Take Me Series (COMPLETE BOX SET)

by Masters, Colleen

  For the first decade of my life, the only memories I can recall of my father are on the race track. We were an F1 family from the start; some even called us royalty. Not quite the Kennedy’s, but not far off either. In those days, my mother was all about playing the part of the F1 wife, taking us out to Grands Prix and publicity events all the time. But as soon as Dad retired from racing, my mother was done with the sport. I didn’t realize until recently how much of a toll it took on her, having a driver for a husband. Knowing that, at any moment, she could become a widow with two small children to raise on her own.

  I glance over at Harrison as I remember what it was like, growing up as the daughter of a racing legend. He was always constantly training or touring, and had little time for us. Enzo got to bond with him once he started messing around with boxcars and go-carts, but not me. If I’m honest with myself, I never got to be as close with my father as I would have liked. Maybe I learned to keep distance between us when I was young—learned to guard my heart in case he got into a fatal accident. If that’s the case, I don’t think my strategy worked. My heart is slowly breaking as my father slips away from us at last.

  The long trip becomes a blur as we soar across the Atlantic. Finally, we touch down in Italy and make a beeline for my family’s home. Piled into a rental car, we tear through the countryside. Stony silence has settled over the three of us, unbreakable and certain. There’s nothing left to say between us until we can see my father. At last, that unmistakable estate comes into view. The gates open for us, and we sail up the long drive toward my family’s sprawling house. We’ve made it home.

  My mother, Camilla Lazio, is waiting for us on the front steps as we arrive. She stands as tall as ever, but even from my seat in the car I can tell how tired she is. Her face is free of makeup for perhaps the first time that I’ve seen, and it strikes me how much she’s really aged. I stagger out of the passenger seat and into her arms, barely holding back my tears. Her thin arms close around me, holding me close. In a heartbeat, I can see that my mother’s eyes are dry. She’s likely cried herself out already, away from prying eyes. My mom has always been a private woman, preferring to keep her distance from the outside world. It’s only appropriate that there are so few of us here now, to bid my father farewell.

  “You made it,” she whispers, as Enzo comes to wrap his arms around us both, “Thank god you’ve come in time.”

  I watch her eyes alight on Harrison as he comes forward, bearing our suitcases and looking just a bit bashful. For a moment, I worry that she might protest his being here—after all, he’s not quite family, officially. But instead of icing Harrison out, my mom goes to him next and thanks him for coming with a hug. My relief at her acceptance is the thing that finally sets my tears to flowing. This time, I don’t try to stop them.

  We step inside and set down our things in the foyer. I blink around at this familiar house, but it already seems so different. The air itself is preparing for sorrow.

  “Come on,” my mother says, “He’ll want to see you at once.”

  “Mom, how bad is he?” Enzo asks.

  “We should go see him now,” Mom deflects, “I don’t want to be blunt, but there really isn’t any time to spare.”

  “He was still pretty strong the last time we saw him,” Enzo says, baffled.

  “It’s progressed rather quickly,” my mother says. I know that her cold tone is just her way of defending her heart, but it’s still hard to hear her talk about Dad so clinically.

  “Let’s go then,” I say, grabbing hold of Harrison’s hand.

  We follow Mom up the front staircase, down the hall toward the room she’s always shared with my father. He’s refused to even be moved to the hospital in the end. That’s my dad, stubborn as ever. I stop just before the doorway and take a deep breath. There’s no way this was ever going to be easy.

  “I’m right here,” my brother tells me, “Just remember that.”

  I grab onto Enzo’s hand as we enter our parents’ bedroom. The walls are the same ivory color they’ve always been, the ceiling a sprawl of painted tin tiles. The doors opening up onto the balcony are thrown wide, capturing a gorgeous sunset over the rolling hills. A light breeze teases the skirt of my parents’ canopied bed. I finally let my eyes settle on the man lying among the billowing pillows and sheets, but it takes me a second to even recognize him.

  “Dad,” I breathe, hurrying across the room to his side.

  He turns toward me, and his face breaks into a small smile. My father is almost unrecognizable—his once-full face sunken and thin. I settle onto the edge of his bed and take his hand in mine. I can feel the bones of his fingers through his skin at once. His transformation renders me speechless.

  “I know,” he whispers hoarsely, “I look better than ever, huh?”

  “Can we get you anything?” Enzo asks, appearing at my shoulder.

  “No, no,” Dad says, “Just stay here. I’m so glad you made it, before...”

  “I don’t understand,” I say hopelessly, “I feel like we just saw you. A few months ago—”

  “This cancer thing works pretty fast,” he sighs, “Without treatment, it was only a matter of months to begin with. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about all of this sooner.”

  “You did what you thought was best,” Enzo says, his jaw tensing.

  “I wanted you to have your championship,” Dad says, looking up at Enzo proudly, “And did you ever have it, eh? Congratulations, son. I'm so damn proud of you.”

  “Were you watching?” Enzo asks, sounding heartbreakingly like a little boy.

  “Every minute,” Dad smiles, “Including the bit afterward when Siena and her team of flunkies managed to catch that rat Marques in a trap of his own making. How the hell did you pull that off, Siena?”

  “I had a pretty good teacher, when it comes to trusting my gut and doing what I know is right,” I tell him.

  “What a couple of kids I ended up with,” Dad chuckles. I watch him notice Harrison standing in the doorway with my mother. “Can’t say you haven’t thrown me a few surprises...”

  “I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Lazio,” Harrison says, stepping slowly toward the bed, “For being an inspiration to every driver in my generation, for letting me into your home...for accepting me as part of Siena’s life.”

  I have to avert my eyes to keep from letting the tears run once more. My dad will never get to really know Harrison as a man, or see me grow into my own as a member of Team Ferrelli.

  “It’s not fair,” I murmur, squeezing my father’s hand.

  “Could I have a moment with each of you?” my dad asks, “Stay here, Siena. Let me just talk to you.”

  The others file quietly out of the room, leaving me alone with my dad. For a long while, we simply sit together in silence, taking each other in. He looks at me with a sense of wonder that I’ve never seen in his eyes before.

  “You are a remarkable woman, Siena,” he finally says, “I don’t know what I must have done in some past life to deserve a daughter like you.”

  “Are you trying to make me start bawling?” I laugh weakly.

  “Just telling you my truth. Finally,” Dad says, “Now you tell me yours. What are you feeling, Siena? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m just...there’s so much more to come, Dad,” I say, “I’m not even in my late twenties yet. So much is going to happen to me. And you won’t...I won’t...”

  “I know,” he smiles sadly, “That’s the only thing I regret about leaving so soon. How much I’m going to miss of your life, and Enzo’s. Not being able to grow old with your mother. Well...older.”

  If only I could tell him about my secret. I wish he could know that a grandchild, his first, is on the way. But I can’t send him off with that kind of regret. I don’t even know how he’d take the news if I told him. Better to let this one go unsaid, however much it hurts. I’m here to make him as comfortable as possible, not weigh him down with any more sadness.

  “I d
on’t know how I’m going to fill your shoes on the team,” I tell him.

  “After what you did at the Dallas Grand Prix? Being a shareholder will be a piece of cake,” he tells me. “You’ll be fine, Siena. And not just as a shareholder. You’re as bright as they come, you’re kind and full of integrity, you go after what you want. I’ve loved having you as a daughter. I only wish I could have spent more time with you.”

  “I do too,” I admit, “But I hope you know, Dad...you’ve been such a wonderful father to me. I’m the lucky one.”

  “Maybe we both got lucky, huh?” he says, blinking back tears. “Why don’t you send your brother in before I start blubbering.”

  “OK,” I say, rising.

  “And Siena?” Dad says, as I turn to go.

  “Yeah Dad?”

  “I love you, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you.”

  “I love you too, Dad,” I manage to say. With one last look at him, framed by the flaming sunset over the Italian countryside, I slip back into the hallway.

  Enzo moves past me into the room, and I find myself alone with Harrison in the quiet corridor. In an instant, our arms are around each other, and I can finally let the wave of sorrow that’s been threatening to break and spill over me.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” Harrison whispers, planting a firm kiss on the top of my head, “I know it hurts like a bitch, but I’m here. You’re going to make it through this.”

  “I’m so glad you’re with me,” I tell him, looking up into his searing blue eyes.

  “I’ll be here as long as you want me,” Harrison says, cupping my chin in his hand, “You know that, don’t you? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” I tell him, and bring my lips to his. His kiss floods me with warmth, reminds me of all the good my life still has in store. Even in this darkest of moments, Harrison is my beacon. I know all at once what a blessed woman I am to have had so many wonderful men in my life: Harrison, my brother, and of course, the incomparable Alfonso Lazio.

  Chapter Four

  For three more days, it’s all we can do to mill about the house and wait. The four of us take turns sitting with my father as he becomes more and more quiet. He’s at least allowed us to make him comfortable, even if treatment was never on the table. I spend long hours just sitting at his bedside, looking out through the wide windows at fiery sunsets and beautiful sunrises. Part of me wishes I could tell him everything that’s weighing down my heart. But these last few days shouldn’t be about me. They should be about him.

  I rise early on the third day of our visit, rolling out of the bed I’m sharing with Harrison. I pad down the hall at once to my parents’ room and peek inside. Mom is sitting beside the bed, her head resting on Dad’s chest. I can see by the shaking of her shoulders that she’s crying softly. Dad’s frail hand strokes her hair and her murmurs softly to her. This is easily the most affectionate I’ve ever seen my parents be with each other, and the sight of it cracks my heart wide open.

  Hurrying away from their bedroom, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. A cup of coffee might do to sober me up, some. I know I should be avoiding caffeine, what with the possibility of a baby on the way, but without a cup of morning joe on a day like this, I’m not sure what I’d do.

  I move through the kitchen methodically, reaching for the stovetop espresso maker. I gasp as I reach for the little device and find that it’s already hot.

  “Beat you to it,” says Enzo’s voice from behind me.

  I turn to see him sitting in our breakfast nook, cup of steaming coffee in hand.

  “Scared me,” I tell him.

  “Sorry,” he says, “Couldn’t really sleep.”

  “That makes two of us,” I sigh, cleaning out the machine and filling it anew. I set the water to boil and join my brother at the low mahogany table.

  “It’s so morbid, isn’t it?” Enzo says, “All of us waiting around for...you know...”

  “Sure,” I shrug, “But this is how it goes, I guess.”

  “I wish there was some way to make it hurt less,” Enzo says softly.

  I reach for his hand, find that it’s shaking. “I know,” I tell him, “But this was never going to be easy, Enzo. It isn’t for anyone.”

  “I can’t help but replay every single minute I ever spent with him in my head,” my brother says, brow furrowed, “There are so many things I regret, now.”

  “But you two had such a strong bond,” I say, “You had F1.”

  “F1 was a distraction,” Enzo says mournfully, “It’s what we talked about so that we didn’t have to ever get to really know each other. Didn’t have to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t around until I was already a teenager.”

  “It wasn’t a perfect childhood,” I allow, “I’m sorry, Enzo. I never knew you felt this way about it.”

  “Couldn’t really complain, could I?” Enzo laughs, “I mean, at least I got some kind of attention from him. But you know...I can’t tell anymore whether I started racing because I actually wanted to, or if I just wanted to do something to make him notice me.”

  “That’s not what matters,” I tell him, “It’s what you feel now that counts.”

  “I don’t know how I feel,” Enzo says softly, “Part of me wants to pack up and never race again. If he’s gone, what will it all be for?”

  “That’s up to you,” I tell him, “But if you can, try not to make your decision for or to spite him. Only you can decide what you want your life to be.”

  “I always thought I wanted to be Ferrelli’s lead driver,” Enzo sighs, “But now...it’s like I never considered anything else. Do you ever feel that way?”

  I think about the recent tug of war my heart’s been playing. On the one side, there’s being a shareholder for Team Ferrelli and charging ahead with my career. On the other, there’s a new baby with Harrison and a beautiful home in London just waiting to be filled.

  “Do I ever,” I tell him.

  “How can you stand it?” Enzo asks.

  “I’m still figuring that part out,” I tell him.

  I hear the espresso maker bubbling from across the room and move to take it off the heat. As I switch off the stove, a wrenching sound catches my ear. Ragged, hollow sobs ring out from the upper story of our home. I whirl around and catch Enzo’s eye. In an instant, we both know full well what’s happened.

  We tear off through the house, clambering up the stairs, sprinting down the hall to our parents’ bedroom. Enzo and I take in the scene as we burst through the doorway. Our mother’s pulled herself up onto the bed, her arms thrown over our father’s chest. Her whole body is heaving with the power of the grief. A small, sad smile plays across Dad’s lips, captured there. But his body is still. He’s gone.

  Enzo and I fall into each other’s arms, each holding the other up as best we can. Harrison appears in the doorway and knows at once that my father’s passed away. He wraps his arms around me and my brother as we fall to weeping. Nobody speaks a word as Enzo goes to comfort my mother, and Harrison takes me in his arms.

  The sun rises over the hills, as our first day without Alfonso Lazio begins.

  The news of my father’s death moves through the family and the team like a shockwave. By then, we’ve all gathered around the estate—every one of Dad’s nearest and dearest friends. We’re all together to offer our comfort and condolences. As soon as they can, the team—or family—flocks to our home to grieve.

  Gus, Charlie, Bex, and all the others are constant sources of comfort for us as we get Dad’s affairs in order. The days are filled with tedious, difficult decisions and arrangements, but our nights are consumed with retelling our happiest memories, drinking wine and being together as we all try and understand what the world will be like without him.

  “I remember the first time I ever met Alfonso,” Gus tells us, as we gather around the fire. It’s the night of my father’s death, and we’re holding vigil in the only way we know how. “He wasn’t even a driver yet. J
ust a punk kid of twenty, drag racing with his friends. I was the one who told him he should try and be a real racer. He just looked at me and said, ‘Have you seen those prissy little jumpsuits those guys have to wear? No thanks, pal’.”

  “He was already a rookie driver when we met,” Mom puts in, “So I knew from the very start what I was getting myself into with the F1 world. The first race of his I ever saw, I was with a couple of girlfriends. We were all standing right at the fence as he won. He hopped out of that emerald car and looked right at me. We hadn’t said two words to each other yet, but it’s like he knew I’d be waiting there. And from that moment on, that was it.”

  Enzo and I sit together quietly as these warm remembrances are traded, trying not to think about how much better all these people know our father than we do. I don’t want to think about the problems our relationship always had. I want to think about the good memories. There are plenty of them, of course. My father was tough and controlling, but he was a good man. And whatever mistakes he made, I know he loved us to hell and back.

  His funeral is small and private, as per his will. Enzo, Mom, Gus and I carry his ashes out onto the estate and let them go into the wind. My father was technically an American too, but Italy is where he always wanted to be laid to rest. I watch the breeze carry him off across our land, over the rolling hills and grassy groves. It isn’t until he’s disappeared that it finally sinks in: he’s not coming back this time.

  As difficult as it is to say goodbye, the outpouring of support from the F1 fans and community is staggering and strangely heartening. Our front gates are covered with flowers and letters, and one thing becomes abundantly clear. The world loved Alfonso Lazio just as much as we did, if in a different way. And that is saying something. He was a hero to so many people the world over, even to Harrison. He was our father, but he really did belong to the entire F1 world. In that way, I suppose, his memory will always live on. There’s some solace in that, a little glimmer of light in this dark moment in time.