Page 46 of Racing Hearts
“Well, I have some excellent news! I just got off the phone with the clothing brand, Maison de Klotho, and they have requested a meeting with us next week in Monaco.” Nora turned the computer monitor around, presenting the email to us both.
“Oh! My! God!” Nora screamed, prompting Isabelle to motion for her to quiet down. “Sorry, sorry,” Nora quietened. “But this is amazing!”
“It’s just a meeting,” Isabelle added, “but still, it’s a step in the right direction for us. If we keep up the good work, we should have a sponsorship deal scored before the summer break.” Isabelle turned directly to me, squinting her eyes. “That means no Sassy Dubois this weekend, got it, Georgia?” As much as I wanted to complain about the toddler treatment, I knew it wouldn’t be fruitful, so I opted for a sweeter approach.
“Yes, yes, I’ll do my best to quell the beast inside of me.” Truthfully, this was probably the best news I’d heard since winning Barcelona.
“Good.” Isabelle frowned, and I suspected she didn’t completely believe me. A well-deserved sentiment considering my track record. “Now, remember, we have the Italian Drivers Association event tonight. You will be attending with Luca. A car will pick you up at seven p.m. Donotbe late. I took the liberty of having a dress sent to your room.”
“I’ll be there with bells on.” I ignored Isabelle’s frown. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have plenty of race footage to review.” Feeling a sense of undeserved accomplishment, I strutted out of Isabelle’s office and towards my driver’s room to talk strategy with my engineer.
The day flew by in a blur of VIP meetings and photo shoots, leaving me feeling as if it had ended before it even began. At four p.m., I made my way back to Luca’s car and sank into the passenger seat. I opened my mouth to say something, only stopping when I caught sight of the tense frown and creased lines on Luca’s face. Unlike the usually chipper Luca I was used to, this Luca said nothing as he drove us back to the hotel in complete silence.
When we finally reached our suite, I opened the door to my bedroom and saw it. Laid across the bed was a sleek black dress, the kind that whispered scandal with every sway of fabric.
Silk. Low-cut. High slit.
“Fucking, Nora.” Opening my phone, I immediately dialed my press officer, intent on giving her a piece of my mind. She answered on the second ring, almost like she was expecting my call. “Care to explain the dressIsabellehad sent to my room?”
“Isn’t it just so gorgeous? You are going to look stunning.” Nora had her sickly-sweet voice on, the one that told me she was loving this far too much.
“No way I can wear this! There’s going to be sponsors there tonight!”
“Exactly. What better way to secure a Maison de Klotho sponsorship than you making headlines with a sexy black dress designed by them?”
Before I could argue, the line went dead.
With no backup plan, I showered and then slipped on the dress, smoothing out the ruffled edges. To be fair to Nora, she was right, it was certainly a statement piece. With a long slit up the side and a sweetheart neckline, this dress was sexier than I was used to, but a part of me loved how it hugged my curves. We spent so much of our time in team polos or sponsored athletic dresses filled with corporate logos. It was nice to get dolled up, nice to feel glamorous for once.
The moment I stepped foot into our shared living room, Luca greeted me with a piercing wolf whistle from where he was lounging on the sofa. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but his face was relaxed, especially with the possessive smirk on his lips.
“What did I do to deserve this honor?” He was clearly pleased with himself as he took in the dress, starting at my neckline and not-so-subtly lingering on the slit at my thigh.
“Ready to go?” I asked, trying to ignore his heated gaze.
“Almost.” He pushed off the sofa, grabbing a small navy box from his bag. “I have a gift for you first.”
“I don’t really wear—” I began to argue.
“Just open it,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate silver necklace. A thin chain, and dangling from it, a single charm: a lightning bolt.
I stared at it. “Seriously? Your racing logo?” Luca had adopted the lightning bolt onto all of his helmet and clothing designs.
My words were dripping with sarcasm, but Luca’s smile didn’t falter. Even if it was beautifully designed, the idea of wearing my competitor’s emblem around my neck irked me to no end, and my annoyance only grew as I met Luca’s beaming, eager gaze.
“Designed it myself,amore. Don’t want the other drivers getting any ideas when they see you in this dress tonight. I’ve seen how yourfriendÉliott looks at you.” Luca’s voice was cocky, but I didn’t miss the hint of jealousy in his voice.
Deciding to ignore Luca’s comment, I grumbled, “Whatever. Be quick and put it on then. We’re going to be late.” Realistically, everyone would expect me to be wearingsomethingof Luca’s.
Taking the necklace from my hands, he motioned for me to turn around. His rough fingers grazed my shoulders, adjusting the delicate chain around my neck. The cool metal rested against my skin, and I knew my cheeks were blushing at how intimate the moment felt. Luca’s fingers lingered on the clasp, his touch sending electric tingles through my body. I tried to play it cool, keep my face the epitome of stoicism, but I knew he could feel how much the soft caress of his hands was affecting me.
“Bellissima.” His voice was low and warm, like honey sliding over silk. We both gazed into the mirror. I was admiring the delicate lightning bolt glinting at the base of my throat, but Luca’s eyes were somewhere else entirely—fixed on mine. There was a kind of heat in his gaze that felt heavier than the weight of the necklace. When he finally pulled away, his absence left a trail of goosebumps down my skin.
After a short drive to the hotel, we arrived at the Drivers Association dinner. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings, casting a soft glow over the opulent space. The air was filled with the gentle hum of chatter as drivers, sponsors and VIPs mingled, their voices blending with the soft classical music playing in the background. The Italians never spared any expense when it came to their parties.
Spotting the bar, Luca tugged me behind him like a toddler whose mother was on a mission. I started to object when Luca handed me a champagne flute, but as I noticed everyone staring at us, I couldn’t find it in myself to refuse.
