“Keep telling yourself that,” Enzo laughs, “Poor little boy. I remember my first F1 series. Once you’ve got some experience, you’ll start to understand that strategy and precision trump a movie star smile any day. You may be a charming little bastard, but I’ve been training far longer than you have. And that’s what counts in the end. I’m just going to sit back and watch you figure out how inferior you really are.”
“That’s about enough of that,” Harrison says, his voice quietly intense.
“Have I finally struck a nerve?” Enzo smiles, “Good. You should be unnerved. You’re out of your league.”
“That’s pretty high talk coming from someone I beat this afternoon,” Harrison says.
“That was luck, plain and simple. And you being a dirty opportunist, of course.”
“What the hell is your problem, Lazio? You’ve had it out for me from the start.”
“Damn right,” my brother says, “And I still do.”
“You threatening me?” Harrison asks, taking a menacing step forward.
“What of it?” Enzo asks, edging forward himself.
“I mean to protect myself, is all,” Harrison growls, “And I don’t go down without a fight, I’ll tell you that.”
“That so?” Enzo asks, shoving Harrison lightly.
“Damn right,” Harrison returns, shoving back with just a little more force.
“That’s enough!” Dad shouts, pulling Enzo away from Harrison.
“Come on,” Andy says, stepping forward to pull Harrison away from my brother, “This isn’t you, mate.”
“A little friendly rivalry never killed anyone, right Harrison?” Enzo shoots, turning back to Team Ferrelli.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Harrison replies, storming out of the lobby.
“What was that?” Enzo shouts, as Team McClain disappears into the hotel, “What the hell did he just say to me?”
“Stop your yelling,” Gus grumbles, punching Enzo on the arm, “You’re acting like a teenage hot head. Let’s all just make it to Moscow in one piece, shall we?”
Team Ferrelli goes on toward the doors, but I linger behind. Against my better judgment, I let my eyes follow Harrison toward the bank of elevators. He turns toward me, his eyes full of conflicted frustration. I wish I could go to him, soothe him, make things right. But his team closes in around him, with that horrible Shelby person in among his inner circle, and I find myself flanked at once by Charlie and Bex.
“Come on, Siena,” Bex says, “They’re going to leave without us if we don’t hurry.”
I let myself be towed across the lobby by my maybe-friends, tearing my eyes away from Harrison. This is going to be harder than I ever could have imagined. Why was I stupid? I seriously thought that we might make it out of this season unscathed, free to be together. What a joke. More and more, it’s looking like whatever chance at happiness we might have had together is sputtering out. I don’t know how to face that, don’t know who to turn to if not Harrison. He’s the first person I’ve ever met who understands me on a level that goes deeper than words, further than logic. And he’s the one person I can’t talk to about this.
I follow Bex and Charlie out to Ferrelli’s fleet of private cars. We take off toward the airport, where our private jet will be waiting to ferry us all to Moscow. I used to take such joy in jetting around the world with my team, but this season has changed everything. How can I enjoy myself when everything is unraveling all around me?
As we arrive at the airport, I feel another buzz against my leg. More texts from the blackmailer, perhaps? I haven’t seen Charlie touch his cell the whole ride. I whip out my phone and peer down—it’s from Harrison again. I open up the text, making sure that no one can see its contents.
“You seem upset,” it reads, “Did I do something wrong? I want to see you in Moscow. Tell me that I can.”
My thumbs hover over the keypad while my brain scrambles to come up with something to say. Finally, I settle on two simple words:
“Not now.”
I’d hate to be on the receiving end of a vague text like that, especially with our stakes being so damn high, but what choice do I have? I’ve got to stall until I figure out a way to fix this. Harrison will understand, in time.
Chapter Three
Russian Rendezvous
After we’ve touched down in Russia and made it to our next hotel, I barely make it into bed before I collapse, exhausted. The emotional toil of these past few days has finally caught up with me. I’ve never been one to sleep in, but I don’t wake up again until noon the next day. Moscow may be a gorgeous, fascinating city, and any other time I’d love to do a little exploring...but today I’d rather not leave my bed, if I can help it.
I’ve hardly been awake for a minute when I hear my phone buzzing persistently in my purse. Groaning, I pull myself out of bed and blink blearily at my iPhone’s screen. My stomach drops a foot as I see another text from Harrison’s number.
“I’m starting to get worried, here,” it reads.
I bite my lip, staring down at the message. If the tables were turned and Harrison was icing me out, I’d probably be busting down his hotel door by now. I hate doing this to him.
A knock on my door startles me out of my sleepy stupor.
“C-come in,” I stutter, hastily deleting Harrison’s message from my phone.
My bedroom door eases open, revealing my father. I wait for him to make a judgmental remark about the fact that I’m still in bed, but instead he remains quiet. There’s a look on his face that I haven’t seen before. He looks anxious, and if I didn’t know better...I’d almost think he looked sad.
“Dad...are you OK?” I ask, as he closes the door behind him.
“What? Oh. Yeah, of course,” he says, smiling thinly, “I just wanted to come check on you is all.”
Now I know that something must be up. My dad’s never “just come to check on me” in my life, especially not when his mind is consumed with an impending race. Dad wasn’t a cruel or totally negligent father, but it was always very clear to Enzo and I that his career as a driver had to come first in all circumstances. Luckily for us, he was winding down his time on the track by the time our ages hit double digits. Most F1 drivers opt out of racing by the time they hit their late thirties, and Alfonso Lazio was no exception.
Dad was a racing wunderkind in his day, and was a well-respected driver well before he made it big in his mid-twenties. His whirlwind career charged ahead for more than a decade. He married my mother and saw both of his children born while he was Team Ferrelli’s star driver. But at some point, he decided to take on a less dangerous role in the world of F1. When I was five years old, Dad hung up his helmet and moved on to the world of management. He doesn’t own Team Ferrelli, but he’s one of the team’s most influential shareholders. This way, he’s still involved with his team and sought out for advice, but doesn’t have to get tangled up in anything he’d rather not deal with. Mostly, he concentrates on grooming Enzo, and he’s obviously been doing a bang-up job, at that.
“Are you just waking up?” he asks now, sitting down at the desk.
“Oh...yeah. Just catching up,” I say vaguely.
“Well. You’ve earned a bit of a rest,” he tells me, “I know that this championship season hasn’t been the most peaceful.”
A hundred memories of Harrison flood my mind, unbidden. If my dad had any idea just how exciting this season has been for me—
“You look a little flushed,” he says, “Everything alright?”
“Oh. Yep. Yeah,” I say, wanting to kick myself for blushing like a damn schoolgirl, “Did you, uh, need me to do something? Work-related, I mean?”
“No, no,” Dad says, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, “But I like that industrious attitude. You’ve always been such a hard worker, Siena. You get that from me.”
“Thanks Dad,” I say.
“I just want you to know that it doesn’t go unnoticed, all your effort,” h
e says, “I know I give you a hard time, and that I’m not the easiest man to please, but I know that at the end of the day, I can count on you to know what’s good for this team. Sometimes, you know better than I do. Public Relations-wise, of course.”
“Of course,” I smile.
“Enzo’s always thought of himself as your protector, your big old brother, but you take care of him just as well, Siena. Thank you for that. Thank you for putting family first and keeping an eye on him.”
“Sure Dad,” I say, “But...Can I ask what the sudden praise is all about?”
“Oh God,” Dad laughs, “I hope I’m not so stingy with compliments that this is strange for you. Am I really that bad?”
“You’re...not forthcoming with the positive notes,” I allow, “Not that I mind. I like to be challenged in my work.”
“I’m sorry, Siena,” Dad sighs, standing.
He crosses the room and wraps me up in an unexpected bear hug. I freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do. We’re a loving family, but Dad’s never been the affectionate type. We always relied on Mom for hugs and kisses, and Dad for tough love. I give into the sudden hug, but unease is stirring in my gut. Something seems off, here. I just can’t tell what...
“I’m really proud of you,” Dad says, resting his chin on the top of my head, “This isn’t an easy world for young women to get along in, but you’re really holding your own. Even if you weren’t my daughter, I’d try and poach you from another team in a heartbeat.”
“I enjoy it,” I tell him, pulling away and looking up into his eyes.
“Is Public Relations where you want to stay?” he asks, pulling me over to sit beside him on the couch.
I settle down, mulling over the question. “I mean...I think I have a knack for it,” I tell him, “And there’s definitely a rush involved, having the power to shape narratives and stories and all.”
“But...?” Dad asks, leading me along.
“But...I suppose the position feels a little limiting,” I admit, “If I’m really honest...I wouldn’t mind having a little more influence someday. There are hardly any women on the managerial side of F1, you know?”
“I figured you’d have your sights set higher,” Dad says, looking downright elated.
“Well, you always taught us to go after our dreams,” I say, “I guess I was listening.”
“I guess you were,” Dad says, “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make an excellent player in the F1 game. Your PR and marketing strategies are brilliant, I’m sure your racing strategies would be just as spot-on.”
“I've been watching Formula One for...oh...my entire life?” I say.
“That’s true,” Dad laughs.
“Come to think of it,” I say, “I’m pretty sure my first memory is of a Grand Prix.”
“Really?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I say, turning toward him, “I couldn’t have been older than four. It’s a fuzzy sort of memory, more like a dream than anything else. It’s the day of the Grand Prix, right at the end. Mom’s got me all dressed up in a getup that matches hers—some sporty little sundress. Enzo’s there, practically jumping onto the track with excitement, his black mop of hair going every which way. Mom picks me up in her arms so that I can see the cars cross the finish line. And there’s a flash of green, and I just go berserk. I’m screaming and pointing, going, ‘that’s my dad! that’s my dad!’ You’re neck and neck with this jet black car, but at the last second you fly ahead of him. And the whole world just erupts into noise. We rush down to the pit as you get out of your car, all red in the face and sweaty. I run over to you, and you scoop me up, and I feel like goddamn royalty...”
A stifled sound pulls my focus away from my tale. Dad has his hands clenched tightly together, trying his best to hold back...tears?
“Dad...what is it?” I ask quietly, laying a hand on his back.
“Nothing. Nothing,” he says, sniffing loudly and sitting up straight, “That’s just a damn fine story, Siena. Must have been during my last F2 series, before I moved on up the food chain. I’m glad you can remember me like that. Young, and strong...a champion.”
“You’ll always be a champion to me,” I tell him, braiding my fingers through his. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he says, “Sure do, kiddo. Well. Anyhow. Just wanted to...”
“Stop by and check on me?” I offer.
“Yeah,” he says, “I’m, uh, gonna go grab something to eat. Take your time, though. Take a breather. You deserve it.”
He walks quickly across the room and leaves me alone with my thoughts once more. I stare after my father, dazed by his behavior. My dad is nothing if not a ruthless, unsentimental strategist. What’s with the waxing nostalgia all of a sudden? Maybe he’s finally starting to soften up a bit in his old age. That might not be such a tragedy. Maybe he’ll thaw enough before the season is over to handle the news of me and Harrison?
Wishful thinking.
All of the anxiety that’s been eating away at my nerves since receiving those incriminating photos is rushing back into my bloodstream. I need to relax. The only way I’m going to be able to think through this if I can clear my mind. I throw on some skinny jeans, a white tank, and my favorite leather jacket. With a quick swipe of mascara and a dab of rosy lip gloss, I’m good to go. The worst thing I can do right now is lock myself up in my room and refuse to let the world in. I’ll take a little walk around the hotel grounds. That should clear my head right up.
I make my way through the exquisitely fancy hotel, marveling at the elegant touches along the way. I’ve always been treated like F1 royalty, and sometimes I forget to stop and be grateful for it. Even with all of this personal drama, this scandal, I’m getting paid to see the world and do what I love. It’s hard to carry gratitude in my heart when it’s already weighed down with so much...but I have to keep at it.
There’s a small but spotless garden behind our stately gem of a hotel, and I slip out into it to fill my lungs with fresh air. The moment I step outside, I feel a little better. A lot of people get lonely when they travel, but I’ve always felt more at home on the move than static. Maybe it’s because my childhood was split up between two vastly different environments, but I think I’ll be something of a rambler for the rest of my life. You learn to understand people so much more deeply when you’ve been around the world. I wouldn’t trade that awareness for anything.
The air is just a bit nippy as I make my way through the maze of high, manicured shrubs. This place is something out of War and Peace. I do feel more than a little bit like the lovesick Natasha, longing for her love. But also tempted by a man who no one thinks is good for her. I guess that means Harrison and I have some wild sort of love story going on...I just wish ours was a bit more Nicholas Sparks and a bit less Shakespeare.
I sink down onto a stone bench, peering up at the bright afternoon sky. A moment of peace like this is hard to come by in my line of work, and I mean to savor it.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, as my ringtone begins to chirp. I whip out my phone and see that Harrison has once again shot me a message. But this time, it’s only two words long:
“Over here.”
I whip my head around and feel the air leave my lungs. Harrison is standing across the small stone walkway, wearing light blue jeans, a bomber jacket, and the most serious expression I’ve ever seen on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
“Look at that,” Harrison remarks, “You actually answered one of my texts. Sort of.”
“You can’t be here. We can’t be here,” I say, jumping to my feet.
I try to dart past Harrison, but he catches me up in his arms. He holds onto me firmly, looking down into my panicked eyes.
“You have to tell me what the hell is going on,” he pleads, “I’m losing my mind, Siena. What happened? Are you angry with me for winning the Budapest Grand Prix? Is that it?”
“Please,” I beg, tears springing to my eyes, �
�Harrison, it’s not that—”
“Did your family finally get to you? Convince you to stay away from me?”
“No—”
“Are you tired of me? Scared of me? What? Just give me a clue, Siena. I’m in the dark, here. I can’t stand it.”
“I just can’t see you, Harrison!” I cry, pushing myself away from him, “I can’t be seen with you.”
“But why?” he asks, his voice as furious as I’ve ever heard it.
“I’ll show you,” I say roughly, whipping out my phone.
I open up the folder of damning photos as I thrust the device his way. Comprehension dawns across his face, followed by outraged indignation.
“What the hell is this?” he growls.
“I believe it’s what they call blackmail,” I tell him.
“This is insane,” he says, eyes glued to the pictures, “This can’t be...”
“But it is,” I tell him, “I’m sorry I shut you out. I just didn’t know what to do. Someone’s got it in for us, Harrison. And I have no idea when this time bomb is going to go off. What are we supposed to do?”
“I...I haven’t the slightest idea,” he says, shoving a hand through his dirty blonde hair, “But I know what we’re not going to do. We’re not going to let this bastard ruin us. We’ll figure something out, Siena. But you have to promise me that we’ll figure it out together.”
I throw my arms around his shoulders and let the tears flow freely. I can’t believe I ever even entertained the notion of letting this come between us. Harrison wraps his arms around me and holds me close, helping me shoulder the burden of this secret at last. I still have no idea what we’re going to do, but at least we’re in it together. Together is, after all, exactly where we belong.
“It’s OK, Siena,” Harrison says, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
“It’s pretty far from OK,” I say.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you think we should do,” he says, taking my hands in his.
“I think if we were smart, we’d stop meeting like this. But I’m not feeling too smart these days,” I laugh through my tears. “I don’t think I’m capable of staying away from you, Harrison.”
Take Me Series (COMPLETE BOX SET) Page 18