‘Congratulations on coming second,’ I say.
His chuckle’s throaty. ‘You already congratulated me.’
His familiar aftershave soothes the depths of my soul. I might pinch his shirt for the flight back.
Where did that come from?
Must be all that cabin pressure, it’s altered my brain.
He takes his arm back and I can’t help mourning it, even though I know it’d look much worse if a camera caught us. He’s a major celebrity here, and his family were anything but covert.
‘Not in person. It’s a huge deal. You were incredible out there.’
He smiles and it’s so boyish and adorable. ‘Thanks, Jules.’
I’m still fizzing with pride. He took on some of the toughest drivers in the sport and triumphed – even Tom! But what made me prouder was the way he celebrated his team. The grid was awash with orange and he leapt headlong into it. In the post-race interview, he never once said ‘I’. He thinks Leone have come a long way, but I think he’s come further.
‘Guys!¡Dale, dale!’ He claps and the group starts to disperse. ‘Wait, where’s your luggage?’ he suddenly asks me.
I glance down at the empty spot where my suitcase once sat. ‘I don’t know.’ Before panic can spark, I catch it towing behind Isa as she disappears through the glass doors.
Tiago sighs and nurses his forehead.
‘At least I have the essentials.’ I dig out my passport and boarding pass from the top of my handbag.
The look in his eyes sharpens, and before I can make sense of it, he’s whipped my passport from my hand. I swipe weakly and he brushes me off as he flicks through the pages.
‘I look awful,’ I whine.
He cackles when he gets to the photo page and quickly sobers up. ‘Juliet Evangeline Butler,’ he says slowly, like it’s the key to unlocking something important.
Tiago knowing my full name feels oddly exposing, even more than him seeing me butt naked. I make a pathetic stab at humour: ‘I bet your name doesn’t fit on the page.’
It’s like he hasn’t heard me as he continues to look at it. ‘You’re a Juliet.’
‘I am.’ I don’t know what else to say.
‘It’s beautiful.’ He hands it back, staring at me in a way that makes my head empty.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
We approach a convoy of SUVs, his family squealing over who’s sitting where – and the moment evaporates.
‘I wanted to pick you up alone,’ he grumbles under his breath. ‘I was going to show off my Pagari.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Is that supposed to impress me?’
‘Oh you’ll be impressed, don’t worry.’
Half an hour later, I am impressed. Beyond ornate gates and a short palm tree-lined drive is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. It’s giving Old World Spanish – white stucco walls, a terracotta barrel-tile roof, arched colonnades, and wrought-iron balconies. It looks like something I made onTheSimswhen I was a tween.
I need to keep a cool head. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself or come across as stiffly English. I’ll be polite but not boring, charming but not arrogant, chatty but not loud.
‘Have you fucked my brother?’ demands a girl when we’ve barely crossed the threshold. I can’t stop my jaw from crashing to the floor. ‘Is he good to you? Because if not?—’
‘¡Sofía, no puedes preguntar eso!’shrieks a girl, gripping her arm.
‘I swear to god.’ Tiago closes his eyes and nurses his forehead. ‘Ignore my idiot sisters.’
