“Because it’s hot and you should,” Adelaide replies. “I liked that you stopped pandering to the patriarchy.”
I smile. I officially do not hate this woman anymore. But I’m still not calling her step-mom, like ever. I pull out one of the custom shirts I had made when dad gave me the job. It’s got a plunging V-neck and three quarter length sleeves made out of a clingy jersey material. It’ll go perfect with the white jeans I intend to wear. Adelaide smiles in approval. “Billy will drive off the track.”
I freeze, which just makes her giggle. “That was an educated guess. Nailed it, didn’t I?”
“No. I mean he’s my employee and the only person who seems to listen to me, but it’s not…” I give up mid-sentence because it’s clear from the look on her pretty little face she’s not believing a word I say. “It’s nothing. And it’s over.”
Adelaide squeals like a driver winning their first Grand Prix, but I ignore her and head into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we can continue this conversation but moving out of view to change. “I know you told me to never date a driver, and I heeded that advice, but I’m glad you broke your own rule.”
“I didn’t.” I pause and shake my head. “We fucked, not dated. Oh my God, why am I talking about this with you?”
“Because I’m here and you need to talk to someone,” Adelaide replies breezily. “And your father and sister are too busy fighting to notice what’s happening with you.”
“Nothing is happening with me.”
“Your father loves Billy like a son. He’ll be thrilled when this works out.” Adelaide smiles brightly. “You have to let me plan the wedding. I love throwing a good party.”
“Oh my God, you’re insane.” I emerge from the bathroom, changed into my Mirabella garb. “And you need to keep those crazy comments to yourself. If this thing with Billy, which is over, gets out to the media, I’ll be labeled as the whore who took advantage of her driver, and he’ll be the stud that banged his boss. That’s the only narrative that people will grab onto, and I’ll never get any respect no matter how long I’m in this job.”
Adelaide rolls her eyes and tips her head back. “Oh my God, so dramatic. Here’s the thing I’ve learned marrying your dad. Nobody else matters. You gotta live your life to please yourself and absolutely no one else.”
“Easier said than done.”
She stands up as I grab my tiny Mirabella knapsack, which is custom made and covered in sponsor patches of course, because it gets photographed a ton. Adelaide steps into the hall, where Nick is patiently waiting for me. “Definitely easier said than done, but eventually, giving a fuck takes more out of you than not, Frankie. Trust me.”
She’s like a gorgeous, little, British Buddha dropping wisdom bombs everywhere she goes. I can’t help but smile back even if I know in my heart Billy and I are truly never going to be anything more than what we are—make thatwere. “Well, I’ve learned in my life to never say never but… I’d bet money against this being more than it was.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Adelaide says as we walk with a silent Nick to the elevator.
“Are you and Dad coming to the qualifying?”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “Your father wants us to head to San Diego and have a romantic weekend alone. He says it’s time you fly solo and he gets used to not being at every race. And yes this is him pouting over Lucia.”
I feel a moment of panic. There was a level of comfort to knowing he was there, at the track, during a race that I didn’t really understand I relied on until now. And even more disturbing is that he has never missed one of Lucia’s races and if he isn’t going to be here for the F1 race, then he’s not here for the F2 race. My heart aches for my mom. She would never let Dad miss one of Lucia’s races no matter what the fight was about. She could talk sense into him like no other. And she had a way of soothing Lucia’s stubborn and obsessive ways.
I hug Adelaide good-bye when the elevator reaches her floor, and then Nick and I continue on to the lobby and out the doors to our awaiting car. The heat is heavy and thick today, which will affect the tires. I spend the whole drive to the track with my nose in my phone ignoring Jennie’s texts and trying to do extra research on the tire options we have for today. When Nick parks, I shove on my sunglasses and step out onto the scorching pavement. We’ve taken about two steps when the ground shakes and a ball of fire and smoke erupts in the distance.
“Frankie.”
Nick says my name in that tone he has and rarely uses that both rattles me and grounds me. I can’t seem to take my eyes off the black cloud that’s shooting into the sky. “Frankie.”
I finally start to move, but my whole body feels disturbingly heavy and slow. I can’t move fast enough. I feel like pieces of me are falling off and sticking to the sweltering pavement as I move. My heart, my lungs, my brain. I can’t think or breathe.
“It may not be her,” he says. That statement acts like a slap to the face, sobering me and pulling me from the terror-fog I was slipping into.
It’s a crash. A race car. F2 qualifying.
“It’s someone,” I croak out. It may not be Lucia. But it may be her too.
And then we reach the security gates to the paddock area, and people on the other side are all running, and there’s pure chaos. The guard lets us in, and I see Billy. And his eyes lock with mine as he runs towards me, and I know. It is my baby sister in the fiery ball of smoke.
