by Sarah Morgan
But she wanted to comfort Cristiano, comfort him the way he’d comforted her and yet she didn’t know what to say, didn’t understand the racing world, or why anyone would want to race in the first place. Cars terrified her. They were dangerous. Car accidents had taken three people she loved. Cristiano’s own father had died in a race. Cristiano’s friend had died practicing for a race.
“I’m glad you don’t race anymore,” she said, gently stroking his chest. “So glad that’s behind you—”
“But it’s not.” He caught her hand, stilled it on his chest. “I still race. I never retired.”
“But you haven’t been driving…”
“We’re off season but I still drive every day, Sam.”
“I thought you’ve been going to your office.”
“Yes, after I go to the track.”
She struggled to free herself but he held on to her wrist. “You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
She tugged harder on her wrist. “How could I ask something I didn’t know?” she cried.
“But you know who I am! You know what I do. This is how I pay the bills, Sam. I have sponsors, a team, endorsements—”
“You also have an international driving school.”
“Which is something I enjoy and am proud of. But I’m a driver. I love to compete.”
“Even though racing killed your father?”
Cristiano’s brow furrowed. His jaw tensed. He released her and let her roll away. “I am a Bartolo, Sam. I will always be a Bartolo.”
She sat up on the side of the bed, her heart racing, hot tears burning the back of her eyes. “And what does that mean?”
“It means I love to drive fast. Cars—engines—speed, it’s in my blood. And Gabriela’s blood, too. We’re the same—”
“No.”
“Yes, and you might not like it, but you’re going to have to accept it. I’m not Charles. I’ve never wanted to serve others. All I ever wanted was to race. That’s it.”
“And be on your dad’s team.”
“And I am.”
Furious tears stung her eyes. “Even though he’s gone?”
“I can still carry on his name—”
“Not if you die in some accident!”
“I’ve already nearly died in some horrific accident. But I’m not going to quit. I will never quit.”
“You won’t have to quit. You’ll die first!” And she left the bedroom then, grabbed clothes from the dresser on her way out, determined to go elsewhere, sleep elsewhere, determined to escape the fire and fear burning inside her heart.
Sam ended up sleeping in one of the guest rooms, although she didn’t actually fall asleep until three. It was late when she woke up, and the villa was quiet.
Going downstairs Sam bumped into Marcelle in the kitchen. “Where is Gabby?” Sam asked, putting the kettle on for tea.
“With Mr. Bartolo.”
“Are they in the garden?”
“No, Madame. They’re at the Automobile Monegasque, but should be back in an hour for lunch.”
Sam had a cold sick sinking feeling in her gut. “What is the Automobile Monegasque?”
“The track, Madame.”
“Track?”
“Um, the facility where Monsieur practices.” Marcelle held her hands up as if on an imaginary steering wheel. “Practices…drives.”
“Yes, I understand.” But Sam didn’t. At least she didn’t understand why Cristiano was there now, on a Sunday morning, with Gabby in tow. “I just didn’t—” She broke off, swallowed her criticism. “Is the facility far from here?”
“No, Madame. Quarter of an hour by car.”
“Can you take me there?”
It was the longest fifteen-minute drive Sam could remember. Marcelle, still buoyant from yesterday’s glamorous circus party, was reliving the highlights and Sam nodded when needed, murmuring appropriate responses even as she struggled to suppress her turbulent emotions.
Relax, she told herself. It’s not the end of the world if Cristiano takes Gabriela to the track. Gabriela would probably enjoy watching the action on the racetrack but even then, Sam felt deeply disapproving. Racetracks were no place for children, much less young children Gabby’s age.
Marcelle walked Sam through the private entrance reserved for drivers and crew, escorted her down to the track and pointed out a white car as it zoomed by.
“There they are,” Marcelle said. “That’s an Italia Motors car, you can tell by the insignia, and the number—that’s Monsieur’s number.”
Sam nodded distractedly, looking around for Gabby. “But where’s Gabriela? Who’s watching her?”
“Oh, Madame, not to worry. She’s with Monsieur.”
“With Cristiano?”
“Oui, Madame. In the car.”
It might have only been five minutes before Cristiano pulled into the pit and opened the door, allowing Gabby to scamper out, but for Sam it was a lifetime.
Every possible thought went through her head, every possible emotion swept her, every possible scenario had played out.
Heart in her throat, Sam watched them approach. How could he do it? How could he be so stupid? So selfish? How could he put Gabby in the car with him?
Gabby spotting Sam, shouted her name and waved. Cristiano smiled, let Gabby’s hand go so she could race to Sam’s side.
Shaking, Sam grabbed blindly for Gabriela, settled her arms around Gabby’s neck and shoulders. “How could you do that?” Sam demanded once Cristiano was at her side. “How could you do something like that?”
Cristiano hesitated, his smile fading. “I just took her for a drive—”
“But not at 200 mph!”
“I wasn’t going 200 mph. I wasn’t even going over 100.”
Sam’s legs felt as though they were going to give out. “Where was she sitting?”
“In my lap.”
“Your lap.”
Gabby twisted away, looked up at Sam. “He was teaching me to drive.”
Sam wanted to laugh, she felt nearly hysterical. “Oh, that’s just marvelous. Gabby turns five yesterday so now it’s time to teach her to drive?”
“It’s not the first time, Sam,” Gabby answered seriously. “I like driving.”
“Not the first time?” Sam crouched down, looked Gabby in the eye. “What do you mean this isn’t the first time?”
“It’s not. I come here with Cristiano before school sometimes.”
“No.”
“Sam,” Cristiano said. “Let’s not put her in the middle of this.”
“Not put her in the middle? Cristiano, you’ve already put her in the middle! You’ve been sneaking her to the track—”
“There’s been no sneaking. I don’t sneak around. This is my life. This is what I do.”
“But a child!” Sam couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept it. “Cristiano, you’ve pushed it too far. You’ve behaved recklessly, thoughtlessly—”
“Marcelle,” Cristiano shouted to the young woman where she stood by the wall. “Would you mind taking Gabby home for lunch?”
“No problem, Monsieur.” Marcelle hurried toward them, swept Gabby into her arms and dashed away.
Sam waited for Marcelle and Gabby to disappear before continuing. “You can take risks with your life but you’ve no right to take risks with hers.”
“I’m very careful with her, Sam. I don’t drive fast when she’s in the car, but driving, racing, it’s part of her, Sam, part of who she is and who her father was—who her brother is.”
“No more. You can’t bring her here anymore. You can’t take her in your car—”
“I’ve spent five years trying to get her back.”
“Not very hard it seems. Where were you when she was born? Where were you when she was one?”
“I was in a hospital, Sam. I was hurt, and learning to walk again. And yes, it was a driving accident that burned me, and yes, it was a driving accident that killed my father, but I’m here n
ow and I’m not going away.”
“How can you say that? You could be killed in two weeks in Australia, and if not Australia, then Malaysia after!”
He was silent, his features hard, defiant. “You can’t change me, Sam. You can accept me but you can’t change me.”
“Well, I can’t accept you. I can’t accept you’d risk everything—me, Gabby, your future—for a sport!”
“It’s not a sport, it’s my career.”
“Your career.”
“And just how strongly do you feel about this, Sam?” His voice had dropped, become ice-cold.
She felt the distance yawn between them, the distance greater now than it’d ever been.
Sam was too upset, too angry, too heartsick to even cry. It had all come down to this. The worries, the fears, the anxiety had been building in her since she discovered just what it was he did professionally, but it was about to explode out now. “I’m not…I can’t…”
“Can’t what?” he demanded, voice clipped.
“Do this.”
“Do what? Live with me? Love me? Accept me? What?”
Her eyes burned. Her chest burned. She burned all the way through and she could only imagine the agony Cristiano felt when his body really was on fire. “All of the above.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CRISTIANO stared at her, hearing the words she said but unable to believe it. “Do you even know what you’re saying, Sam?”
Paling, she nodded. “I know I can’t live worrying about you every time you get behind the wheel of a car.”
“Then don’t worry. I’ve been driving since I was eleven. Won my first kart race at thirteen. Sam, I’ve made mistakes, some I have to live with forever, but I’m not reckless.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at him with those blue eyes, anxiously pushing loose hair back from her face. “Why hasn’t Gabby ever told me you’ve brought her to the track? Gabby tells me everything. Why didn’t she tell me that?”
That’s when Cristiano knew they’d turned a corner, headed a direction that might take them places they hadn’t ever wanted to go. “I asked her not to.”
How quickly her stormy blue gaze turned cold. “Why?”
“Because I told her you were afraid of cars and it might scare you, and I didn’t want to upset you.”
“And telling a five-year-old to cover the truth—essentially lie to me—wouldn’t upset me?”
He was angry, too. Angry and tired. He’d slept like crap last night, his gut in knots, heart heavy. He didn’t want to fight. He hated fights. All he wanted today was to have things better. “I thought your fear was irrational,” he said finally, wearily.
“Irrational?” Sam’s jaw jutted furiously. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve loved in car accidents, and you have the gall to say it’s irrational?”
“I’m not your parents, and I’m not Charles—”
“Cristiano! Have you looked at your legs? Have you seen what racing has done to you? How can you think you’ve escaped unscathed?”
He laughed, and it was a brutal sound. “I’m well aware of the risk, and the price we pay. But I’ve accepted it and I deal with it, and if you want a life with me you have to deal with it, too.”
Tears filled her eyes. “No. I don’t have to deal with it. I won’t deal with it. I love you, but I can’t live like this. It’ll destroy me—”
“Because you’re letting it destroy you. Make a different choice—”
“Why don’t you make a different choice? Why don’t you compromise? Why should I be the one to have to change?”
“Because this is what I love to do more than anything else in the world.”
And that just about said it all, she thought, holding her breath and looking at him.
He did love his cars and racing more than anything else. He loved the danger and the adrenaline. He loved competition. He loved to win.
But he had to also understand how she felt about him, how frightened she was of losing him. He had to know that life would be unbearable for her and for Gabby if something happened to him now.
She turned her head and looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a long time, taking him in as if trying to remember. There was so much she loved about him, so much she loved in his face—the shape of his jaw, the quirk of his mouth, the lips that felt so right on hers…
“I’m sorry, Cristiano.” She felt the tears well but she wouldn’t let them fall, not today, not this time. She didn’t understand this emotion, didn’t understand what was making her feel so fierce, so wild, so volatile. Was it love? Hate? Was it something else?
She didn’t know, and what she did know was that she craved peace. Peace for her heart, peace for her mind. Peace from the chaos rioting inside her. Love, hate, whatever it was—she didn’t want it anymore. She just wanted relief. “I’ve lost my parents in a car accident, Charles in a car accident, and I’m not going to lose you, too. Not that way.”
He made a rough, guttural sound in the back of his throat. “No, you’ll just lose me another way.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
He gave her a long hard look. “Sam, I’m beginning to think you don’t even know who I am.”
“I know who you are.”
“Then you know what I do.”
“How can you love your work more than—”
“Don’t even go there. You can’t say that. I won’t let you.”
Maybe he didn’t love his work more, but he did love the danger. He lived for the adrenaline rush. He was a risk-taker, a thrill-seeker, a man that thrived on pushing his limits over and over again.
He wanted to be great. Wanted to be famous. He wanted to make a name that equaled—if not eclipsed—his father’s. But men became famous in one of two ways—they did something death defying, or they died. Either way it was dangerous. Either way, those who loved him would suffer. And Sam didn’t want to suffer anymore. She didn’t want to fear, or worry. She didn’t want to go to bed alone, or wake up alone, and miss. She was so sick of missing.
Life had to get easier.
It had to get easier.
“I won’t give up racing, Sam,” he said quietly. “I won’t give it up for you, won’t give it up for anyone. If you care for me, you accept me for who I am…not for who you want me to be.”
“Fine. Don’t give up racing. But I’m not going to another funeral, and in your sport—profession—people die. Maybe not every race, but every year, and these aren’t old men, Cristiano. They’re young. They’re twenty-four, twenty-seven, thirty, thirty-four, thirty-seven…they’re fathers, brothers, husbands, lovers. They’re men just like you.”
“Sam, there’s risk in everything.”
She just shot him a long, disapproving glance. There was risk, and there was risk. He was a smart man. He had to know the difference.
“I’ll take you back,” he said.
She nodded woodenly. That was that then. She exhaled slowly as she walked with him to his car.
They rode in silence as he drove back to Cap Ferrat. As he pulled through the villa’s wrought-iron gates, she glanced at him. His jaw was thick, hard, tight. In front of the villa, he shifted into park, but he didn’t turn off the engine.
During the drive she’d stared out the window, not letting herself think, not letting herself feel, but now that they were here, she was afraid to get out of the car. Afraid of what would happen next. “You’re not coming in?”
“No.”
“What will you do?”
“Go back to Monte Carlo.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, rubbed her hands together, the friction keeping her distracted long enough to keep herself together. “When will we see you again?”
“We’ll have to make arrangements regarding Gabby. I’m not going to lose her, or give her up. We’ll just have to share her—”
“No.”
“Yes.” He made an impatient sound. “Sam, things are going to cha
nge. But we have to do what’s best for Gabby.”
“And what’s best for Gabby?”
“Both of us. Which means, she’ll spend part of each week with me, part with you. When I’m on the road, she’ll stay with you, of course.”
“We could always spend time with her together.”
“I don’t see us doing things together. I don’t want to try to do things together, not if it’s over.” He looked at her, expression shuttered. “I tried, Sam, I really did.”
She opened the car door, slid out. This was crazy, absolutely crazy. Only yesterday was Gabby’s party. Only yesterday everything had been wonderful. Magical. Sam’s eyes burned and she drew a quick breath, and then another. “I’ll need a place to stay in Monte Carlo when I’m there with Gabby.” Her voice broke, and she bit ruthlessly into her bottom lip. “Is Johann’s villa still available?”
“That place is a dump.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. I don’t want Gabriela there.”
Sam closed her eyes, wondering how on earth she’d explain any of this to Gabby. My God. It would break Gabby’s heart. “What do we tell her, Cristiano?” Tears fell and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “She loves you, she loves me, she loves the idea of us together.”
Cristiano looked at her so long, his hazel-green gaze penetrating, it felt as though he’d pierced his heart. “So did I.”
He revved the engine, reached for his sunglasses in the center console. “Stay here at the villa for now. Once I leave for Australia you and Gabby can have the penthouse. I’ll get a place of my own.”
“And what will I tell her—when you’re off traveling for weeks at a time?”
He shrugged. “Tell her what most fathers who travel for business tell their kids. I’m working.” He shifted gears and drove away.
Those first few days after Cristiano left were unreal—hard, hard, heartbreaking, lonely.
She couldn’t sleep at night, she couldn’t focus during the day. She wanted to call him, wanted to talk to him, wanted more than anything to hear his voice, to have him talk to her, miss her, love her.
But he didn’t call and he didn’t reach out to her and it seemed—as difficult as it was to believe—that he really intended for it to be over.