I’VE ALWAYS BEEN HIS MOTH
FRANKIE
Three hours later, which is forty minutes late, I grasp Lucia’s hand in mine, and we waltz into the private event room at the Maria Cristina hotel. The room is perfectly square, smallish but ornately decorated with balconies accessed by arched French doors on three sides. There’s about forty people there, and I recognize maybe ten. Most of them are Mirabella employees. My father, Joaquin Manrique the Chief engineer, Billy, who is in a dark suit that looks somehow casual and elegant at the same time. There’s also Antonio, our other driver, with his wife Carlotta by his side. And of course Dario and Rocco Conti are standing on the balcony, just to my left, like gargoyles. Ugh.
“Nice of you to join us, girls,” Dad says, and I know that’s a sign he’s slightly irked by our tardiness.
“We wanted to look pretty for your birthday, Daddy,” Lucia smiles and leans in for a hug and a kiss since she hasn’t seen him yet. “You clearly have no idea how long it takes to get rid of helmet hair.”
People surrounding Dad chuckle, and I roll my eyes. “I have no excuse other than I like to make an entrance.”
More laughter. This is what Lucia and I do whenever we’re forced into Mirabella appearances. We make jokes and act like silly, playful but doting, well-intentioned daughters. I can’t help but wonder now if that cutesy image will bite me in the ass as Team Principal. Adelaide steps closer and embraces Lucia like a devoted stepmom… who could have been in the same sorority as her stepdaughters, but whatever. “Lucia, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you again!”
“Right back at ya, ‘Laide,” Lucia coos with a big smile so no one knows that it’s a dig. Adelaide hates being called anything other than Adelaide, which is why Lucia shortens it every chance she gets. “Hope you’ve been keeping the old man happy and healthy.”
“I’m fit as a fiddle and as happy as a cat trapped at a dairy farm,” Dad boasts, and I try not to shudder as he wraps an arm around Adelaide, who has her cleavage on full display in a low-cut Calvin Klein number that’s flowy and loose but finishes well above her knees.
As if on cue, the waiter passes, and I manage to only give Adelaide a pleasant-looking air kiss as my greeting before reaching for a champagne glass on his tray. I hand it to Lucia, but my father grabs two more and hands one to me.
I take it and brace myself. Here it comes. He clears his throat and raises his glass. “Everyone! Now that my whole heart is here…” He glances at Lucia and me and winks. She reaches for my free hand with hers as Dad turns back to the guests who have started to gather around for his speech.
“Another year in the books for me personally, and it has me reflecting,” he commences, and I stand like a statue and listen to him boast about Mirabella’s season so far, wax poetic about his own racing career, praise his amazing wife, and gush about Lucia and me and how we make him proud. “But the time has come to let Mirabella and the racing world shine without me. I am officially retiring. Effective at midnight.”
Gasps and murmurs rush through the room like a rampant ocean breeze. Dad acts like he doesn’t hear it because, in typical Bash Castera fashion, they don’t matter. He’s never cared how other people react to his decisions and choices. “Everyone please welcome your new Mirabella Racing Team Principal.”
He turns and sweeps his arm toward me and Lucia. Lucia gives my hand one last, quick squeeze and steps back. There’s more gasps and whispers that almost drown out the sound of Dad saying my name. But then, without prompting, the clapping begins and spreads until the whole room is doing it.
It makes me itch, but I plaster a confident smile on my face and then give a stupid wave like a pageant queen on a float. What the hell is wrong with me, suddenly? I can’t help but catch the smirk on Billy’s face when I do it, which makes it worse. Bastard and his perfect face which somehow gets hotter when it gets smug. I hate that man for everything that ever happened. And everything that didn’t.
“Malouloutte, say a few words will you?”
“I’m not the speech type, and I don’t want to detract from my father’s birthday, which is the real celebration here,” I say, making sure not to flip my hair or giggle or do anything else to make that stupid smirk on Billy James’ face grow an inch bigger. “I look forward to talking with all of you one on one tonight and in the days to come. And I’m looking forward to continuing my father’s hard work with all of you talented people and loyal investors. So for now, cheers to Bash Castera, loving father, devoted husband, and the king of the track, even when he’s not on it.”
They clap again and raise their glasses with me. I put the champagne flute to my lips letting only a tiny drop dance on my tongue before I give another stupid wave – seriously, why am I doing that?! - and head directly to the bar. I plop the full champagne flute on the bar and order blood orange flavored Schweppes, on the rocks, twist of lemon. As I wait for my order I feel his presence behind me. Like,rightbehind me. I can almost feel the brush of his suit jack against my bare shoulders and instantly regret a strapless dress. Not because the thought of Billy brushing up against me repulses me, but because it doesn’t. It never has.
The bartender, slides the drink toward me, and I take it and smile before turning to face Billy. He’s so beyond handsome. It’s not just the sandy hair and the angular jaw or the eyes the shade of aquamarine that matches the sea on its very best day. It’s also the broad shoulders that are always back, never slouched. It’s the powerful arms and strong hands that are tucked casually into his pockets. It’s the way he walks into a room like he doesn’t just own it, but he owns everyone in it too. He met a freaking princess last year, and she curtsied to him. I am not even kidding. All that confidence and swagger, it’s hotter than a forest fire.
“That wave… did you learn that in Influencer school? Is there a TikTok How-To on that or did you just invent it on the fly?” His lips dance in a cocky smile as he raises his glass. It’s a dark, reddish-brown liquid over ice.
“Look, don’t support me. I don’t care, but if you continue to make fun of me to my face, you’re going to have a problem,” I warn and start to walk away, but he easily falls in step right beside me.
“Sorry. I just want you to know you seem to be off your game,” Billy replies. “Because this is as absurd to you as it is to everyone else. And you know it.”
“Go fuck yourself, or find your trainer and have her do it,” I whisper back, a smile on my lips so no one suspects the altercation taking place.
I break off from him, abruptly turning and heading toward my dad and Adelaide who are talking to the president of the soft drink company that is one of our biggest investors.
I spend the night smiling and nodding and avoiding Rocco and Dario, who are circling but not approaching, probably because Nick is less than a foot from me all night giving them his infamous hairy eyeball every time they take a step closer. Adelaide has an enormous cake brought out, and after a heartfelt ballad of “Happy Birthday,” which she sings with a microphone so everyone in town can hear, my father finally stops trying to shop me to investors and canoodles with his wife. I disappear into the restroom. I’m on my fourth soda and need to pee.
When I’m done and open the door, I come face-to-face with the head of the company that makes our engines. Our contract with them is up next year. No one is talking about it yet, but I’ve weighed the pros and cons of re-signing. His name is Don McDougal, and he steps in front of me as I emerge into the tight hallway off the party room. The hallway is painted a gun metal gray with gold trim and a dimly lit gold chandelier. But even in the low light, I can see the unfriendly smile on his round, ruddy face.
“Frankie, sweetheart,” he says, and I bristle. I fucking hate being called sweetheart by men I have no affiliation with. It’s pure condescension. “Are you overwhelmed yet, darling?”
Oh, so he’s double dipping on the condescending nicknames. Okay then, well, two people can play that game. I smile at him, brighter than the sun, hoping it burns him. “Not in the slightest, actually. I was born into this sport after all, so it was only a matter of time until I ended up in this position,” I explain breezily, like his concern is absolutely ridiculous. To be honest, I kind of get it though I will never admit that out loud. “Despite being incredibly successful at my own brand, I’ve never stopped following Mirabella, giving my dad feedback, which he gladly took, and researching the sport overall. So don’t worry about me,muffin.”
I start to walk away, which is a shame because I didn’t get to see his cheeks turn fully red from that, just a little pink. Luckily, he’s not done, so I can turn back around and enjoy his humiliation.
“I’m not sure we’re a good fit for you going forward. I mean, we’ll see how you do in the next few months but… we don’t want to go down in flames with this new direction. Our engines and our reputation deserve better.”
