She’s kidding, but not really. “I’m sure dad has a plan to deal with the creepy Conti family. It’s not going to be pretty, I know.”
“Rocco might be okay if he gets bumped to Chief engineer when Joaquin retires,” Lucia surmises and her brow furrows. “Or if Dario will ever step away and let him have Sporting Director.”
“Dario step away? And not get to hear his own voice on the radios every race day? Never gonna happen.” I really don’t want to talk about Dario and Rocco Conti. Both have been persona non-grata in my brain for a very long time. They were not only on the yacht the night I mysteriously overdosed, but Dario had been the one to charter it. I say mysterious overdose because I never willingly ingested drugs, which is something very few people know. I don’t know the Contis were involved, but I don’t know they weren’t. I change the subject. “I’ve only dealt with Billy so far.”
“James? He knows about this?” The amused smile tugging at her wide mouth is a copy of mine when I smile. But I am definitelynotsmiling about this. “Boy is fast on and off the track.”
“Probably in the bedroom too,” I snark.
That makes Lucia laugh. “Find out and report back.”
“Shut up,” I bark and roll my eyes. She has been making these snide little comments about Billy ever since I told her about that one stupid night in Monaco. “Billy showed up here already and I blurted it out.”
When Lucia’s mouth falls wide open I start trying to change the subject. “So is Billy on Team Frankie?”
“He’s Team Billy,” I reply tersely and try not to think about the other things he said—confessed—because I don’t want my face to soften and give anything away.
“How very Billy of him.” Lucia chuckles. “Did he bring his side hustle?”
“I don’t think you’re using that expression correctly, but the answer is yes.” I walk over to the open balcony doors and stare out at the turquoise sea. The sun is shining again now, and the wind is blowing less harshly, and so the crowds have made their way to the beach again. “He doesn’t go anywhere without Clara these days. Why she puts up with being his dirty little secret, I have no idea.”
Lucia tugs out her pony. She gives her hair a shake and the ringlets bounce and bob around her shoulders. My sister could be a fucking super model, and instead, she wears a helmet for a living. “When the hell do you get here, by the way?” I ask her.
“I think I’ve got another hour before landing,” Lucia says with a sigh. “I had to do a fucking endorsement thing before I left Vancouver. Mick has a car ready to go when we get there, so no delays.”
Mick is her bodyguard. He prefers Michael, but we prefer calling them Mick and Nick. Annoying is kind of our thing.
“Hurry up, okay? I need you.” I smile.
“You need no one, Francesca. You’re enough on your own,” Lucia replies. It’s some of the last words of advice our mother ever told us. Whispered it to us on her death bed.People will tell you, because you are girls, that you need others to make you feel safe or secure or whole. That’s all lies. You’re enough on your own. “See you soon and stay strong.Baci.”
Just like mom, Lucia ends every call with the Italian word for kisses, and she even blows me an air kiss before ending the call. I bite the strawberry I’ve been aimlessly holding and flop down on the couch gingerly because of my back. I should probably tell Jennie about this turn of career events before she reads it in the paper. I might have to massage the egos of the brands that hired me in case they think this means I won’t deliver on my deals with them. Which reminds me, I still have more bikinis to try on and photograph. And I need to follow up with the shoe company who I’ve signed on to do my line with. They wanted some feedback on a materials list they sent me.
“Fuck,” I hiss at the coiffured ceiling in the expensive hotel suite. I hate that I hate my life right now. I know how privileged I am to have it, so I swallow down those feelings and pull myself off the velvet couch and keep working.
