Monza: Book 2 (6 page)

I hadn’t had a clue about racing, nor was interested in the sport until I had learned what Luca did for a living. Our relationship, if that was how one could consider the fourteen-day affair, was merely spent in and out of the bedroom, tiny cafes, and secluded restaurants. It wasn’t until after I had decided to leave him that I had learned who he was. From then on, I scraped whatever I could about him from the media and all the blogging outlets online.

Clearing my throat, I pressed the white glass coated button before giving it a command. “Directions to Monza, Italy, please.” With the use of Siri, the famed AI of Apple phones, I hoped to get to my intended destination, which was apparently in between Milan and Brianza. Since I hadn’t really been around these areas, I thought it great that I got to see another side of Italy, a country that had begun to root into my heart.

There was just something so different about the people here. I had never been in a place where the people were born proud of their history and culture. From their everlasting faith to their brilliant cars, they could talk about it all day long. It was endearing to be surrounded by people who believed the true meaning of home derived from the heart of a kitchen instead of a microwave. It was shocking to know that most people there didn’t even believe in such a thing, because they liked their food to be made from scratch. I couldn’t blame them. The food culture there was literally heaven on earth. It was the best I had ever had. Sure, my palette might not be all that sophisticated, but I knew good, amazing food, and they had it there.

In the very beginning, I was overwhelmed by it all. However, after months of living there, I felt as though I had become more familiar with it. I was more like a visiting cousin—close enough but not permanent. There was never a day I regretted temporarily moving there, even though things had panned out in such a crazy state. I still loved every single moment in the country. The society’s enthusiasm, its momentum, and their utter passion for little joys in life, such as coffee and the intricate process of how to make and take it as such, all made me smile. It was all an experience to take in, and I was still taking it all in months later.

The spur of the moment road trip took much of my enthusiasm and energy, but by some miracle, I thankfully managed to get to the infamous location. It was a taxing ordeal; however, I knew it would be worth it. Besides, I had always dreamed of seeing Luca doing his thing. He had kept this part of his life from me, and I was curious as to how good he really was. I mean, everyone who was a fan of Grand Prix there in Italy knew their dashingly handsome driver. It wasn’t as though I was questioning it. I just would be more convinced to see it with my own eyes.

Approaching the ticketing section with “
BIGLIETTE
” written across it, I patiently waited in line, hoping I would get to sit soon since my back was beginning to have a pinching pain that had appeared below my spine for the past month or so. I knew my body was accommodating the baby, but goodness was pregnancy always going to be about a constant state of back pain, odd tasting food, iffy about certain smells, and the appalling acid reflux? What happened to blissful, glowing pregnancy? I supposed I was one of the
un
chosen ones.

Horrendous pregnancy symptoms aside, I couldn’t wait to hold my baby boy in my arms. I knew I shouldn’t think about it, but it couldn’t be helped. Ever since I had found out about the sex, I had often found myself wondering what the baby would look like and how much Luca’s genes would play a part in it.

It was hopeless to think such fanciful thoughts about how much I wished things were different for me. On nights I couldn’t sleep, though, I would let my mind run, thinking about Luca and how happy he had made me in those two short weeks together.

My mind was beginning to wander when it was my turn at the ticketing line. A nice, young man greeted me with a smile and the typical Italian charisma.

One more thing that took me aback about being there was how flirtation was taken to another level. It took a long while to get used to, but once I had, it no longer bothered me.

My eyes scanned the sections that were all written in Italian, leaving me confused as to what and where I needed to be seated. My knowledge of the language was still limited to casual conversations and not reading.

Fidgeting a little, I made a small smile. “Can you, um, put me where it’s the closest to the drivers?”

He instantly typed something into his computer. “That’s six hundred forty Euros, signorina.”

I tensed, perplexed at what I had just heard. “Excuse me? Did you say
six
hundred forty?” I clarified, aghast at the unreasonable price. It would damage what little savings I had.

The young man barely shrugged. “Si. That’s the price of being that close to the drivers. It’s normale.”

Dammit. The price was a freaking arm and a leg, but since I was already there, what the hell. Might as well do it or I might never get the chance again once the baby arrived.

Ever so reluctant, I pulled out my debit card, holding my breath as I handed him a huge chunk of my savings.

Moments later, I was sitting in my expensive seat as colorful banners of car logos waved across the stadium. The air was heavily charged with unprecedented energy and wild excitement. Then the wild became ballistic, morphing into a deafening sound the moment one of the star racers came into view, completely taking my breath away.

Dressed in his signature Formula One white gear, embellished with logos and the country he represented, he looked beyond compelling. The man I knew had transformed into the man he was known for—Luca di Medici, the playboy, the rogue billionaire, an icon. He was everything Italy adored and praised.

Seeing him in such grandeur and optimum prime, I felt a surge of pride watching him effortlessly win the crowd. He was beautiful, enigmatic, and utterly out of my league.

While I eagerly watched the man whom I had loved from afar in his own element, there was a different kind of energy about him in the arena. It was as if he had been transformed into someone else. Gone was the Luca who was always seeking kisses, singing in the shower, and feeding me whenever he could.

Memory after memory played in my mind, flashing as if it were a movie, just as the overwhelming feeling that everything would forever remain in the past, like a ghost, untouchable, but I could feel its powerful presence.

That Luca was gone. This man in the arena was a man who had nothing to do with me. I had known, of course, but now it hit me like a ton of bricks.

For about an hour, I sat bundled with nerves as I eagerly watched him get into his racing vehicle, praying like a maniac that he would be safe, that I wouldn’t have to helplessly witness him crashing into a wall of death as his car erupted in flames.

The black and white flag appeared, waving on the tower, and all the contenders roared their engines. The custom turbo charged engines zoomed past our very eyes. It moved unbelievably fast, making it feel surreal. It was exhilarating to watch, and everyone in the crowed felt the adrenaline-charged ambiance.

I held my breath until I knew he was safe and unscratched from any accidents. Luca came a close second, losing the title of first to his friend, whom I had never met, Jacques Bertrand.

After the race came the ceremonials, and witnessing him laughing with his friend Jacques, it was quite obvious how these races weren’t taken seriously. Their friendship came first.

I found myself grinning as I watched them exchange a manly, congratulatory hug. Then, all of sudden, they parted, and he was immediately swarmed with women, flirting and laughing with them. I felt out of place. What had I been thinking to come there? Had I really thought I could simply go down there, give him a “job well done” greeting, and then we would be back to speaking again? I couldn’t be friends with him. However, to be completely shut out of his life
while
carrying his baby was too much. Luca had stopped pursuing me, giving up the right to our child. I should do the same. If only my heart would listen...

“
Goodbye, Luca…” I murmured under my breath as I watched him casually sling his arms around the two scantily dressed women who clung to him as if he walked on water.

After all this time, the bubbling jealousy that seized me still managed to shock me. I was married for crying out loud. It wasn’t my position to be jealous since I had given him up, and yet the wretched feeling remained as my eyes stayed glued on him, taking him in as my heart palpitated at the sight of him, gorgeous and utterly healthy. My consistent nightmares of him dying should be no more. My fears were squashed by witnessing him in such a fit condition.

I was happy for him; I truly was. At the same time, there was a small bit that still yearned for him, and I guessed I had to learn how to accept this unfortunate fate. There was going to be a part of me that would always cherish him, love him as though he was mine. That was what dreams were made of, and I should be glad to settle for that.

I left with the knowledge that the choices I had made were the right ones, that whatever little reservations I’d had and the guilt that had come with it should be invalid.

It would have been wiser if I had stayed overnight and found a hotel in Monza or somewhere in Milan and taken the wheel in the morning, but knowing how I was, I would more likely stay up late and rehash what had happened with Luca, slowly tormenting myself over and over again. Maybe it was my hormones that were making me make such drastic and hasty decisions. Whatever reasoning I had, it had to stop, and it had to stop that very instant.

There was no going back from this. So much had happened, and I had to stand against the painful choices I had made. As a result, I drove back to Rome, clarifying my mind as I shredded the tiny slivers of hope that were still lurking in the back crevices of my heart. The drive back wasn’t as bad as I had expected. With less traffic, I got home faster than anticipated, arriving in the wee hours of the morning.

Haggard, exhausted, dehydrated, and purely on the verge of a breakdown, I jumped out of my skin when I saw Anton waiting on the couch for me the second I walked into the house. It was a total surprise yet not unexpected.

“
Anton?” I whispered as I dragged my feet to greet him.

He eyed me with a frown, noting the state I was in. “Is everything okay?” he asked, his frown deepening as he looked at my beyond exhausted state. “I’ve been calling you, but it sent me directly to voicemail. Where have you been? You look rather pale, cara.”

Tears rimmed my eyes as I gave him a wan smile. “I finally got my closure.”

“
Oh …” He paused before coming towards me and giving me a warm, reassuring embrace. “It’s going to be okay.” He gently brushed my hair, hoping to calm me down.

I made a small nod, mimicking his confidence.
It’s going to be okay. The little one and I had Anton and my family. That’s all we needed.

I had thought carrying Luca’s child was going to be easy. Back then, I had thought that at least I got to keep a small, tiny part of him. After all, a man like him couldn’t be tamed. He was the beloved son of Italy. Everyone adored him, including myself. Keeping him for my own benefit would ruin him. Not only that, but it would have ruined me, too, and everything I loved. I couldn’t risk any of that.

Luca was better off living in his world, living in his element. It was where he belonged, after all…

And I belonged
here
… away from him, just as it should be.

Nove

Six months later…

Standing on the starting grid of the famed Monza circuit, I frowned at the new car that carried the names of my sponsors with my father’s company at the front and center of the wide-open cockpit that hosted a single-seater, open-wheel racing machine.

Today was one of those tedious days where I had to do some marketing aspect of my job, and on the bloody agenda was a tiresome photo shoot.
Por Dio! But who really has the patience to be barked at by some short-fused photographer?
It was not how I had pictured my day unfolding. Alas, it was my job, and so I endured it until I could go find solace in the bottom of an expensive, aged whiskey.

We were prepping for the Italian Grand Prix. Then I was off to Asia and America, followed by Brazil and the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Resuming my old life was not what I had pictured, but it was the only choice I had left. It was all I had left. Therefore, even though I wasn’t completely happy about it, I had to keep going.