“I am. It’s just that when I expect things, they never turn out like I think they should. If I ask and still get disappointed, I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”
Six
Marielle had always lived her life in the nothing ventured, nothing gained mind-set. Scarlet’s late sister, Ivy, used to call it the “leap and end up with scratched knees” motto. Either way, Marielle wasn’t one to hedge her bets. More than once it had netted her something she hadn’t expected. And she couldn’t regret that. One of the things that she’d been running from when she’d left home to be a trophy girl in the F1 was her safe, boring life. Though her mom seemed happy with her life as Mrs. Bisset, Marielle had wanted more. Or at least some adventure before she became a Mrs.
“Blame is a tricky thing,” he said. “It always seems to imply regret to me.”
She smiled and couldn’t help it. She wanted to make him out to be just like Jose and the other drivers she’d met during her year on the F1 circuit, but he was different. It wasn’t just the way he made her feel like she was going to explode if she didn’t touch him. Or the way he made her wish she could just drown in his deep brown gaze for an afternoon. It was something more. She’d venture to say that he got her, that he understood where she was coming from. But she couldn’t be certain of that yet.
“Do you have many regrets, speedy?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I always go full out, and if it doesn’t work out...well, then, at least I tried.”
“Me too,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to like you.”
“Well, there you have it.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that his words hurt her a little, but she was. She knew that she was persona non grata in his eyes. That she’d crossed a line that most decent people thought shouldn’t be crossed. But at the same time, she had just felt like he got her. Apparently, she was wrong.
Shocker. Not!
She pushed her chair back and started to stand up, but he caught her hand in his. “I’m sorry. That was an asshole thing to say.”
“It was.”
“The thing is, I do like you. You keep surprising me, and I know that I shouldn’t be sitting here with you, but I am. And I don’t want you to walk away angry.”
She tugged her hand from his. She got what he was saying. But this was complicated. And honestly, not the kind of thing she needed right now. It had been fun to flirt with him and pretend that coffee could lead to something more, but this was Inigo Velasquez. The brother-in-law of Jose Ruiz. She’d made herself a promise when that relationship had ended.
No more Formula One drivers. No more men who were so used to moving through life at blinding speed. No more.
So why was she lingering?
She should grab her bag and walk out of here with a haughty toss of her head.
Instead she was looking into those big brown eyes and searching for something that she knew she wasn’t going to find. That she had told herself she didn’t need and that she could live without.
“Let me buy you dinner to apologize.”
“Hmm...let me think about it,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out one of her business cards and handed it to him. Then she grabbed a second one. “Here’s my contact information. Write yours on here.”
She handed him the extra card and a pen and watched as he wrote in a hasty scrawl. He passed the card back to her, and she tucked it into her coat pocket before smiling at him and turning away.
She zipped up her coat as she walked through the busy coffeehouse to the door. She told herself she wasn’t going to look back, but when she walked by the tables, she couldn’t help herself. He was staring down at the card with her contact details on it. She shook her head, thinking she didn’t understand him at all.
She hailed a cab and gave them her brother’s brownstone address without a second thought. She needed someone to talk sense to her. Girlfriends were good for telling her what she wanted to hear, but Darian would tell her the truth whether it hurt or not. He’d always been good about that.
She got out at his Upper East Side address, then hurried past people on the sidewalk and up the stairs to let herself in. As soon as she did, Bailey came to greet her.
The large St. Bernard came barreling at her, barking his hello. She braced herself as he went up on his back legs to greet her, licking her chin as she turned her head.
“That’s what you get for not knocking,” Darian said.
“Sorry, Dare. I was afraid you might be out back staring at a cigarette and wouldn’t let me in,” she said, rubbing Bailey behind his ears until the dog was satisfied and trotted back down the hall to his master.
“When you come out swinging, I know you’re not sure of something,” he said.
“When am I ever sure?” she asked. “Please tell me that one day I will not be this big hot mess.”
“Mom seems to think so,” he said. “But so far I haven’t seen anyone who has it together.”
“Not even you, big bro? You’re a political strategist. You look good on paper and you know how to make everyone else look good too,” she said.
“All of the Bissets look good, Mare. So, what’s up?” he asked, leading the way into his den. She could tell he’d been working, because he had a can of Red Bull next to his laptop. He gestured for her to sit down on the leather couch and when she did, he sat next to her.
“Uh, um, I ran into Inigo Velasquez again. We exchanged some words, and he invited me to dinner. I know I shouldn’t go,” she said.
Then she looked at her older brother, who leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I shouldn’t, right?”
“Tell me everything,” he invited.
She did, pouring it all out. The stuff about Bianca and how it had made her feel like pond scum, but how she’d responded by blowing them a kiss, which made Dare wince. She told him about liking Inigo, giving him the bird, having coffee and getting lost in his eyes.
“Mare, I don’t know how you do it, but God knows you could make walking across the street into something complicated,” he said at last.
“I know. What should I do?” she asked him.
He considered it for a while, and she got fidgety. The fact that she had come and asked for advice was probably all the indication she needed that she shouldn’t go out with Inigo.
“Go. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
“I might regret it if I do,” she said.
“Well, then, you might as well give yourself something to regret,” he said.
* * *
Getting into the simulator and putting on his helmet at the Moretti Racing facility forced Inigo to remember what was at stake. Last night he’d been drinking ice water and using the Peloton in the house he’d rented that was only a few miles from the facility. He’d been thinking about the text message he didn’t receive from Marielle.
But that was a distraction.
Revenge.
Who did he think he was? Machiavelli?
Marco Moretti was in town. Right now, he was standing in the booth next to Keke Heckler. Both men were legendary drivers and had built the Moretti Racing program from the ground up. Inigo had been ecstatic when they’d asked him to be a part of the team three years ago. And they’d taken him from middle-of-the-pack finishes to the top ten. But he craved the championship.
There was no room for revenge in a winning driver’s psyche. He knew that. Dante had been funny in the car, but the truth was his friend and head engineer for his team had a point. He should only do things that improved his time and his racing.
“How does the cockpit feel?” Marco asked. He spoke very good English, but the hint of his Italian upbringing was there in every word.
“Good,” Inigo said, adjusting his shoulder straps. The cockpit he was sitting in mirrored the custom
-made interior of his actual car. The seat had been molded to fit his body and had been placed at the exact length from the steering wheel and pedals that he liked. He twisted his head and shoulders, popping his neck before he settled into the seat.
They were running the Melbourne course, which would be the first race of the season. He closed his eyes and reached through all of his memories to the Melbourne race last year. He remembered the atmosphere and the people. The weather and the day. He wanted to be in the right mind-set.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Good. We’re set up too,” Dante said.
The simulation had him on a qualifying lap, so he waited, watched the lights, and when they hit green, he hit the gas. When he drove, there wasn’t time for anything else except the track. He didn’t think when he drove—he reacted. He became one with the car and drove like the machine was an extension of his body.
He pushed everything from his mind but couldn’t help remembering the feel of his hands on the curves of Marielle’s hips. The car reacted the same way she had, responding to his every touch. He continued the course, coming up on the finish line as everything in him was narrowing down to the track, the touch, the sound of the engine. That first lap time would be recorded, and he kept driving knowing they wanted the best of three and would get an average.
The team of engineers who worked on his car were recording every detail. There was even someone who was monitoring his heart rate to see if it increased as he powered through the turns.
“Good time. Take a break and we’ll set up for another run,” Dante said through the speakers. “The team noticed a slight hesitation in the engine. We want to tweak that.”
“Okay,” Inigo said, getting out of the simulator. He walked over to the area where Marco and Keke stood.
“I like what I’m seeing,” Marco said. “I have a good feeling about this year for you.”
“Me too,” he admitted to his boss.
Keke rubbed the back of his neck. His once blond hair was now streaked with gray, but the forty-seven-year-old former driver was still fit and sharp. “You’re all in for training, right? No outside distractions?”
He nodded. Where was Keke going with this? “Always. I don’t drink, work out and try to keep my focus on the track.”
“Good. That’s really good. I hate to bring this up,” Keke said.
“Why?” Marco asked. “If you have a concern, you should mention it.”
“I am mentioning it,” Keke said. The men had been teammates and were good friends—at times the dynamic reminded Inigo of his relationship with his brothers or Dante.
Keke turned to him. “My wife mentioned she heard a rumor that you were linked with the up-and-coming lifestyle guru Mari.”
“Damn,” Marco said, looking at Inigo. “I wanted to rib him about turning into an old woman, but is that true? You’ve always been about no women during the season.”
Keke’s wife was the former swimsuit model Elena Hamilton. Elena had turned to designing swimsuits after her modelling career had ended and was one of the top designers for athletes now.
“It’s...it’s sort of true. We hooked up on New Year’s Eve,” he said. “I don’t see it going anywhere.”
Especially since she hadn’t texted him back about dinner. Was he thinking about that, about being stood up, and not about the revenge plan he had for her? Not very Machiavellian of him, was it?
“Good. I don’t know her,” Keke said. “But wasn’t there something with her and a driver where she was the trophy girl?”
“Woman,” Inigo said.
“What?” Keke asked.
“Women don’t like to be called girls,” Inigo said. “She was a trophy woman.”
Marco started laughing. “Good luck with that. Elena and my wife, Virginia, have been trying to bring him into the twenty-first century.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Keke said.
“I know,” Inigo said. “Force of habit.”
“Fair enough. You know I don’t give a crap about your personal life, so if you want to date or hook up with a different woman before every race, that’s up to you. Just make sure it enhances your racing profile. You are sharper this year, and we think you could win races and actually be in contention for the championship.”
He heard what Keke was saying. He had nothing but respect for both him and Marco. These two knew what it was like to race and win, and Inigo wanted that. But he also wanted to make Marielle pay for how she’d made Bianca feel. “I will. Nothing is more important to me than winning.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” Marco said.
Dante and his team finished up on the simulator, and Inigo got back in to take another test run. This time he pushed the thought of Marielle further out of his mind and concentrated on the track. On beating his previous time. And he did it.
* * *
Marielle saw the call from her mom and hit Ignore. She had a feeling that Darian might have let slip some of the details of what was going on in her life. Normally her mom wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but she’d called every day for the last week. The family usually communicated through a chat app with Carlton, who kept everyone’s calendars. So she knew it wasn’t an emergency.
And she didn’t want to talk to her mom. All of her life Marielle had been struggling to get out from under her mother’s shadow. She’d been the perfect hostess and wife. Everyone always wanted to talk to Marielle about her mom and her mom’s style. She looked effortlessly chic, and Marielle’s own manager had more than once suggested she could grow her followers more easily if she’d just embrace the classic Bisset style, but she didn’t want that.
Who wanted to feel like the only reason they were successful was because of their mom? Not her. But more than that, she and her mother hadn’t ever really gotten along. Marielle was pretty sure that was due to the fact that her mom didn’t like to share attention from the men in the family. Or at least that’s what her psychiatrist had hinted at.
She didn’t know. But when her mother called again five minutes after the last call, Marielle answered.
“Hey.”
“Hello, Marielle,” her mother said. Her mother had gone to a boarding school in Switzerland and had retained a somewhat understated European accent despite the fact that she’d been living in the United States for the last thirty years.
“What’s up?”
“Straight to the point as always,” her mom said. “I heard through a friend that you’re becoming a very popular influencer. Your name showed up on a list of those I should invite for the Bridgehampton Winter Classic.”
“Wow. That’s great news,” she said. “Of course, I’ll come.”
“The odd thing is that you aren’t on there as Marielle Bisset, you are listed Mari-Marielle Alexandria.”
“I know. I didn’t want anyone to think I was representing our family,” she said. “You’ve mentioned a number of times that I’m not always great at that.”
She heard her mother sigh. “That’s only the truth. Even Carlton agrees.”
“I know,” she said. He’d told her on many occasions.
“Aside from that...how are we going to handle this? Do you want me to pretend I don’t know you?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead when she’d started her account. “No. I think people who have known us both for years will think that’s silly. I won’t publicize it on my account. Do you think that would work?”
“I don’t know, Marielle. This is very odd. Let me discuss it with your father and Carlton, and I’ll get back to you. For right now I’m going to put you down as a maybe on the list.”
“Mom, this is a huge event for influencers. It would hurt my career not to be there,” she said.
“I’ll take that under consideration,” she said. “I’ll let you know later today.”
Marielle hit the disconnect button before she said something she’d regret later and slammed the phone down on the table in front of her. She couldn’t deal with this. All of her life she’d been struggling to find a way to be the woman she wanted to be and now that she was so close, her name was once again standing in her way.
She so wished she’d been born Marielle Smith or Jones or anything other than Bisset.
Her phone buzzed, and she saw it was a group message from Carlton requesting a family meeting to discuss “the M problem.”
“The M problem?” she said out loud to her apartment. Of course they’d need a meeting for that.
She texted back she was out of the country. And she intended to be.
Her phone rang a minute later. Darian.
“Mar, what is going on?”
“Mom found out that I’m doing the social media influencer thing and doesn’t know if I should be invited to events she’s on the committee for. She actually asked if she should pretend not to know me.”
“Oh, that’s—”
“Messed up. But hey, it’s me,” she said.
“I’m not going to allow this. I’m going to speak to Dad about it,” Darian said. “You know if you went to him, she’d have to back off.”
“I do know that. But I also know that if I do, she’ll be a total witch to me every time I see her,” Marielle said. “I’m just not sure how to play this.”
“Don’t play it. Come to the meeting and just say this is what you are doing. It’d be ridiculous not to associate with you regardless of the name you use,” Darian said. “I know that our brothers will agree with me.”
“Zac definitely will, but he’s training for the America’s Cup and doesn’t mind ruffling feathers because he’s not around to suffer the consequences. Logan might feel differently since he has to see Dad every day. And who knows what Leo will say?”
“Trust me,” Darian said. “I’ll talk to them and we’ll present a united front. Come to my place tomorrow night at six. I’ll have it all worked out.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on some big campaign strategy?” she asked, loving her big brother for stepping in but knowing she shouldn’t rely on him to do this for her.
One Night to Risk It All Page 6
