you don’tnow,” said Theo. “Poor Perky is living on a yacht in Monaco marina, with a very strange old lady.”
“You are pushing my last nerve,Teodoro,” I said.
“Come on. I’ll buy you a sandwich,” said Theo to me before turning to the sales assistant. “My assistant will be in touch to distribute the computers, if you could store them all for now.”
I slipped my new phone into my pocket and followed Theo out of the store. There were a couple of paparazzi who had obviously been tipped off that we were there, but we ignored them and I indicated the blacked-out car parked outside.
“Can I offer you a ride back?” I asked Theo.
“In that thing? Please, we’re travelling in style.” He took a key-fob out of his pocket and clicked a button, and a very conspicuous orange Lamborghini chirped and lit up for a second. I knew in an instant that I’d be joining Theo, so I let my driver know to make his way back to Monaco by himself.
We jumped into the car and Theo pulled away with a roar before I’d even finished clipping my seatbelt in. He headed through the narrower streets of Nice like it was home to him, and I found that soon we were driving the coastal road toMonaco, above azure water, the spring sunlight reflecting off the waves.
Theo pressed a button on the dashboard and the roof reclined. Wind whipped through his hair, and I found my gaze drawn from the beautiful sea to his face. It seemed to be all I needed nowadays was Theo’s smile. He was a truly beautiful man.
“What you looking at?” Theo asked.
“You,” I said, hoping that honesty was the best policy.
Theo blushed and fixed his eyes on the road. “No one around,” he said. “Let’s see what this thing can do!”
Theo pressed his foot to the accelerator and suddenly it felt like we were flying. My head pressed back to the headrest as he pushed the supercar to its limits, and I found myself laughing along with Theo. The speed was exhilarating, despite the tears it drew to my eyes and the mess it was probably making of my hair.
“This is amazing!” I shouted above the roar of the wind and engine. I loved driving, but so often it was stressful, and sweaty, and chaotic. This felt like driving in its purest form. The speed was why I’d fallen in love with it.
As we approached Monaco, Theo eased off the gas. “What are your plans for the three week break?” he asked.
“Nothing. I have two weeks off before training starts again, so I will head home. Relax and try to work out what the future holds.”
“Do you live alone?” asked Theo. “I don’t like the thought of you living by yourself, in your head for two weeks.”
“Maybe I need the time alone. My house is quiet, secluded from all this…noise. It allows me to think. I have never thought of it as lonely. I have to be someone for Moto 1. I’m loud, and brash, andfun. It feels nice to have a place where people don’t care that I am Sebastian García.” I fell silent, slightly embarrassed that I’d laid my heart out like that to Theo.
“That sounds like heaven,” Theo breathed.
“Yeah?” I asked. “How would you like to visit? Come and see me for a week or so. It’s not so far from your home in Andalucia. It’s just a little more secluded.”
Theo thought for less than a second before speaking. “I’d love to.”
As he pulled up outside my hotel, I couldn’t help but grin. A week with Theo Taylor. Completely alone. It was going to be the best and worst week of my life.
Theo
Spain...somewhere
Porsches did not trundle. It wasn't in their nature. They purred. Like a big cat, and slunk along the road like the well-oiled machine that they were. Which didn't explain why my beautiful Porsche 911 was definitely trundling along Andalucia's bumpy country roads.
When Sebastian had told me his country home was out of the way, I'd presumed he meant a little way out of town. Most Moto 1 drivers were never far away from the glitz and glamour of the world around them. So as the sat-nav took me further and further from civilisation, into the sleepy back-country and rolling olive groves of rural Spain, the Porsche had really started to struggle. Its low frame was not designed for bumpy, winding dirt tracks.
It had been at least ten minutes since I had seen any buildings when the sat-nav indicated that we were close. Ahead, at the crest of the hill, was a beautiful cortijo farmhouse,standing proud amongst the olive trees. The house was mostly traditionally constructed. Its walls were bumpy, whitewashed plaster with little shuttered windows to keep the heat at bay in the punishing South Spanish summer. The roof was made of terracotta tiles, and flowers climbed across a whole wall from ground to the roof.
As I approached, I could see Sebastian's more modern additions, still sensitive to the house's traditional style. A new stonework terrace stretched out over the hillside, and underneath were a couple of garage doors painted the same wood-brown as the window shutters. Opening onto the terrace were double doors, thrown open to catch the little breeze that there was.
The car grumbled appreciatively as I eased it off the dirt road and onto the smooth tarmac of Sebastian's driveway. Above, on the terrace, an angel stepped through the double doors and out into the sunlight.
I'd always thought that Sebastian was one of the people most at home on the Moto 1 grid. Where the rest of us felt completely uncomfortable in our jumpsuits and heavy, sweat-inducing helmets, he had always seemed at ease. But Sebastian now? Looking over the Spanish countryside in a simple, loose-fitting linen shirt and shorts? He looked completely at home, and utterly beautiful. The loose, light linen contrasted with his tan skin and serious expression, but his face broke into a smile as he looked down at me.
