“If he is truly a friend, then he will not stay mad with you.”
“It’s not black and white like that,” she muttered, crossing her arms across her chest. “His ego’s wounded. His feelings are hurt.”
“Oh, diddums,” Leo drawled, without any real sympathy.
“Don’t be banal. Don’t act as though this doesn’t matter.”
He sobered. “I understand you’re upset. I’m sorry. I thought that I would back you up. That the ends would justify the means.”
“And what ‘end’ is that?”
He put his arms around her waist, locking his fingers together in the sway of her back. “That we will be on a plane tomorrow, bound for a faraway country. That you can relax and have a holiday, and we can be together again.”
She shook her head. “You’re making it sound too easy.”
“It is easy.” He pressed his lips to hers lightly, and pulled away again almost immediately. “Listen to yourself… Don’t doubt us.”
A sound of rocks scattering underfoot alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone. As Aurora turned around, she had a glimpse of bright white, and an auburn bun.
“Oh, God. Bea!” She lifted the hem of her dress and ran after her best friend. Her legs were longer and she was in good shape. She caught up with Bea at the entrance to the house. “Bea, listen.”
“So it’s true?”
Leonardo was right behind her, a hand on hers, offering comfort and reassurance. “Yes, Beatrice, it’s true.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she muttered angrily, her eyes not leaving Aurora’s face. “Two years?” It was a question loaded with accusation.
Aurora nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Yes.”
“How the hell did you keep it from me?” She shook her head. “Scratch that. Why the hell did you keep it from me?”
“I didn’t realise we needed your approval,” he drawled with obvious impatience.
Aurora spun around to Leonardo, her face a mask of silent disapproval. “Please stop helping me now.”
He grinned despite the obviously stressful situation. “I’ll be quiet.”
“I’m waiting,” Beatrice snapped, her arms crossed in front of her.
Aurora ran a hand through her hair. She noticed, distractedly, that it was getting cool. “It all happened very quickly. I was in Monaco for a fashion shoot and he was racing. We ran into each other…”
“And what?”
“And went for dinner.” She shrugged. “It was perfectly innocent. Leo is your brother. You’re my best friend.”
“That’s sort of the point I’m making.”
“I know, I know.” She sucked in a deep breath. “We would have both walked away that night…”
“But we fell in love.” Leo interjected, then held his hands up in apology when Aurora fixed him with another angry glare.
“He’s right,” she admitted begrudgingly. “We fell in love. It happened really, really fast.”
“I can’t believe you kept this from me for two whole years.”
“I know. I hated it. I hated that we couldn’t share it with you. Believe it or not, we were trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” She demanded. “Explain how you thought lying to me was in any way in my best interest.”
“Well, we wanted to stop you from getting caught in the middle if we broke up. Which we did.”
“I wouldn’t have been caught in the middle. Not for long. I mean, God, guys. How many times did we see each other in those two years?” She turned her attention to her brother. “How many times did we see each other in those two years?” Her eyes slid angrily back to Aurora. “You know everything about me, Rors. If I so much as break a nail I call you to discuss it.”
Aurora couldn’t help the small laugh that burst from her lips. She clamped a hand over them and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. Nothing about this is funny.”
“Damned right.” Beatrice narrowed her gaze. “So you broke up?”
“Yes. Three and a half years ago.”
Beatrice did the math. “Around the time of your accident.” She slapped a hand against her forehead. “Oh, right. Around the time you quit modelling. How did I not see this?”
“We were very good at hiding our tracks,” Leo chimed in, being intentionally unhelpful now.
“Obviously.” Beatrice took in a deep breath. “And now?”
Aurora looked at Leonardo. “We’re still working out the details.”
“What are the details? What do you mean?”
Aurora opened her mouth to speak but clamped it shut again.
Leonardo put an arm around Aurora’s waist and pulled her to his side. “The last thing I want to do is offend the bride, but it’s really none of your business.”
Beatrice glared at him for a full minute and then shrugged. “You’re right.”
She began to walk off, and Aurora moved to follow her. Leonardo called after her. “Leave it.”
“No.” She shook off his hand and chased her friend. “Listen, Bea.” She moved in front of the bride to halt her progress. “I love you. Right now, you’re the one I care about. It was wrong to keep our relationship from you. But I was nineteen when I met him. I was basically a kid. It caught me off guard and I handled it badly. When we broke up, I knew it would only burden and sadden you to know the truth, and so I continued to keep it secret. And now…. We’re still working out what’s going on. I know only one thing for certain. I would have told you the truth this time, as soon as I knew there was something to tell.”
Beatrice nodded. “I want to believe you. But you lied to me so well and for so long Aurora, that I just don’t.”
Beatrice took a few steps away from her and then paused. “I’m going on my honeymoon tomorrow. We can talk when I get back.”
Aurora swallowed her sob as she turned and moved back to Leonardo. He was leaning against a pillar of the house, his face cast into shadow by the moonlight. “Is she angry?”
Aurora winced. “On a scale of one to ten, she’d be about a thousand.”
“She’s always had a bit of a temper. Let her cool off. She’ll get over this.”
She shook her head and finally gave into the tears of bitter regret that had been burning her throat. “This is a disaster.”
“No.” He pulled her to him and kissed her lips, slowly and hungrily. “It’s not a disaster. This is the first night of the rest of our lives. I love you, S.B, with everything I have, I worship and adore you. Trust that it will work out for us this time.”
She was devastated that she’d had fights with two close friends in the space of ten minutes, but, ridiculously, she couldn’t help smiling. “I do.” And when she kissed him back, it conveyed every single one of her precious hopes, dreams and a begging desire not to be emotionally battered again.
8
The day of the Grand Prix began with a crisp sky over Melbourne, and a sun that was beating almost relentlessly. Aurora patiently and methodically halved oranges in the kitchen, and placed them in a large bowl. When she had done a whole bag, she flicked the switch on the juicer and began to press each half, one by one, down on the needle.
The sound was like metal being chipped through concrete. Loud and insistent. Orange the color of liquid gold ran from the spout, filling a glass jug. Aurora took great pleasure from the simplicity of the task, despite the fact she didn’t drink orange juice.
“Morning.” Leonardo appeared from the bedroom of their luxurious penthouse with a confident smile on his handsome face. He was wearing his team shirt and a pair of jeans, and his dark hair was combed back. She swallowed the lump of anxiety and forced a calm smile to her own face.
“Morning to you,” she said, quickly turning back to the juicer and lifting another piece of fruit in place. “Would you like juice?”
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” He walked into the kitchen and kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine!” She said, over-brightly, in a way that left him in little doubt that she was anything but.
“I am going to see you late tonight. I will be tired, but I will kiss you, and tomorrow, when you wake up, I am going to make love to you. Slowly. Quickly. Desperately.”
Her heart pounded against her chest, her fingers shook. “I know.”
“Do not be worried, S.B. I have done this more often than I can say.”
“I know that too.” She pulled her lip between her teeth and lifted yet another piece of fruit to the machine. “But if you’re not going to have anything to eat, please go. I’m working really hard to hold it together until you leave.”
“And then what?” He interrogated softly, his eyes searching.
“And then I’ll become a nervous wreck until I see you again.”
There was so much Leonardo wanted to say, but he knew none of it would help. Getting the race finished and returning to her safely was the only cure for her concern. And it wasn’t really a cure. It was a patch. Until the next race. A wall of guilt seemed to build, brick by brick, within him. He tried to ignore it, but it was there.
“Amaro is downstairs,” he said after a pulse of silence had passed, referring to the team manager. “I have to meet the others.” He strode out of the kitchen with the appearance of ease, pausing at the door. “Let’s go to that French restaurant for dinner tomorrow?”
She knew what he was doing, because he had done it in the past. He was helping her see past the race day, to something they would soon be enjoying together. It didn’t work, but she let him think it did. “Sure, that sounds great. Be safe, Leo. I’m counting on you to come back to me.”
“Wild horses…”
It wasn’t wild horses Aurora was worried about. It was horse power, and hundreds of it at that. Open top racing had to be the most fool-hardy sport in the world. She’d heard somewhere along the line that rock fishing was actually considered to be the most dangerous, but surely nothing could compare to the sight of a loved one folded into a precision speed machine, hurtling around a bitumen track amongst dozens of other car-bullets, with only a helmet for protection.
For approximately one minute, she contemplated watching the race on television. But memories of the last race she’d fully watched kept flashing back to her. She flicked the screen on long enough to see Leonardo in his racing gear, and then flicked it off. She couldn’t watch.
She grabbed her bag and headed out into the city centre. A silver lining to the Grand Prix was that most of the city’s inhabitants were at the track, leaving the shops deserted. She headed straight to a high-end strip of boutiques and pushed inside gratefully.
If there was one place she could count on being safe from anything to do with the race, it was at Prada.
“Aurora Jones?” The slight man with a baldhead and stylish beard approached her swiftly, his feet making a squeaking noise on the shining tile floor. “It is you?”
Her usual practice of sending a ‘back off’ vibe to anyone who recognised her disappeared. She was so desperate to be kept busy that she smiled back. “Hi. Do I know you?”
“No!” He laughed good-naturedly. “I’m sorry. I recognise you, of course. You did our Spring campaign in two thousand and….”
“Four years ago,” she said with a curt nod.
“You were one of my favourite models.” He shook his head. “You are one of my favourite models.”
“Not anymore. Today I’m just a customer.”
It served its purpose of jolting him back into the moment. “Right. Assolutamente. What can I help you with?”
She had no need for clothes. She was sent the pick of the season from designers wanting her to feature them on her blog. And yet she bought, and she bought and she bought. Clothes for herself, presents for her parents, a scarf for Peter, a cashmere sweater for Beatrice, sunglasses for Alec because she knew he’d lost his playing polo several weeks earlier. But she bought nothing for Leonardo. It was superstitious, but she had the strangest sense that it might jinx him. So she thought of everyone but him.
“I can have these parcels sent to your hotel,” the shop assistant said after she’d paid.
Aurora took one glance at the pile of white boxes and grimaced. “I think that’s wise. I had no intention of buying so much.”
“No one ever intends to buy. It is the power of Prada, no?”
“Assolutamente,” she responded with a wink. She gave him the name of the hotel, omitting the room number, for the concierge would take care of the delivery.
Despite having offloaded a small fortune in the boutique, the sun was still high in the sky. And so she saw a movie. And then shopped a little more. And then indulged in a feast of noodles and stir-fried vegetables.
It wasn’t until she walked past a bar with the race on the screens that she stole herself to go inside. She slipped in, her hat low on her head and her glasses in place. She didn’t bother to order a drink. Her anxiety was too profound. She slid into a booth and stared at the colourful pixels.
The race was almost over.
She’d made it just in time.
She saw Leonardo Fontana cross the finish line first, a clear car body ahead of his closest rival.
And so, he’d won.
She was fascinated by the experience of watching him on screen, and seeing him as others might. So confident and handsome; so highly skilled and good at his game. He ripped his helmet off and ran into his crew, his smile wide, his arms aloft. He hugged the team manager and a team mate, and then turned to the camera that was following his every move and winked deliberately at the camera.
She felt her stomach turn over. The wink, she was absolutely certain, was for her benefit. But it was not the wink she noticed. It was his jubilation. His joy. His complete delight.
He loved racing in a way she couldn’t understand, for she’d never loved anything with the same total devotion. But she loved Leonardo, and that meant supporting him, even if it cost her personally.
She reached into her bag and fished out her phone. As she dialled Amaro’s number, she hoped against hope that the Ferrari manager hadn’t changed his details in the last few years. The phone rang and rang, and just as she was about to hang up, it went to Voicemail. “Amaro Conti. Leave a message.”
“Amaro,” she breathed into her mobile. “It’s Aurora. Jones. I’m in Melbourne. I’m coming to the track. Can you let security know? Oh. Don’t tell Leo.”
Right when she needed it most, everything seemed to work in her favour. A taxi arrived just as she put her hand up to hail one. The driver had an uncle who worked at the track and promised he’d be able to get her through a security cordon. True to his word, he did, taking her as close to the gates as traffic was allowed. “I can walk the rest. Thank you.” She threw a pile of notes at him and stepped out, making a bee-line for the nearest security guard.
It was a large man, with a yellow baseball cap and matching yellow shirt. “Hi,” she met him with her most winning smile. “I’m part of Team Ferrari.”
He looked her up and down in a way that made Aurora’s blood seethe. “Yeah, and I’m Father Christmas.”
She gritted her teeth. “Just call Amaro Conti.”
“Conti?” He looked down at his device and muttered something. “Have you got I.D?”
“I.D?” Her heart began to pound as she realised she was going to get there. She was going to be able to show Leo that she was with him. She grabbed her licence from her purse and held it out.
“Right this way.”
He opened a gate and unhooked a security tag for her. “Wear this. It’s all access. Don’t get lost on your way to Ferrari though.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
The Ferrari camp was in full celebration mode, arms in the air, champagne frothing into cups. But as soon as she walked in, Leo’s eyes seemed to find hers. He was talking to Amaro, but he bodily pushed the older man aside and ran towards Aurora. He had to put a hand on a row of chairs and jump his whole
body over them; he made it look easy.
“What are you doing here?”
Her breath was ragged, her cheeks were pink. “I had to come,” she grinned. “I love you, and that means that I love all of you. Even that parts I hate.”
He nodded. “I thought I’d won half an hour ago…Now I truly know what victory feels like.”
She stood on tiptoes so that she could kiss him. Oblivious to the people watching with muted curiosity, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted his race cap off. “You did win, and I am proud of you for it.”
He pulled back, and took the cap from her hands, placing it on top of her head. “You are a very important part of my team, you know.”
“I do know.” She leaned up so that she could whisper in his ear. “Hurry up and get that trophy so that we can go home. I’ve got big plans for you, champion.”
* * *
The celebrations raged late into the night, but Leonardo did not stay for them. One obligatory champagne so that he could be photographed and then he gripped Aurora’s wrist and squeezed it. “Ready to go?”
She nodded, but her eyes were uncertain. “I don’t want to pull you away…”
“You’re not pulling me away. You’re pulling me to right where I want to be.” His lips twisted in a seductive smile and her heart turned in her chest.
They arrived back at the penthouse to find a tower of white in their way.
“What the…”
“Distraction shopping,” she admitted guiltily. “It looks worse than it is.” She shook her head with a small laugh. “Actually, it looks every bit as bad as it was. I shop when I’m nervous. What can I tell you, Leo, this relationship could end up costing me a lot of money.”
He lifted the lid off the first box and pulled a slinky dress from it. “Your taste is impeccable, however.”
“Thank you.”
“Model it for me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A private showing.”
He moved into the lounge area of the penthouse and sat down in an armchair.
Clare Connelly Pairs: Warming the Sheikh’s Bed & Love in the Fast Lane Page 24