Page 36 of Out of Control

I slide down the wall at my back, suddenly feeling so insignificant in this space, and acknowledge the truth. A truth that was possibly instigated by Rossi’s words but instigated, nonetheless.

“I felt like if I stayed at the race for one more second, I was going to suffocate,” I whisper.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she murmurs and then falls quiet so I can process and think.

I nod, bottom lip worried between my teeth. “I have no sense of purpose. Everything I do is for somebody else. Maybe I wanted to do something for myself. Something that fills up my cup. Something that makes me more than just Cruz’s sister or el patriarca’s granddaughter.”

“Understandably. But what happened to make you feel that way? Did your crazy mom show up? Did your dad and Cruz have a fight? Like . . . what happened?”

Rossi happened.

He’s my first and only thought. His words. His hard truths. His veiled snippets of experience that said he might know what I’m feeling. Almost as if he was encouraging my rebellion by reminding me how incredible my rebellion with him felt.

“I’m twenty-five years old. Isn’t it time I figure out my own path? Will my family really implode without me holding the reins or boxing gloves? I don’t know, but it shouldn’t be on my shoulders, and I’m so exhausted from being responsible for keeping everyone on their sides of the ring all the time.”

“You’re not going to find me arguing with you on this. You know I feel the same. I’m just glad you’ve come to the realization on your own.” She falls silent for a beat, and I close my eyes to collect myself. “Saying it and acting on it are two vastly separate things.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware.” But it feels good to say it, to be free for a few minutes from the weight of it, even if I know the minute we hang up, that burden will remain.

“I’m proud of you for acting on it, Sof. On your own terms. On your own timeframe.”

Her words mean more to me than she could ever imagine. While my family has always been supportive of everything I’ve ever done, always proud of whatever it is one of us chooses to do, there’s always an underlying tension if it’s outside the normal parameters of what they deem as appropriate for a Navarro. And I’ve yet to determine whether this is one of those times.

The fact that el patriarca has brought it up a few times means he might be warming up to the idea but it’s a far cry from his “making money off other people’s art isn’t a respectable position. It’s poaching,” comment when I first broached the subject.

“Thanks.”

“Come on. Give me more enthusiasm than that.” She laughs.

“There was freedom at the festival,” I explain. “I was just me, the real me I can be without anyone knowing who that was, and no matter what I did, no one looked twice or cared. My actions weren’t going to affect or change anyone’s world, and then I step foot back here and the pressure returned and felt . . . more stifling, more fatalistic.”

“Not to mention when you’re at the track, you probably look up to see Rossi everywhere you turn as a reminder of just how incredible that feeling was.”

Literally and figuratively.

But I don’t say it. I don’t want to acknowledge the discussion with Rossi from last night, the delicious threat of reminding me how much I do want to be with him again, and the staggering words he left me to think about so much that I called our pilot and asked for a return trip here to Monaco.

And while I made this leap, this step, and bolted out of town and away from the race . . . maybe it was because this was the least of two rebellions. This was something my family will bitch about but eventually find acceptable.

But Rossi . . . being with him, wanting him, anything with him, would cause a major upheaval.

Maybe this is enough for me. Maybe this will satisfy my need to have something that’s mine. Something tangible.

And maybe I’ll stop thinking about Rossi at some point too.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I finally say, answering the question.

“How does it feel?”

“Terrifying, freeing, confusing, exciting.”

“All are warranted.” She pauses briefly. “I don’t pretend to understand anyone’s family dynamics, let alone yours, but do you really think your family is going to disapprove of you doing something that you love?”

“It’s outside the family business,” I murmur.

“Well, they’re not exactly letting women behind the wheel of an F1 car yet so . . . they can’t expect you to carry on a tradition that’s not yours to uphold.”

“I think it’s more along the lines of me not having time to do the things I’m supposed to do as a Navarro or . . . I don’t know . . .”