by Jane Porter
"No."
"Sam, I don't want to drag this out. It'll only hurt and confuse Gabriela"
Fist pressed to her heart, she told herself to just get through the rest of the call. Just make it to the end and then get off the phone. You can cry all you want then. "I understand."
"I don't want this in the news, either—"
"I'd never go to them,"
"Good. I guess that's it then."
He must have said goodbye because suddenly there was a click and he was no longer there, no longer on the line.
Slowly Sam put the phone back down and even more slowly she stretched out on her stomach on the bed, burying her face in the crook of her arm.
She used to panic, thinking she couldn't bear to lose him, couldn't contemplate life without him.
And she had lost him.
But he wasn't dying. He was divorcing her.
Which in some ways was so much worse because it's not as if they didn't have other options, it's not as if they couldn't have found a way to work through their differences. Especially as there had been so much good between them, so much good worth saving.
So much worth fighting for.
He hadn't fought for it—them—their relationship. But then, neither had she.
It was the strangest thing—her head snapped back, eyes opening, jaw dropping slightly before she snapped her mouth closed and sat up and threw her legs on the side of the bed.
She hadn't fought for them at all.
Why not?
Sam left the bed, paced her room and going to the balcony pushed the doors open to step out into the night.
She hadn't fought. It made no sense. Sam adored Gabby because she was feisty, spirited, and courageous. Sam had admired Cristiano for his strength, not just the physical strength, but the mental strength necessary to come back from his devastating accident. Both Gabby and Cristiano were tough. Brave. Fighters. And Sam wanted that. She wanted their courage. Their strength. Their fight
If Charles could teach her kindness and compassion, then Cristiano and Gabriela could teach her to stand fast. To be brave. To charge the battle.
Charge the battle.
Sam leaned on the balcony railing, and staring out at the dark sea and night Sam thought of all the challenges she'd faced in her own life, and maybe she hadn't dealt with them easily, or gracefully, but she'd moved forward. She'd learned. Changed. Adapted.
She could do it again.
She could learn to be strong. To face her fears. To acknowledge risk.
She closed her eyes, pictured herself a warrior, sword in hand, armor on, standing fast before dragons and men.
Maybe not before dragons, but certainly before men.
She could be brave. She could be strong. She could face danger head on.
Now if she could only find some really good armor because she was going to need it.
Four days later, Sam sat in Marcelle 's car outside the Automobile Monegasque , the track Bartolo Driving School used for its European school.
"Marcelle, you can't tell anyone," Sam said, knotting and un-knotting her hands. "No one can know in case I fail miserably."
"You won't fail, and I won't tell." Marcelle leaned on the steering wheel and smiled encouragingly. Marcelle was dropping her off for the first day of a weeklong course with the objective of preparing drivers for road racing. "Just have fun, Madame."
Sam shot Marcelle a dubious glance before climbing out of the car. Marcelle tooted her horn and drove away leaving Sam alone in the parking lot.
This was it, Sam thought, facing the low building fronting the racetrack. She was going to school. Today was a refresher course called High Performance Driving, tomorrow was Intro to Racing, and by week's end she'd be clocking it on the track in the open-wheel Formula 1 cars.
This was going to be the worst week of her life.
She was nervous that first day, so nervous she threw up twice in the morning and once in the afternoon, but she made it through the day.
Tuesday was as rough.
Wednesday not quite so bad. She almost liked the Corvette C5 they had her driving.
Thursday she was introduced to the pit. She didn't like the pit—it was noisy, frenetic, but she got a lesson in spark plugs, engines, and changing tires anyway.
Friday was race day and Sam was throwing up again. As she approached the low sleek Fl car, Sam tugged the zipper on her jumpsuit down instead of up. She was going to throw up again. And making a mad dash to the bathroom, she got sick, washed her face, and stared at herself in the mirror.
All you have to do is drive, she told herself. You don't have to drive fast. You don't have to be brilliant. All you have to do is drive around the track. You'll be safe.
Coming out of the bathroom she tugged the zipper on her protective jumpsuit up, slicked her hair into a ponytail and met Rodney, her instructor, at her car-Rodney, a young Scottish driver with an impressive track record, grinned at her as he saw her approach- "You're looking like a right happy
lass."
"Don't try to humor me today, Rodney;'
He clapped her on the back. I'm going to be in a car out there with you. Follow me on the track, stay close, hug the turns and, girl, have some fun."
This would not be fun but she was going to do it anyway. She was going to look fear in the face and prove once and for all that fear didn't master her—she was going to master it.
In the pit, Cristiano glanced at his watch yet again. It was twenty past noon and the track should be cleared- This was his practice time, the time when he tested the different cars, checked them to see how they were running-He leaned against the side of his car, helmet on his lap. "Who's still out there?" he asked one of his pit crew.
The mechanic nodded at the yellow car screaming past. "Rodney."
"He's giving a lesson now?" Cristiano asked as a blue Fl student car chased behind.
"He should be done soon "
"He should have been done twenty minutes ago." Cristiano stood, turned to his team. "Somebody bring out the flag. Let's get him out of here. I've got work to do."
"Right, boss," the mechanic answered and one of the others drew out a red flag and waved it back and forth.
Cristiano zipped up his practice suit and waited for Rodney to exit the track. Instead Rodney pulled up next to Cristiano in the pit, Rodney's student pulling up behind him.
Climbing out of his yellow car Rodney waved cheerfully to Cristiano. "Hey. How’s it going?"
Cristiano's bad mood was getting worse. "What are you still doing on the track? Lessons are mornings only."
Rodney shrugged, dropped his helmet in his car. "Couldn't help it boss. She needed a little extra time. Nerves and all. She had a bad case of them but I think we worked most the kinks out today. How'd she look?"
Cristiano swore softly beneath his breath. He was not in the mood for games. "Fine. Why?"
Rodney opened the door to his student's car and bending over, unbuckled the chin strap and gestured for her to remove her helmet. "Come meet the boss”
Cristiano didn't hear anything once he saw the helmet come off and a long blond ponytail tumble out,
"Santo Cielo!" Cristiano strode furiously toward the blue car where Sam still sat strapped into the seat. "What the hell is going on?"
Rodney lifted his hands in an innocent shrug. "I was just teaching her to drive. She paid for the lessons. All week. She's been here every day. all day."
"Thanks. Rodney." Cristiano growled. "I've got it from here,"
"You're the boss," Rodney answered with a jaunty whistle as he strolled away,
Sam clutched the steering wheel as she watched Cristiano walk toward her.
He was livid. He'd always had a big jaw but it was a lot bigger right now.
Cristiano leaned on the side of the car, towering over her. And then he swore. Neither softly, nor gently. "What the hell are you doing?"
Sam wasn't sure where to look because she didn't want to look into his
face, not when he looked so spitting mad. "Learning to drive."
"A Formula 1 car?"
"I've been practicing in other cars, too."
He was dead silent. He didn't laugh, or crack a smile, not even a little bit. "These are difficult to drive, Sam. They "re not the kind of cars you just climb in."
"Tell me about it! I've never in my life had to study, or work this hard."
He pushed up off the car. "Sam, this is dangerous, and Rodney's a good driver, a decent instructor, but he—" Cristiano broke off, shook his head "—he, what were you thinking taking lessons from him?"
"Him? What do you mean by him? Rodney Sterling is one of your top instructors."
"I would have never trusted him with you. I wouldn't have let him take you on the track, not even once. Never. Not in a thousand years—"
He broke off as she started laughing. He had to be joking, she thought, had to be. But his expression didn't soften. It just grew stonier. "Cristiano." She tried to keep from smiling. He looked so grim right now, so autocratic. "He was a great teacher. And I learned a lot. Look. I'm driving. I'm driving an Fl car. And I'm still here. I'm alive."
"Something could have happened. You could have lost control—"
"I took the class you designed. I learned from the best. There were indoor lessons, track lessons. I wore a jumpsuit. A seat belt. I was completely safe."
"No one is ever completely safe."
"Now look who's talking!"
"I just know the dangers, Sam."
She shook her head, unable to believe how he'd changed his tune. When he was behind the wheel taking risks, it was fine. But when it was her, it wasn't? "You don't trust me."
"It's not a matter of trust."
"Yes, it is. You think you can take crazy risks and survive them. And I can't even take small risks—"
"I don't want you to take risks,"
"Life is full of risks, Cristiano! You and I both know that, but weren't you also the one that taught me to seize life. Live it. Charge the battle?"
He looked at her, carefully, expression intense, agonized, revealing a depth of emotion he let few see. "You hate cars, bella”
"I know." She swallowed, and bit her lip, suddenly shy. "But I love you more than I hate cars, so I decided I'd try to face my fears and take some risks."
He caught her chin in his hand, and leaning into the car, kissed her, "These were some significant fears, bella. Ones that made you leave me."
"I don't want to lose you, Cristiano. I don't want to let you go, not without a fight." Tears filled her eyes and she reached up, touched his face lightly, lovingly, wonderingly. For three months she'd missed him and missed him and the missing would never have gone away. "Please give me a chance to fight for you." Her fingers brushed his cheekbone and then down to his mouth. "Please give me a chance—"
"Bella, I think you've got it"
"You have to know I love you. I love you and Gabby and the two of you are my family. And I'd do anything for my family, anything to keep my family together. Please—"
"Done."
"Done?"
He hauled her out of the car. Pulled her against him, his arms wrapping securely around her. "We're yours. ‘I’m yours."
"You don't believe in love—"
"I lied. I need yours"
That settled it. Sealed the deal. She'd loved him ever since he'd trudged through the snow, building a snowman without gloves with Gabriela in Cheshire, but this, this is what she needed to hear. Selfish as it was, she needed to know he loved her for her. That he wanted her. Samantha Anne Hill, for no other reason than he loved her.
"You have it," she said, leaning against him, wrapping her arms around his lean torso and kissing him. "For the next fifty years. At home, in your corporate office, on the jet, at the track, in the pit—"
"Ahem." He coughed, cleared his throat. "Maybe home and the jet's enough. I don't think I could concentrate enough to win a race if you're down on the track, or in the pit'
"What about the corporate office?'
"What about the nursery at home?" He teased, hazel-green eyes glinting- "Maybe you need a baby to keep you busy since Gabby is getting so independent."
She blushed, smiled, cheeks hot. "I could get used to the idea of a baby,"
"And maybe in a year or so with a baby in the house, I won't need to travel so much,"
"You don't mean that."
"But I do. I'm having a great year—I've never done better— but at the end of the season I'm going to take some time off, concentrate on my driving schools for a while,"
"Why?"
He caressed her warm cheek with his thumb. ‘I’m thinking about retiring."
Sam pushed away from his chest, looked up at him. "Retire? Now? Just when I'm getting into the racing scene?"
Cristiano laughed and pulled her close again, his lips covering hers, taking her breath in a long, slow head-spinning kiss. "Exactly what I was afraid of." He kissed her once more. "Before I know it you'll be camping out at the track trying to get all the drivers' autographs."
She grinned. "I don't think that's going to happen. Not if I've got you at home." She leaned toward him and kissed him, and as she kissed him the laughter faded, replaced by fierce determination, the kind of determination that comes from knowing what matters most in the world. "Just come home and make us a real family again. That's all I want—all I'll ever want. Not things. Not fame. Not fortune. Just family,"
“ Our family”.
"Exactly”.