He felt a sudden desire to tell Nico. To tell her everything. He drew a deep breath. Maybe she’d already figured it out from what he’d said. But he needed to say the words—aloud—to her.
“The married woman I had an affair with. Maybe you’ve already guessed. That was Carolyn Wickham.”
“Oh.”
“When I met her, it was the night after my third F3 championship trophy. After celebrating with the team, I went alone to a bar. I couldn’t get the thrill that ran through me to stop or even slow down. It was as though my blood were made of high-octane fuel. And she was there. And sure, she was attractive, but it was talking about the race that really roused my interest. She’d seen the race and seemed to understand what I was feeling.”
He paused.
“I already told you it was really bad the way I found out she was married. It was the day I signed on with Blue Jet Lightning. I was so thrilled. I was going to be a Formula 1 driver. I shook her husband’s hand as he welcomed me to the team with her standing by his side, acting as though we’d never met. She hadn’t even warned me ahead of time. I felt like such an ass.
“I could have stopped things then. I should have. But I didn’t. At first, I thought it was just a wild coincidence. Later, I discovered it wasn’t, and what’s more she’d been the one to suggest bringing me on.”
Nico placed her hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. I want to.”
She placed her head back on his chest, and he stroked her hair.
“I began to have doubts. There were other F2 drivers every bit as good as me, not to mention a couple drivers in F1 who were without contracts. That kind of thinking—let’s just say it wasn’t good for my confidence. It didn’t seem to matter if I won or not.
“I know my family and Dario want to blame the last few years on her, and I’m not saying she hasn’t done things to undermine me and make it difficult, but she didn’t have any power over me that I didn’t give her. I was the one who doubted myself. Those doubts—that’s why I was so raw about those tweets of yours.”
She hugged him. “I understand.”
“And it doesn’t change things for you? I mean, with me?”
She lifted her head and gazed up at him. “No. Why would it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m not the man you thought I was. Maybe it changes the way you see me.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re still the same annoying, arrogant, asshole, prick.”
He laughed. “What?”
“It’s what Charles and Iused tocall you. Before I really knew you. Said with affection, of course.”
He grinned. “Of course.”
She placed her head back on his chest. He felt her tremble.
He kissed the top of her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“And what if you learned things about me that surprised you?” she asked. “Would that change how you feel? About me?”
He tried to look at her, but she kept her head on his chest and wouldn’t look up at him. Her voice sounded different. He thought about that photo, the drawing, Templeton, and the fact that he knew nothing about her life after her nonno died.
But none of that matters.
“You’re forgetting,” he said, hugging her tighter, wanting to reassure her, “I already learned plenty of things when we played that drinking game. That doesn’t change anything. Nothing you tell me will.”
She remained silent.
It’s because we start racing in a week. She’s wondering about it too. Later tonight or maybe tomorrow, I’ll bring it up, and we’ll figure it out.
He held her tight, placing his chin on top of her head.
“You still haven’t finished the fairy tale,” he murmured, feeling himself drowning in all this uncertainty, and feeling certain about only one thing—she must feel herself drowning too.
