Page 14 of Off the Grid

“See?” He lifts his eyebrows. “You should visit more often. Then I could cook for you all the time.”

“Does the same stand if I’m more than just visiting? Like say . . . if I’m moving here to take a marketing position with this little, unknown racing team?”

I’ll remember the smile that crawls over my dad’s lips for as long as I live. His eyes light up. His dimples deepen. His whole body relaxes as he sets his knife down and looks at me with tears in his eyes before he blinks them away. “Really?” he asks.

I nod. “Really. I just need a week or two to head home and button stuff up. Then I’ll be back.”

He reaches his hand out. “A season.”

I shake it. “A season.” And then I pull him in for a hug and hold on tight.

If my dad can face his demons, then I can too.

We can both confront them together.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Camilla

“So you’re really here to stay?” Gia asks as she runs a hand through her silky black hair and roams her eyes over the patrons at the bar before bringing them back to me.

I shrug and lift my glass of wine to my lips, savoring the rich Italian red on my tongue. It tastes like home with its rolling hills and sunny skies. I know I’m going back in two days to start packing everything up to return here as an employee of Moretti Motorsports, but it feels way too long since I’ve been there, even though it’s just been weeks.

I guess I better get used to it though since it’s official that I’m moving here. Wellingshire. A place I’ve called a second home over the years, but never a first. My parents moved here when my dad took the helm from my nonno, and I moved along with them, but I was a teenager. I was under their wings still. This will be the first time living here as an independent adult and so much has changed since back then,

“I am.” I nod and then shake my head, almost as if I’m still trying to make myself believe what I’ve agreed to. “I’m heading home—back, whatever you want to call it—for a week or two to organize and pack and I don’t know . . .” I chuckle in disbelief.

“You’re struggling with this, aren’t you?” Gia asks.

I nod. “I am, but . . . new beginnings and all that,” I say as if trying to convince myself of it. And I have gotten slightly more excited about the change, but that doesn’t mean it’s not scary as hell too. “I’m dreading the packing and the sorting—if that makes sense. It’s a lot to wrap my head around in a short amount of time.”

“Of course it is, but I have an idea,” Isabella says, the only woman I know who can make a pixie cut look downright sexy. Could be that it’s complemented by her six-foot height, her razor-sharp cheekbones, and the perfectly pouty lips she displays every time she takes the catwalk in a show, but who’s counting? “Why don’t you leave all your clothes at your place in Rome? That way I have an excuse to take you on a fabulous tour of every designer shop in London? We can shop until we drop and come out the other side with a total makeover for you.”

I purse my lips as I stare at her. Shopping is dreadful. Yes, I’m not normal. “Thanks, but I’d rather watch paint dry than do that. Besides, I have plenty of clothes. I just need to get them here.”

Gia and Isabella exchange a look that I don’t exactly understand and am not sure that I want to.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Isabella says, but I know her better than that.

But just as I’m about to talk, Gia redirects. “Just think of the excitement you’re throwing yourself into. Lots of traveling. Famous people trying to woo you so they can get into the garage during race weekend. Glamorous parties with sponsors. I’m dying for the fashion alone.”

I lift a lone eyebrow as if to imply she’s missing the reality of it all. “A crap ton of work. Lots of headaches. Never being home.”

Gia just waves her hand at me to show she’s ignoring me. “Sounds like lots of excuses for me to come join you in all those crazy places. Lots of hot men to be met.” She wiggles her shoulders and looks at Isabella. “Right?”

“Definitely. I’m all for it,” Isabella murmurs, preoccupied with something on the other side of the bar.

“All for what?” Gia asks, calling her on it.

Isa rolls her eyes. She even makes that look sexy. “Jet-setting. Hot, sweaty men in race suits whose egos are probably bigger than mine.” We all snort at that because no one has a bigger ego than Isabella. “I mean, that is if I can fit it in my schedule.”

Gia looks at me and we both burst out laughing. “Oh, our apologies, your royal highness. We don’t mean to interrupt your globe-trotting and self-importance tour.”

“Whatever.” Isabella waves a dismissive hand our way, completely unaffected by our comments. “You guys know what I mean.”