by BETH KERY
When reality had finally struck, anxiety came with it.
“Is that really the time?” she’d asked, her gaze landing on a bedside clock. “Oh my God, Vanni, we’ve been down here for hours. Niki must think we’re so rude. The others must wonder what we’re doing,” She’d started to scramble up from the bed, but Vanni had halted her with a hand around her wrist.
“They know what we were doing. We’re all adults. Besides, the yacht has been anchored for the past twenty minutes. Most of the guests have probably already gone back to shore.”
She’d blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Really,” he’d said dryly. “Besides, I told you it doesn’t matter what any of them think, Niki aside. And he’ll be happy.”
She’d fallen back on the bed, bracing herself with her elbows.
“Because you are?” she’d asked hopefully.
He’d pulled her to him again.
“Because I am.”
She glanced at Vanni’s profile now, drinking in his newfound peace as Mrs. Denis served them Raceday Bellinis, coffee, tea, fruit, toast, and freshly made pastries with cute little racing-flag toothpicks.
“Who will I sit with at the race?” Emma wondered after Mrs. Denis had bustled back inside.
“Me, I expect.”
She smiled and popped a grape in her mouth. “I thought you’d be away doing important racing things.”
“Anything that isn’t done before the race begins isn’t going to get done period.”
“And what should I wear?”
“I’m wearing what you see,” he said, spreading marmalade on some thick wheat toast.
“So it’s casual? I thought maybe we were supposed to wear our Sunday best and big hats or something.”
“This is the Montand grand prix, not the Kentucky Derby,” he said dryly.
“Right. A prince’s version of casual,” she said, glancing down over him with a smile.
* * *
She imagined Cristina was guiding her as she fingered through the clothing she’d inherited. Of all people, Cristina would have known she needed help. Feeling the festive mood of raceday, she settled on a flirty, fresh red halter sundress that fell just above her knees, along with a pair of black sandals. She looked through some of the accessories Dean Shaw’s wife had sent but couldn’t find anything in blue to accessorize in the Montand colors. She settled for a chic black-and-white watch. If she was to judge by Vanni’s warm, appreciative stare on her when he returned to pick her up later that day, she thought she’d hit the mark just right. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her.
“I dressed in the Montand car colors,” she told him with a grin.
His eyes had sparkled before he swooped down and kissed her surprisingly hard, taking away her breath. “You look like luck walking,” he’d said. She blinked when she felt him slide a velvet box into her hand. He just raised his brows expectantly when she gave him a surprised look.
“Oh my God, they’re gorgeous. And perfect! It’s the Montand colors,” she exclaimed when she opened the box and saw the sapphire, diamond, onyx, and ruby bracelet lying there along with a vintage-looking, flower-shaped sapphire ring. Vanni picked up the bracelet and looped it around her wrist.
“You dressed as if you knew you were getting them,” he said, fastening the clasp.
“I knew no such thing. Oh, it’s so pretty,” she said, twirling her wrist in the sunlight. He reached, immobilizing her hand, and slid the ring onto her finger. Her heart came to a dead stop.
“Thank you,” she whispered feelingly. He smiled. She put her arms around his neck. He pulled and she came off the stairs, fully into his arms. Their kiss left her breathless.
“I thought they would bring me luck,” Vanni said near her lips a moment later.
“For the race?”
He shook his head, his gaze warm on her face. “I bought them the day before you agreed to come to France. It worked. You came.”
* * *
Everything from that day struck her as a colorful, exciting, bright blur. Mrs. Denis rode with them to the main grandstand for the race, located on the outskirts of Villefranche-sur-Mer. As they drew closer to the circuit, the crowds of people walking, riding their bikes, and attempting to drive grew thick. Vendors with carts sold everything from sorbet to water to race flags. The atmosphere was electrical, and Emma couldn’t help but be caught up in the excitement. As an event organizer, Vanni had a pass to drive on the road to the huge grandstand that was erected at the starting and finish lines. Most of the people would watch the race at various sites along the route, roadside locations that had been designed with spectator safety in mind.
Mrs. Denis kissed Vanni and Emma, excitedly bidding Vanni good luck when they walked up the steps to the grandstand a while later; she would watch the race with some friends and family members elsewhere.
Vanni led them to a prime box located in the grandstands, one that was canopied and directly in front of the white finish line of the main arena racetrack. Apparently, the box was designated for the racing board and their friends and family. Estelle and Simon Fournier were already there, seated not in the metallic benches featured elsewhere in the grandstand, but in comfortable-looking deep chairs. Next to each chair was a table with an attached video screen. Determined to follow Vanni’s easy manner and not betray her embarrassment over what had happened on the yacht yesterday, Emma returned the couple’s greeting warmly. Vanni introduced her to the mustachioed man she’d seen at the dinner along with a regal-looking woman in her fifties, both of whom greeted her cordially. Emma almost immediately forgot their names, she was so distracted and excited by the energy in the air. A bar was set up in the back of the box, and caterers were busy laying out what appeared to be a lavish, gorgeously displayed lunch.
“Sit here,” Estelle Fournier insisted while Vanni went to get them drinks. Feeling she had no other choice, Emma sat in the chair Estelle indicated next to her. Estelle looked extremely beautiful in a sophisticated yet simple ivory sundress that set off the tan she’d gotten yesterday on the yacht. “The South of France agrees with you,” Estelle said, her gaze dropping over Emma’s figure shrewdly.
“Or something does,” Simon agreed with a warm, knowing smile and a glance back at Vanni.
“Do be quiet, Simon,” Estelle snapped coolly. “You’re embarrassing the girl.”
Emma was more embarrassed for Estelle’s sharp tongue than she was for anything Simon had said. She was glad when three or four others joined the group in the box, distracting her from the Fourniers’ marital discord. Vanni appeared a moment later with their drinks—a punch they had prepared at the bar—and took a seat next to her.
“Feeling lucky, Van?” Simon asked briskly.
“Very,” Vanni replied, his gaze on the track, his hand closing briefly on Emma’s thigh.
“I don’t think I ever heard how you two met,” Estelle said, sipping her drink.
“Emma is a nurse. She cared for Cristina,” Vanni said, his clipped tone and the manner that he continued staring out at the arena track not inviting further inquiry. Emma looked out to the track, too, when she heard some applause and the roar of engines. The drivers were taking their marks. Vanni pointed and she saw the red, blue, black, and white Montand car.
“You want to be down there, don’t you?” Estelle asked, studying Vanni’s profile as an announcer began to speak in French on the arena sound system and the noise level increased from the crowd.
“Down there?” Emma asked, confused.
“Leading Niki’s team. In the pits,” Estelle said.
She turned to Vanni. “You’re usually down in the pits?” she asked him.
Vanni threw Estelle a vaguely annoyed glance. “Sometimes. Not always.”
“Usually,” Estelle said pointedly, taking a bite out of the lemon from her drink with flashin
g white teeth.
At that moment, her concern about what Estelle had said was dampened by Dean and Michelle Shaw’s arrival. They rose up the steps to the box, both of them out of breath and looking very eager. They greeted Emma and immediately took their seats. The drivers were being announced. Emma recognized the names of several drivers she’d met in the past few days, trying to take note of the number and car announced with their name. She clapped extrahard when she heard Niki’s name, the manic excitement of the event spreading to her. The stands were now packed. She could see that the road leading off the center arena to the main circuit was packed on both sides with people.
“The pace car is off,” Vanni said quietly next to her, obviously remembering that she didn’t speak French. Emma sat forward in her seat, following the car at which Vanni pointed. “It’ll lead the drivers through the circuit once,” he said, “getting them up to pace. The drivers can’t leave their lanes or pass the pace car until the pace car leads them across the starting line and the flag is waved,” Vanni explained, pausing to switch on the video monitor next to him as the drivers exited the main arena. His manner was intent and focused.
“How long will the race last?”
“The best clocked time so far was two hours, fourteen minutes, thirty point two seconds set by Niki during time trials,” he said, staring at the screen. Her heart went out to him when she recognized his barely leashed excitement.
“Vanni,” she said softly.
He glanced up at her.
“Is it too late for you to go to the pits?”
“No, but what’s—”
“I think you should go,” she interrupted softly. He gave her an incredulous glance. “You’re usually in the pits when you’re around for one of Niki’s races, aren’t you?” she said, giving him a fond, remonstrative look.
“Don’t pay any attention to Estelle,” his said with quiet disdain, his voice muted by the cheers of people for miles around reverberating off the mountainside.
“I’m not. I’m thinking of you. I should have realized you would have wanted to be in the thick of things. You came to the stands today because of me, didn’t you?” She saw the slight give in his expression and knew that said she’d spoken the truth. “Go on,” she urged. “It’ll do Niki good to know you are there. And Dean and Michelle are here. They’ll keep me company,” Emma added when he opened his mouth to protest.
“All right,” he said suddenly. He saw her smile and leaned over to kiss her. “I’ll come back here to get you after the race,” he said quietly near her lips a moment later.
“Good luck, Gearhead,” she whispered.
“One more shot of it,” he growled quietly, kissing her hard once more. He met her stare when they broke apart a moment later.
“You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Yes. Go,” she laughed.
In the distance, she heard the roar of the approaching engines. The crowd in the main stands began to stand and cheer. Vanni’s small but unguarded smile and the spark of excitement in his blue-green eyes made the sacrifice of his presence more than worth it.
Everyone in the box began to stand as the cars tore into the main arena, zooming toward the starting line. Vanni said something in Dean’s ear and Dean nodded. The cars began their first lap to a deafening cheer, and Vanni was jogging down the flight of steps. Emma watched him go, a dazed, happy feeling swelling inside her.
“Potent stuff, isn’t it?” Estelle asked quietly from beside her, taking a large swallow of her drink. The beautiful French woman nodded in the direction where Vanni had just disappeared. Emma gave her an arch look.
“Maybe you should go easy on it, then,” Emma said, nodding significantly at the potent raceday punch in her hand. Estelle was on her second glass.
Estelle laughed. “So . . . there is a little more to you than the girl next door?” she said as they sat again. “I figured there must be, to keep Vanni interested for more than an hour. He’s notoriously dissatisfied with women, you know.”
“Did it take him all of an hour with you?”
Estelle snorted into her drink. This time when she smiled, Emma thought it was genuine. A cheer went up in the distance. She turned on her monitor, too excited about the outcome of the race to be overly concerned by Estelle taking a bat at her with her claws.
The drivers were on their third lap. Several cars flew past the picturesque harbor. Niki appeared to be in second place with a green and gold car she recognized as Mario Acarde’s just inches ahead of him. It seemed the Formula One drivers were having a blazing start. Her heart seized slightly when they took a harrowing turn, seemingly not slowing down at all. The car in third place tried to use the turn to gain position on Niki, but scraped against the inside wall, bumping Niki. Emma gasped and placed her hand on her heart as if to contain it in her chest as she watched Niki regain control masterfully.
“Miguel Franco,” Estelle said. She’d leaned over and was watching Emma’s monitor with her. “You’d never guess he was so ruthless having met him, would you?” she asked drolly. Emma shook her head, recalling the polite, quiet-spoken Brazilian driver she’d met yesterday on Niki’s yacht. Then again, Miguel Franco would have to have some fire in him to deal with his gorgeous, flirtatious wife Vitoria on a daily basis. Niki hadn’t only recovered from Marco’s aggressive move, he’d managed to inch up on Mario. By the time they roared into the main arena, he and Mario were neck and neck.
Emma watched the next several laps with Estelle in quiet awe, getting a feel for the tricky course and gaining a huge respect for the subtle skills and monumental courage of the drivers. Her heart was beating very fast, just watching on the monitor. She’d thought Niki had been teasing her when he was so cavalier about the dangerousness of the sport, but she now realized he’d been downplaying just how harrowing this road race really was.
“Do they crash a lot on these type of races?” Emma asked Estelle shakily.
“All the time,” Estelle said, taking a drink.
“But they’re not usually . . . deadly?”
“Not usually, no,” Estelle said offhandedly.
Emma didn’t find that very reassuring.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know. In regard to Vanni, I mean.” Emma blinked in surprise, realizing Estelle was casually returning to their earlier topic. The twentieth lap had just finished. People in the box were starting to stand up and get food, and Simon had joined them at the back of the box. “Vanni would never look twice at me. He’s very particular that way.”
“What way?” Emma asked blankly.
“He doesn’t . . . associate with married women. I have a cousin who knows him well. Apparently he’s fastidious about avoiding married women because his father was a philanderer. He’s dead set against interfering in marital bliss,” Estelle said, her mouth curling derisively. “No matter how unblissful the marriage. Very moral.”
“Very inconvenient. For you,” Emma added with a rueful smile.
Estelle looked a little startled at her honesty, but then met her stare. “Definitely not the girl next door,” she murmured speculatively. “Still, I’d watch myself. Vanni isn’t the type to settle down any more than he’s the kind to get involved with a married woman. I know that for a fact from my cousin as well.” She glanced distractedly toward the arena as the cars rounded the main track again. “Oh . . . here she is now,” Estelle said suddenly, smiling and waving. Emma looked at what had caught her attention, her mouth dropping open in disbelieving recognition.
“Astrid,” Estelle called excitedly. Men and women alike in the stands did a double take at the stunning woman with the long, flowing black hair as she ascended the steps. In the four-inch platform sandals she wore, she must have been close to six feet tall. She definitely could have stopped traffic wearing a short blue-and-white-striped dress that optimally showed off tanned, smooth legs and full breasts strain
ing against tight cotton. Against her will, Emma had to admit that the statuesque beauty and Vanni must have looked amazing together.
She’d seen them together, Emma realized, feeling a little nauseated. She’d seen them together at a very private moment. And they had looked amazing.
That only increased the roiling sensation in her belly. Vanni had said their relationship would be exclusive during their five weeks together, and she’d believed him. She hadn’t thought about what that implied—if anything—to Astrid.
Astrid entered the box, her gaze skimming over Emma and clearly finding her insignificant. She stepped right past her to embrace Estelle. Emma stood, all too glad to move over into Vanni’s seat next to Michelle Shaw and give Astrid the one next to her cousin. Michelle greeted Emma warmly and moved her monitor so they could share. Emma was growing accustomed to Estelle’s frequently vicious tongue, but she didn’t have to always be on her guard with Michelle.
She was uncomfortably aware of the two women chattering away in rapid French next to her, especially when she specifically recognized Vanni’s name mentioned by Astrid. Estelle replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Astrid whip her head around and glare pointedly in Emma’s direction.
“Just ignore her,” Michelle said quietly. Their heads were close together as they leaned in to watch the same screen. Emma looked up with just her eyes and saw the older woman was regarding her with a small, knowing smile. “I noticed how you tensed up when you saw her just now. She’s about as important to him as what’s on the dinner menu. And at least until recently, Vanni had a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about food.”
Emma gave her a grateful smile. She appreciated the show of support. But it wasn’t that she was worried about Vanni being overly interested in Astrid. She’d heard him tell the fiery beauty firsthand, after all, that sex was all he could give her. The reason she was troubled by Astrid’s appearance was that she was reminded in a jarring fashion that she—Emma—was in the same boat as Astrid. She’d agreed, just as Astrid had, to a sexual affair. The only difference in her case was that she’d put the time limit on it. Otherwise, she and Astrid had more in common than it was comfortable for her to think about.