Page 20 of Racing Hearts
“So, tell me, how does Éliott feel about this little arrangement?” Luca looked incredibly pleased with himself, like he’d unearthed a deep, dark secret.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
Luca’s voice was casual, but I could tell he’d been wanting to ask about it. The assumption that Éliott and I were dating was a common one, and quite frankly, it drove me bananas. As my brother’s best friend, he was a constant staple in my life, and I wasn’t going to forgo his friendship because the press couldn’t comprehend a woman and a man being friends.
“You two seem awfully close.”
“Luca, I’m going to say this only once. Éliott and I are friends, and considering you and I aren’t actually dating,” I declared, my voice steady as I locked eyes with him, “it’s not any of your fucking business.”
He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the glint in his eye saidnoted. “Fine, fine, just remember who you’re supposed to be dating in public next time Éliott comes around.”
I ignored the dig, pulling out my phone. “Nora’s created some ‘getting to know you’ questions for us so we can be prepared for future interviews about ourrelationship.”
Luca said nothing, continuing to caress my shoulder as he stared at me with his dark brown eyes. He had a way of pulling you in, like a deep, entrancing abyss that seemed to swallow every coherent thought. His rich voice basically oozed charisma, and I felt more like a fisherman being sucked in by a siren, than a woman in control.
He nodded for me to continue, and I cleared my throat. “Besides racing, what is your favorite thing to do?” I had to stifle my groan—how morose—as I kept myself composed. We needed to know these things if we were going to sell this stunt. Luca let out a dismissive laugh, and I shot him a sharp look, making my disapproval clear.
“I golf,” he mumbled finally. Raising my finger, I motioned for Luca to continue, but I knew the battle was lost when the waiter arrived with the wine, pouring us each a glass. I begrudgingly moved mine to the side, staring at it like it was a ticking time bomb about to explode at any minute. Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to gulp down the delicious merlot.
Just one sip wouldn’t hurt, right?Luca watched me like a hawk circling its prey, his lips curling into a smug grin.
“Goody Two-shoes,” he teased under his breath, and it took all of my will not to chuck the wine in his face.
“So… golf?” I prodded. Luca raised a single eyebrow, taking a sip from his wine glass. “You… do it often?”
Good one, Georgia. You don’t sound like an idiot at all.
“Yes.”
It felt like an eternity as Luca and I stared at each other, his arm still casually resting on my shoulders before he shifted his eyes to a nearby table full of diners not-so-subtly photographing us. I thought back to my brother’s earlier comment, and I scratched my brain, trying to remember just one fact about golf. Something about birds, eagles maybe?
Nothing.
Well, I tried. Sort of.
Luca leaned in. “You know, if this one is too hard for you to answer, we can skip it.” He winked.
Prick.
“I like to paint. Your turn.” Shoving my phone at him, I nodded for him to read a question.
“You paint? Really?” Luca sneered with disbelief.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Probably wasn’t the best time to tell him all of my paintings were of race cars.
“Didn’t know you knew how to do anything other than race. Or, you know, run people off the track.”
Of course, he managed to get that dig in.
“That’s rich coming from someone whose dad is a three-time World Champion. How amazing it must have been to be able to race with him whenever you wanted, get all that priceless advice from his experience. Loving racing isn’t a crime, Luca.” His face tightened, just for a second. One breath. But I caught it.
Then came the grin, a smooth recovery.
“Well,” he paused, his eyes darting to the tables around us, ensuring our conversation wasn’t being secretly filmed, “since we’re dispensing free advice, here’s something to consider. Perhaps when the journalists ask what else you’re doing on your days off, you saypainting?”
“Why on earth would the journalists care that I paint? They barely care that I race.”
“Because, believe it or not, fans actually like a well-rounded person. Why do you think our silly social media videos of us cooking, playing golf or doing literally anything other than racing go viral? It gives the fans a way to connect with us.” I stared at Luca, very much wishing that we weren’t so close to each other, as I nervously bit my lip, contemplating his advice.
