When the long, tree lined drive opens up, I feel my heart twist painfully in my chest. The sight of my Italian home—it’s tall eggshell facade and red tiled roof, the rolling hills beyond—bring back a thousand happy memories. I spent some of the best days of my life here as a kid...but now I’ll be living through some of the worst. Part of me wants to turn around, to save this place from being tarnished by my current misery. But the fact of the matter is, I need to be with my family during all of this. Whether we all like it or not.
My body grows insanely weary the second I push open the heavy wooden doors. I step tentatively over the threshold with Bex and Charlie behind me. I brace myself for the team’s outrage, my family’s ire, but there’s no firing squad waiting for me. In fact, there isn’t anyone at all. I glance around the tall foyer, the grand staircase, all the way up to the copper tiled ceilings. But there’s no one. Not a soul to be found.
“What the hell?” I mutter, my heels clicking against the tiled floor. “Where is everyone?”
“They’re all in the guest house. Watching the Luxembourg Grand Prix,” says a breathy voice I’d know anywhere.
I look up to the top of the staircase and see a tall figure wrapped in a airy black dress. Her hair is pulled up into a polished bun, and her makeup is immaculate and subtle. My mother, Camilla, has always been a master of appearances. But right now, the most incredible thing about her is what’s shining in her eyes—compassion. Understanding.
“Mom,” I whisper, running up the stairs to her.
She wraps her arms around me, pulling me to her chest. Since I was sixteen, everyone’s said that my mother and I could pass for sisters. But in this moment, she is every bit my mother. The second I’m safe in her embrace, the floodgates collapse. All of the overwhelming emotions I’ve been stonewalling cascade through me. It’s a marvel I can keep standing under the force of them all. Hot, baffled tears streak down my face, but words are beyond me.
“Come on, darling,” my mother says, leading me down the hall to my bedroom, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
She leads me down the hallway to my room, a place that hasn’t changed a bit in my twenty-five years on this planet. Camilla and Alfonso Lazio were never sentimental parents, and the whole pink and fluffy nursery thing never happened for me. Instead, my room was decorated in soft yellows and pine wood. Not a thing has been altered since.
As we step inside, I see that the double doors to my little balcony are standing open, letting in a breeze that glances across the hard wood floor. My mother leads me over to my canopied bed, and I curl up on my side there, resting my head in her lap. My shoulders are shaking uncontrollably, my mind reeling beyond my control. The strange combination of anguish and comfort is totally disorienting.
“Let it all out, Siena,” my mother says, running her fingers through my tousled curls, “I know that this seems insurmountable now, but I promise you that everything will be OK.”
“H-how?” I sob, looking up at her through my tears, “How will this ever be OK, Mom?”
“It will be OK because it has to be,” she tells me.
Her pragmatism has always been strangely comforting to me. My mother doesn’t coddle or sugar coat, so when she says that something will be OK, I tend to believe her. I just wish I skip the hard work of cleaning up the mess I’ve made.
“I just can’t believe this is happening,” I say, “I don’t know how things got so incredibly messed up. When I met Harrison, we were just two people at a bar. But now...”
“Listen to me, Siena,” my mother says, easing me up to sit beside her, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. It took me many, many years to uncover this, but you deserve to hear it now. All your life, your father has been grooming you to be a part of his world. We’re a Formula One family, I understand that. It’s what I signed up for when I married your father. And I’ve let you and your brother follow that path because it’s always seemed to make you happy. But I need you to understand something, Siena. The entire world of Formula One...it doesn’t have to be your cage. It doesn’t have to be your fate.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean that before you’re a member of Team Ferrelli, before you’re even a Lazio, you’re a woman, Siena. An individual,” my mom says, cupping my face in her hands, “You’re not defined by this way of life. All you have to do is decide to be above it.”
“Is that why you stay away from the races? To stay above it all?” I ask.
“It is,” Mom says, “I realized, after you two were born, that I’d let myself become nothing more than an F1 wife and an F1 mother. I was beholden, and I was miserable. I couldn’t be a good wife or mother or person until I stopped thinking of this sport as my entire universe.”
“You were always a good mother,” I protest.
“Well, I’m glad you think so,” Mom laughs, “But do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, Siena?”
“I do,” I say, clutching her smooth hands, “But I don’t think I can do what you’re telling me to do. I don’t know who I am outside of F1.”
“That’s only because you’ve never known anything else,” my mother says, “You were born into this, Siena. But you don’t have to stay. You can walk away from the team, from the entire sport. It doesn’t have to control you. You are in control of your own destiny.”
“But I don’t want to walk away,” I tell her, “I love this world, and this sport, and this team. It’s my life. My work is my life, and I want to take on even more. I want to have influence, I want to shape the sport for the better. And I don’t want to be chased away from what I love because of some bullshit gossip campaign.”
“Then don’t,” my mother says, “Don’t let the narrative that the world has written define you. Step up and be who you want to be. Love who you want to love. Refuse to let someone else write your story for you. Hold your own, Siena. I know that you can.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” I ask, “Do you think I can come back from this?”
“Absolutely,” Mom tells me, “You’re a Lazio, aren’t you? You’re tough, and you’re smart, and you’re stubborn as hell. You can do anything you set your mind to. Including sort things out with that delicious man you’ve taken up with.”
My chest tightens painfully as I think of Harrison. “I think that ship has sailed, Mom.”
“Nonsense,” she says, “You don’t have to give him up just because the press is hounding you about—”
“Did you see the paper?” I ask, “He was with that woman. He said those awful things. He could be setting us all up and we wouldn’t even—”
“Please tell me I raised you not to believe everything you read,” Mom laughs, “Did you talk to Harrison about it?”
“Sort of...” I say, “I mean, he didn’t deny...I left in a hurry.”
“You can’t walk away from the man you love just because of some tabloid article,” she tells me.
“How do you know I love him?” I ask.
“Because you’re my daughter,” she smiles, “I only had to see those pictures for a second before it became abundantly clear. You’re in love with Harrison Davies. And that doesn’t make you a damsel in distress, or a traitor, or a fool. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, either.”
“I have no idea how to fix any of this,” I say quietly, “I don’t even know where to begin...”
“I think a good first step might be figuring out who, exactly, has been trying to destroy your reputation,” she says, her voice icing over. “I’m of a mind to find that special someone and throttle them within an inch of their life...”
“I’m not sure about that,” I tell her. “But you’re right. We need to figure out where all this supposed information is coming from. That article was naming sources from just about everywhere. I’m sure most of them are made up, but the intel is coming from somewhere.”
“Do you have any idea who took those pictures of you?” she asks.
> “Actually, yes,” I tell her, “Harrison and I caught some punk kid stalking us at the hospital, after the crash. He owned up to taking the pictures. But he also told us that he was working for someone. Someone who was paying him a lot of money for those pictures.”
“Any idea who might have hired him?” she asks.
“I did have some notions,” I tell her, “But I think I’m way off base. You won’t believe it, but I honestly thought—”
“That Charlie Spano wanted to keep Harrison Davies far away from you?”
“How the hell did you guess that?” I ask.
“We think alike, my dear. If it wasn’t for the fact that Charlie is currently courting that adorable American friend of yours, I’d still be suspicious. But Charlie doesn’t stand to gain anything from an article like that.”
“There’s one other person who I thought might be behind it all,” I tell her, “That blonde woman from the article, Shelby Vaughn?”
“The one Enzo’s taken up with now?” Mom asks.
“Do you just know everything?” I ask.
“I’m your mother, it’s my job to know,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Well, I think there’s a possibility that Shelby may have something to do with this whole mess,” I go on, “I suspected her from the beginning. From the first night we met, she was cold to me. She’s on McClain’s media team, so she’d know exactly how to manipulate the story for the press. It was even one of her photos that made it onto the front page. She and Harrison clearly have...a past, which I can’t even begin to think about without wanting to vomit. And now she’s got her hooks in Enzo, too.”
“Oh dear...” Mom sighs, “That’s quite a lot, to be fair. But I don’t think it really adds up, Siena. What could she gain from bringing this whole thing down around you and Harrison? Stoking that conflict would only mean that she’d lose Harrison and Enzo both.”
“I...haven’t figured that out just yet,” I admit.
“I don’t think you will, because I don’t think that Shelby girl is behind this either,” Mom says. “There’s got to be someone else pulling the strings. Someone who’s going to benefit wildly from this whole mess. Does anyone come to find who fits that bill?”
“Honestly? Not a soul,” I say, shaking my head, “I don’t see how anyone at all wins in this situation.”
Off in the distance, an outraged howl rings out across the estate. Mom and I look out over my balcony toward the guest house. It sounds like the whole team is out there, cursing and swearing about something or another.
“The Grand Prix must be over,” Mom remarks. “And it doesn’t sound like the outcome is too rosy.”
We listen as the team storms out of the guest house, back toward the main building. The front door crashes open, and a dozen angry voices rise up from the foyer.
“Of course that motherfucker won,” I hear Enzo growl, “That’s just what we need today.”
“I was hoping for Rostov or Landers,” Gus puts in, “Anyone but that smug fuck—”
“We should have seen it coming,” Dad cuts in, “He’s been inching up through the ranks while we’ve been distracted by Davies.”
Mom and I trade glances and hurry across my bedroom together. We step out into the hallway and look down over the banister. Below, the men of Team Ferrelli pace like a bunch of caged wild dogs, snarling and out for blood.
“What happened?” Mom asks, drawing the eyes of every man toward us.
For a moment, the team is too startled to see me to speak. I feel the heavy gazes of Enzo, my dad, all of them on me, weighing me down into the ground. Part of me wants to curl up in a little ball and hide away, but I listen to my mother and stand my ground against their anger.
“Rafael Marques took first place,” Dad finally says, “He’s closing in on us. Fast.”
“We can’t afford to drop out of first for the rest of the tournament,” Enzo goes on, “Between Marques and Romeo, we’ve got enemies on all sides.”
“I guess you’d like to have it out, right Enzo?” I ask coolly.
“Really Siena,” he sighs, “I have nothing left to say to you.”
“Why don’t you gentlemen leave us alone for a little family meeting?” my mother cuts in. “I think there are some beers in the kitchen, feel free to help yourselves.”
Gus ushers the bulk of Team Ferrelli out of the room as Mom and I descend the stairs. Dad’s eyes are tired as he watches our progress, but Enzo’s are simply cold. I can’t believe I’ve done something to earn not just his anger, but his indifference. If I didn’t know how serious this was before, it’s clear as day now.
“Here we are,” Mom says, crossing her arms, “All my ducklings back in one place. I swear, I let you head off on one tournament without me and all hell breaks loose.”
“There’s really only one person here who derailed the entire train,” Enzo says pointedly.
“That, Son, is simply not true,” Mom says, “Your behavior’s been just as questionable as your sister’s. Causing fights and wrecks? Chasing members of another team? You don’t have as much room to cast judgment as you think.”
Enzo opens his mouth to protest, but thinks better of it. Mom has always gotten the last word in this house, usually because she’s right. It feels nice to have an ally for once in this mess of a situation.
“So, what do you think we should do?” Dad asks, “Pretend like nothing’s happened? Fight back?”
“Find out who’s spreading rumors about our family and make sure they shut their mouths,” Mom replies, “That’s what we need to focus on now. In the meantime, we’ll keep our heads high and carry on. You’ll all head back to London tomorrow so Enzo can keep training and Siena can figure out what’s going on between her and Harrison.”
“You’re not actually encouraging that?” Enzo says.
“Just as much as I’m encouraging you to keep on with your Shelby, if you so choose,” Mom replies.
“What?” I cry, “Shelby’s a vile monster!”
“So is Harrison,” Enzo shoots back.
“If you two are finished fighting like children,” Mom cuts us off, “I think we need to take the rest of the night off from worrying about this. Neither of you looks as if you’ve slept in days. You came here to get your wits together, didn’t you? Fighting isn’t going to help you clear your heads and come at the next Grand Prix fresh. You need to take a load off, eat some vegetables, get yourselves together. That’s how we’re going to fight this thing.”
“Right as ever,” Dad says, slipping an arm around Mom’s waist.
“And you need to relax more than anyone,” Mom says, chucking Dad under the chin, “Look at those bags under your eyes.”
“I’m afraid I’m not going to get any prettier in the next few months,” Dad says quietly.
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says, “You’ll always be the most handsome man in the world, Alfonso. Well, one of two, counting your son.”
“So that’s it?” Enzo says, “We’re just supposed to pretend like nothing’s wrong and have family game night or something?”
“Precisely,” Mom smiles, “Now come on. Dinner isn’t going to make itself.”
Mom and Dad follow the team into the kitchen, leaving Enzo and I alone for the first time in weeks. He looks at me without a trace of sympathy, and I feel my heart splinter even further. How did we come to this? Enzo has always been my best friend in the world, now he can barely even stand to look at me.
“We’re going to make this right,” I tell him.
But he doesn’t even reply. He simply shakes his head and stalks off toward the kitchen, leaving me to scurry along behind him like a little sister I am. I guess old habits die hard, especially where family is concerned.
Chapter Three
An Olive Branch
Despite Mom’s best efforts, the hours crawl by in a haze of tension and raw nerves. I try and play nice with Enzo, but his every word seems to be barbed and meant to hurt me. Between my brother’s p
assive aggressive jabs, Charlie’s cold shouldering, the team’s unwillingness to meet my gaze, and Mom’s chipper insistence that everything is fine, I’m totally overwhelmed. Coming here was supposed to be helpful, soothing. But instead, all I can think about is whether I was hasty in leaving Harrison’s side.
I excuse myself from the after-dinner lounging downstairs and retreat to my bedroom. I claim exhaustion, but I’m really just in need of a single moment alone in the midst of this publicity shit storm. I’m not used to being the center of attention, not by a long shot. I’m not really sure how to handle myself, how anyone handles their private life being scrutinized by the public. This whole thing almost makes me want to give Enzo a little more credit for being remotely well-adjusted. “Almost” being the operative word, there.
Shutting my bedroom door quietly behind me, I take a deep, cleansing breath in the darkness of my bedroom. Alone up here, listening to the far off conversation downstairs, reminds me of so many nights of my childhood. The grownups and team members would convene downstairs and I’d sneak up here, away from the bustle and noise. This room has always been my asylum. But crossing to my little balcony, I realize with a sinking sadness that this place is no longer where I feel most secure. My new sanctuary is in Harrison’s arms—and I was foolish enough to leave just when I needed them most.
No, you were right to leave, I encourage myself, stepping out onto the narrow terrace that leads off my bedroom. The moon has risen round and full, its light dappled along the hills and groves that spread out across our property. I think back to that horrible article I read just this morning, the details it dredged up about not only me, but Harrison and Shelby, Enzo and my dad. Every secret I was set on keeping was printed right there for the world to see. And some of Harrison’s secrets made it in, too.
Faster Longer (Take Me...#3) (New Adult Bad Boy Racer Novel) Page 3
