“You really want to hear?”
“Yeah.”
“My Aunt Delilah should be here because she loves to tell the story. When I was five, she took me to an outdoor track where some boys were riding karts. She told me my father used to race karts, but he never told me about it because I’m a girl. And he thinks girls shouldn’t race because they won’t be any good at it. He raced when he was younger. But he never made it past Formula 4. Anyway, I wanted to see if I’d be any good at it. It wasn’t a public karting facility, the karts belonged to those boys. I wanted to ask if I could borrow one and ride it around the track and asked Aunt Delilah to come with me.”
He heard her sigh.
“Aunt Delilah looked at me and said, ‘Why should I come with you? I don’t want to drive one of their karts.’”
Clarke grinned, hearing Ceci’s impersonation of her aunt.
“So,” Ceci continued, “I marched over to them, and they all laughed when I asked. Then one of them told me to forget it because I was a girl. And when I asked him what was wrong with being a girl, he said, ‘You drive like a girl, that’s what’s wrong.’ So I jumped in one of the karts and took off. According to Aunt Delilah, I was all over the place; it made her dizzy watching me, and it was a miracle I didn’t crash the thing. Well, the boys jumped in their karts and raced after me, but they didn’t catch up with me. When I crossed the finish line, I jumped out and told them that one day maybe they’d be good enough to drive like a girl too.”
Clarke smiled, listening to his brothers roar with laughter.
“It’s really thanks to my aunt that I’m where I am. She was the one who made sure I got the training and well … all of it.”
“I bet you have to put up with a lot of shit being the only woman team principal,” Athos said.
“Yeah.”
“Men are such shits,” said Porthos. “Just the other day on the set of a movie I’m working on, I heard one of the crew talking about one of the actresses, and you couldn’t even tell which one because he kept referring to her as Sweet Cherry Pie. And mind you, there is no woman on the set named Cherry.”
“Disgraceful,” said Aramis.
“Isn’t it?” Porthos replied.
“Women don’t do that,” said Athos. “Do they?”
“No,” her voice sounded hesitant. “Not usually.”
Grinning, Clarke shook his head.
“Do you miss it?” Athos asked.
“Driving? Sometimes.”
“Ever think of going back to it?”
“Sometimes.” She paused. “I can see why you guys would like me to. With me out of the picture, Clarke might actually have a shot at that trophy.”
Clarke grinned as he heard his brothers lose it again. He wished he’d seen her face when she said it. He pictured her looking feline.
“Damn, that’s vicious,” said Aramis.
“Brutal,” boomed Porthos.
“Maybe even Machiavellian,” Athos said. After a pause, he added, his tone serious, “I can see why Blue Jet would want to keep you as team principal. I’ve never heard anyone talk about a track like you. See it as a whole from start to finish with such clarity.”
Now. Go now.
Clarke stepped forward, but then stopped just outside the drawing room. Ceci sat on the sofa with Porthos and Aramis, and Athos was in an armchair.
He stared a moment. It should have looked odd. Ceci Rivers sitting in the drawing room in the house he grew up in, surrounded by his three brothers and all of them at ease, even when talking about a subject that should have been a sore one after Silverstone. So why didn’t it?
Suddenly, her eyes met his. Her mouth opened, but before she could say anything, he entered. “You made it,” he said, smiling.
He walked over to her, bent down, and planted a quick peck on her cheek.
