Page 82 of Away We Go

I shake my head, thinking of all the photographers who have been plaguing me all weekend. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’re following me everywhere. The last thing I need is to add fuel to any of these stories. Can you imagine if they get a photo of the two of us together?” I say to Patrick. “Then, all of a sudden, I’m cheating on Nicky with his teammate.”

He chuckles at the picture I’m painting and I scowl at him. I’m not trying to be funny here.

“There will be the three of us,” he points out. “Maybe it will help get the heat off you two. Showing you’re just a friend of the team and nothing more.”

“Come on, Cherry. Please.” This comes from Serena, who has been cooped up with me all weekend, like the best friend she is. I know she’s been dying to get out and explore but has missed the chance because of my unfortunate…circumstances.

My resolve weakens as I look into their puppy dog eyes. In my mind, it’s a toss-up between going out with my bestie and the cute Frenchman or sitting alone in my hotel room eating room service.

“Fine,” I cave. “But whatever we do, it needs to be low-key.”

They beam matching smiles at me and Patrick nods. “Let’s meet in the lobby at 7.00 p.m. and go from there.”

I’m already regretting my decision to do this, but I keep it to myself. Offering them both a tight smile instead, I nod. “Good luck for the race today.”

When they are both out of sight, no doubt patting themselves on the back at their victory, my smile drops and I turn to find Nicky watching me. He’s on the other side of the garage, and even from this distance, I can see the way his eyes zero in on the bruise on my cheek, the way his lips tip down at the sight of it.

Not wanting to distract him from the race ahead, I turn on my heel and hightail it out of there. The whole point of agreeing tostay away from each other was to make things better, but from where I’m standing, things only feel much, much worse.

Does Nicky feel the same way?

• • • • •

“The race went from bad to worse for Nicky,” Patrick tells me as we stand with Serena, waiting for the lift to arrive. All our rooms are on the same floor and we bumped into each other in the hallway, on our way down to meet.

“Yeah,” I sigh. Nicky starting P9 was bad enough. But him finishing way down and out of the points was unheard of. It’s like everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

“His head wasn’t properly in the game today.”

I don’t agree. Nicky is and always has been a racing driver first. Never once in his long career had he let himself be distracted. To be anything other than one hundred per cent focussed.

“Everyone’s allowed to have a bad day,” I say as Serena nods, glaring at the man next to us to shut up.

“So, where are we going?” I ask to change the subject. My stomach is rolling as I play and re-play Nicky’s race in my mind. It really was that bed.

The lift opens to the lobby and Patrick guides me out with his arm around my shoulder. We’ve not taken two steps when we’re confronted with a looming Nicky, standing at reception, his eyes narrowing at the sight of us.

“Oh, boy,” Patrick mutters under his breath.

We stand still like we’re suspended in time, with Serena shuffling nervously behind us, waiting to see what happens next. I watch Nicky’s eyelids flicker and a muscle jump in his cheek, and my breath gushes out when he turns away.

“Nicky—”

I take a step in his direction and Serena stops me with a firm grip on my arm. “I wouldn’t.” She gestures to the people mulling around, some watching us with interest, a few with their phone cameras at the ready. “Better to not do that here.”

I swallow and nod. She’s right. Me going to Nicky right now is exactly the kind of drama the tabloids are dying to get their grubby hands on.

“Let’s go.” Patrick ushers me towards a side entrance and the three of us duck outside, sighing in relief when there are no photographers lingering there, waiting to catch us.

“Where are we going?” I ask again as we move away from the hotel. We walk along the river, blending in with the crowds of tourists still milling about after the race.

“We thought we’d keep it simple.” He points to a large open space up ahead of us set up with tables in the middle surrounded by a dozen food trucks. The atmosphere is casual and light and is exactly what I feel like doing tonight.

“I love it.”

Serena grins. “We were hoping you’d say that.”

We do a lap of the food trucks, weighing our options before snagging a table in the middle of the action while we make our decision. The air is thick with delicious aromas from around the globe, and the choice of what to eat tonight feels almost impossible.

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