“So? What do you think?” Siena asks with a smile, leaning against the bedroom doorway as I look around, flabbergasted.
“I think...I’m the luckiest girl on the planet,” I say sincerely, turning to face the Italian beauty. “What are you, my fairy godmother or something?”
“Nope. Just a fellow F1 aficionado,” she laughs, “Looking to give an up-and-comer a hand. But if you want to think of me as your fairy godmother, I won’t stop you.”
“It’s official then,” I grin. Before I can think twice, I’ve wrapped Siena up in a huge hug. She’s a good bit taller than me, but then so is everyone. She returns my eager embrace warmly, and I find myself wondering if we might become friends someday, rather than just colleagues.
“I’ll let you get settled here,” she says, “You should have plenty of time to sleep off your jet lag before the party tomorrow night.”
“Thank god,” I breathe, “I could definitely fall asleep standing up right about now.”
“Try and stay up for a few more hours,” she advises, “You’ll be sorted out in no time.”
I’m about to reply when a high pitched giggle cuts through the air between us. Siena and I turn toward the small balcony that leads off the bedroom, overlooking the pool and patio. With one eyebrow firmly cocked, Siena marches across the room and throws open the doors that lead outside. I peer around her just in time to see a gorgeous woman swan dive into the swimming pool, where a second babe treads water, giggling as a splash of water brushes against her tanned skin. It would seem that a very different sort of party is already underway at the Lazio villa.
“Were you boys going to invite me to join the fun?” Siena calls, leaning over the railing of the balcony.
“Hey there, babe!” calls a boisterous, British-accented voice. “Come on down. The water’s great.”
I peer around Siena, casting my gaze over the poolside scene. A handsome blonde man is waving up at my new boss, and I recognize him immediately as Harrison Davies, her husband. Their romance was quite the F1 scandal-turned-fairytale a couple years back. Siena was still Team Ferrelli’s PR manager when Harrison burst out onto the F1 scene as the lead driver for the English Team McClain. I remember watching that dramatic World Championship unfold from my bedroom in Brooklyn, crushing Alec’s hand in my own through most of it. There was more than one untimely death, several terrible crashes, and even an incident of sloppy blackmailing. Not to mention the Romeo and Juliet-style romance of Siena Lazio and Harrison Davies, the star-crossed lovers turned F1 royal couple. I get all misty just thinking about it.
“Who’s that mountain man next to you, Harrison?” Siena teases, bringing me back to the present. “He looks downright feral.”
“I’ll give you one guess,” says a rich, measured voice from below, just out of my range of vision. Call me crazy, but I swear I know that voice...
Peeping down toward the pool, I spot a second man stretched out on a lounge chair, wearing nothing but black swim trunks that hang dangerously low on his tapered waist. His olive skin is unblemished, his torso the picture of sculpted tone. Good god...I’ve never seen a perfect six pack before. Not to mention those perfect pecs, the cut biceps, and of course the muscular v of his hips. His jet black hair is pushed back away from his face, which sports a full, thick beard. It’s the facial hair that throws me off at first, but when he lifts the aviator sunglasses off of his face, it finally hits me.
That’s Enzo Lazio.
Like a skittish teenager, I leap backwards, darting out of sight. My heart is pounding uncontrollably, and my hands begin to shake. A crashing wave of adrenaline leaves me helpless in its wake. What the hell is the matter with me?
“I didn’t know you were back already,” Siena calls down to her brother. “Did you get your fill of tromping around through the mountains?”
“Had to get back for the party, right?” Enzo calls back, his very voice sending thrills down my spine. “You would have cut me down off the family tree if I missed it.”
“I still might cut you lose unless you shave that beard,” Siena laughs. “Hold on, I’ll be right down.” She turns away from the balcony and spots me huddled behind the door. Her eyebrows shoot up as I smile back warily. “Do you want to come meet the guys?” she asks, “And whatever girls Enzo’s carted over here for the afternoon?”
“I...uh...” I sputter, running a hand through my mussed-up hair.
“Come on, they’ll love you!” she encourages me.
“I’m not feeling too fresh after that flight, to be honest,” I finally manage to spit out. “Don’t want to make a bad first impression.” What I really mean is, I don’t want to be wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie the first time Enzo Lazio sees me.
“Suit yourself,” Siena shrugs, heading for the door. “But if you get lonely up here, feel free to come join us!”
“Will do,” I tell her. Though I know for a fact that I won’t. Not until I’ve had a chance to sleep off the bags under my eyes.
Siena leaves me alone in my new bedroom, and I immediately creep back over to the balcony. From my hiding place, I peer down at the patio once more. My eyes are drawn immediately to Enzo Lazio’s reclining body. If I spent the next ten years staring at him, I still don’t think I’d be able to get my fill. His cut, sculpted form is a work of art. Truly. I feel every bit like the smitten super fan, star struck before her idol. I blush, remembering the sexy fantasy that occupied my mind during my recent transatlantic flight. Seeing Enzo now, in the flesh, I realize how foolish it would be to think he’d ever want to be with someone like me. Not when he’s got model types at his beck and call, as seems to be the case.
I watch as Siena appears on the patio and greets Harrison Davies with a steamy kiss. My heart melts a little, seeing the two of them together. They’ve always appeared to be the perfect couple in their TV appearances and the like, it’s nice to see that they’re just as lovely off-camera.
“Get a room, you two,” Enzo groans from his chair.
Another volley of giggles rings out across the terrace. The two unfamiliar women in attendance—blonde, leggy beauties, both of them—are perched at the edge of the pool, practically sitting at Enzo’s feet. He doesn’t pay them much mind, but I still feel unreasonably jealous. I guess that Enzo’s playboy reputation is rooted in fact, after all. I can’t help but be a little disappointed. Not that I have any right to be. I guess I was halfway hoping that the stories about his hedonistic ways would just be rumors. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.
Without warning, Enzo springs up from his lounge chair and cannonballs into the pool, sending a huge splash of water up in his wake. The two mystery women screech delightedly as their lithe bodies are soaked, and Harrison Davies cackles with glee. Even Siena seems amused by Enzo’s antics.
“You seem a bit more chipper after your little spirit quest,” Siena observes of her brother. “Glad to see that some time off did you good.”
“Did me better than good,” Enzo grins, rivulets of water coursing down over his smoking hot body.
“I can see that,” I whisper from my hiding place, my eyes transfixed by his every impeccably shaped muscle. I can’t help but wonder about that other muscle that’s hidden beneath his trunks. One little slip of that bathing suit, and he’d be on full display. Good god, my dirty thoughts refuse to be scrubbed away.
I maintain my post as Siena and Harrison settle down on lounge chairs themselves, making polite conversation with Enzo’s “friends.” From the open doors of the Lazio villa, Alfie comes running out onto the patio with a stunning, silver-haired woman on his heels. Though well into her sixties, she’s as graceful and poised as any woman I’ve seen up close. I can only guess that this is Camilla Lazio, wife of the late Alfonso, mother of Siena and Enzo. She nods with cool cordiality at the women that Enzo’s been halfheartedly entertaining, and they promptly say their farewells. I can’t say that I’m not a bit relieved to see them go.
Now it’s just the Lazio-Davies family hangin
g out down below. I could easily step out into their midst, make my introductions. But something stops me from doing so. I’m mesmerized by the sight of them—three generations of the same loving family. My heart twists painfully as I think of my brother Alec, all alone in New York, and of my parents, who never got to watch us grow up and start families of our own. I feel, suddenly, like an interloper. An intruder.
“It’s probably just the jet lag talking,” I assure myself, stepping away from the window at last. I undress, taking a moment to examine myself in the full-length mirror that stands against the wall.
My petite form, with its well-placed curves, is still a far cry from those of the women Enzo seems to go for. At least, if those willowy ladies from before were any indication of his type. But still, I’ve always liked my build. I may not be tall and statuesque, but my athletic body is lean and flexible, like a gymnast’s or a diver’s. I’ve had my fair share of boyfriends and hookups, and have always felt great in my skin when it comes to sex. I know how to please myself, how to get what I want in bed. I’ve been happy with my love life, or my sex life, anyway. Can’t say that I’ve ever really been in love myself.
But maybe that could change with a man like Enzo Lazio around?
You’ve just been asked to join one of the best F1 teams in the world, I remind myself, shucking on some comfy sweats. You should be thrilled, not jonesing for your future mentor. Get a grip already, would you?
It’s still early in the evening, but I can’t force my eyes to stay open for another minute. I crawl into the fluffy, welcoming queen bed and curl up into a tiny ball under the covers. I can’t bring myself to close the doors to the balcony and block out the sounds of happy voices below. Maybe, if I listen to the Lazio-Davies clan as I fall asleep, I’ll dream about being a part of their beautiful family. Instead of dreaming about Enzo hoisting me up onto the hood of a car and having his way with me.
“We shall see,” I murmur sleepily. “We shall see.”
Chapter Six
I sleep like a rock the whole night through, and wake up feeling a thousand times more refreshed. Since the sun has barely risen when I roll out of bed, I decide to break in my spa-like bathroom. I run myself a steaming hot bath, scenting it with lavender bath salts, and let the water caress my travel-sore muscles. I nearly fall asleep in the water, the soak is so relaxing. I still can’t believe that this is my life now, as a member of Team Ferrelli. The whole lap of luxury thing will take some getting used to, that’s for sure.
Knowing that I have a couple of hours to kill before the rest of the family even wakes up, I take my time making a cup of rich espresso on the stovetop. Wrapped up in my dad’s professor sweater and some black leggings, I take my coffee out onto the back porch, the cool morning air kissing my face. Settling onto a white wooden rocking chair, I treasure this moment of solitude. Living in Brooklyn, silence isn’t something I come across very often—so I intend to treasure whatever little slice of it I can get here.
Watching the sun come up over the hills, I try and quiet my mounting nerves. Tonight is the big bash for the whole of Team Ferrelli. In a few short hours, my new status as an affiliated driver will be announced to the world. My days of relative anonymity will be over. I have no idea what to expect from the rest of the F1 community. Will I be welcomed by my teammates, the media, the world at large? Or will people simply roll their eyes at the little girl playing dress up in her F1 racing jumpsuit?
Well, if they can’t take me seriously because I’m a woman, that’s their problem, I remind myself, draining the last of my coffee. I know I’m a good driver. And that’s what really matters.
Before I know it, the sun has crested over the horizon. A knock on the front door of the guest house takes me by surprise, and I hurry to answer it. It’s scarcely ten in the morning, Italian time, but I open the door to see Siena Davies, looking fresh and bright in a pencil skirt and white silk blouse. And she’s not alone, either. Beside her stands a tiny, pixie-like blonde with bright green eyes and a wicked half-smile. She’s rocking a cropped leather jacket, tight skinny jeans, and two-inch pumps. I’m suddenly quite a bit bashful about my chunky sweater.
“Morning, sunshine!” Siena greets me happily. “Hope we didn’t wake you.”
“No! Not at all,” I say quickly, embarrassed to be caught still nursing my cup of morning joe. “I think I managed to sleep off most of the jet lag. That bed is my new best friend, I think.”
“Oh. My. God,” says the blonde woman on my doorstep, green eyes sparkling with delight. “You are absolutely adorable! I love everything about you. Are those freckles year-round? Is that your natural hair color?”
“Ainsley, this is Bex Spano,” Siena says, nodding at the tiny spitfire. “She’s Team Ferrelli’s resident PR guru. And my best friend on the planet.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Spano,” I smile, extending my hand.
“Sorry, honey. I’m a hugger!” she exclaims, wrapping her slender arms around my sweater-clad torso. “I am going to have so much fun with you. And please, call me Bex.”
I look up at Siena for some clue as to how I might respond, but she just shakes her head with a loving smile. “We thought we’d start your media training bright and early, since the party is tonight,” she explains to me.
“Media training?” I ask, as Bex releases me from her bear hug.
“Oh god yes,” Bex replies, “You don’t think we’re going to thrust you out in front of the entire world of F1 without a few talking points, do you? Come on. Let’s get cracking.”
The two women bustle past me into the guest house, sweeping me along with their excited energy. I have to say, their enthusiasm is infectious. As overwhelming as this day is sure to be, I know I’m in good hands. I’ve never had too many close girlfriends, preferring the company of my brother and the rough-and-tumble neighborhood boys. But hanging out with Siena and Bex has me wishing I’d grown up with sisters, too.
“I have one very important question before we get into the nitty gritty stuff,” Bex says, planting her hands on her slender hips. “What are you going to wear tonight?”
“Oh,” I say, tugging on the sleeves of my sweater. “I...uh...have no idea.”
Bex stares at me blankly, trying to figure out whether or not I’m kidding. When it becomes clear that I’m dead serious, she takes a deep, steadying breath. “That’s cool,” she says, “That’s what I’m here for.” In a flash, she races out to her car and comes back laden with several garment bags. Siena intercepts her as she flies back in, ready to dress me up like a life-sized Barbie Doll.
“Whoa there, Tiger,” Siena laughs. “Let’s get Ainsley up to speed with what we have in mind, publicity-wise. Then we can talk outfits.”
“Oh, fine,” Bex pouts, gingerly setting down the selection of clothes. “Guess you have to eat your vegetables before you get dessert, huh?”
The three of us settle down in the cozy living room, and Siena gives me the rundown about her ideas for my place on Team Ferrelli. She wants to push the mentoring angle hard, which means I’ll be making all kinds of press appearances with Enzo before the season begins. I try to swallow my schoolgirl grin as I learn just how much time I’ll get to spend with my hunky teammate. But inside, I’m screaming with very unprofessional glee.
Siena goes on to emphasize just how important my role on Team Ferrelli will be, as a young woman. She’s the first female shareholder Ferrelli has ever had, and she takes her responsibilities very seriously. Siena is counting on me to pull my weight, not only as a team member, but as a fellow woman looking to make F1 a more inclusive sport.
“Trust me,” I assure her, “I’ve been dealing with sexist nonsense for over a decade as a driver. I’ll do anything I can to make it a little easier for all the other girls out there.”
“That’s the spirit,” Siena smiles.
“That’s a soundbite, is what it is,” Bex puts in. “You’re going to be such a natural talking to the press.”
“I’m
glad you think so,” I say nervously, “I don’t really have much practice minding my p’s and q’s.”
“Just try not to curse anyone out in front of the cameras, and you’ll be just fine,” Bex tells me. “And hell, if you slip up, don’t even worry about it. Siena punched a photographer one time, and the world still loves her.”
“To be fair, I was carrying the heir to the Lazio and Davies racing dynasties at the time,” Siena laughs.
“Still,” Bex presses on. “The media’s love can be won back in a heartbeat. Especially for a pretty girl like you, Ainsley.”
“Oh please,” I scoff, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I’m not that pretty.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Bex and Siena gasp in unison.
“You’ve got the scrappy-sexy thing down to a science. Just look at you!” Bex crows. “With those tight curves, and that amazing hair—”
“Easy does it, Bex,” Siena cuts in. “You’re making her blush.”
“To be fair, everything makes me blush,” I reply, though all this praise is boosting my confidence a bit.
“I’m just saying,” Bex goes on. “You’re super hot. So own that shit. Now, are we done talking about civic responsibility and all that jazz? I’ve got, like, twelve pairs of shoes I need you to try on.”
The game of dress up is on. Bex herds me upstairs and has me try on gown after gown for tonight’s affair. Short dresses, long dresses, bodycon numbers, and flowing bohemian robes, we try everything. I’ve never seen so many fine pieces of clothing up close. I’m halfway afraid to touch anything this nice. But reluctance is not something that Bex is willing to humor, so I soldier on anyway. Siena shakes her head at every single outfit I try on, not ready to settle for anything less than perfect.
“Wait. I have an idea,” she breathes, after what feels like hours. “Bex, do you have anything in emerald?”
Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel) Page 4