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Matteo knew he was lying to himself. Instead the next couple of weeks were going to be spent stressing at the thought of her in Monte Carlo with that animal around.
He reached for the hotel phone.
* * *
Abby stepped into her hotel room to change into her lovely bottle-green outfit. She opened the chocolate that was on her pillow and as she popped it into her mouth she picked up the note that was beside it.
Dear Abby,
You need new underwear. Shall I take you shopping or can I choose?
Matteo
And then her phone rang.
‘Did you get my note?’ Matteo asked.
She knew he was ringing to check that she’d got back okay, but it was nice that he didn’t have to admit it.
‘I did.’ Abby smiled. ‘You can choose.’ And then she was serious. ‘Nothing’s going to happen today, Matteo. All anyone is thinking about is the race.’
‘I know and I meant what I said, even if I didn’t say it very well—good luck today.’
‘Thanks.’
Matteo had quite a morning in a very lavish boutique.
A few women nudged and laughed but he cared not and amassed quite a collection, which he asked to all be wrapped and then sent up to her room. Then Matteo had lunch and finally he took himself trackside.
The streets were packed and lined with spectators and when he finally made it to the Boucher sheds he, as always, stayed back, though Pedro stopped playing video games and came over and they chatted for a few moments.
Abby saw Pedro was smiling at something Matteo had said, and whatever her personal feelings were towards Matteo, she was very glad to have him as their sponsor. He was very good with Pedro, unlike the sponsor they had had last year who had demanded far too much, especially before a race.
But then, as the race commenced, there were no thoughts of Matteo, nor revenge—all Hunter was, was the car that was ahead of them.
As were eight others.
For the next two hours the team worked intently, working out the best refuel times. Matteo watched Abby relaying instructions and giving Pedro some insights as to the cars ahead of him.
The Italian crowd were even more vocal than in Dubai and it was a loud, exciting couple of hours and by the last three laps Pedro had inched the car into fifth place.
Hunter’s experience on the course showed, yet Evan pushed him hard and suddenly a roar went up as Pedro overtook into fourth.
Matteo found that he was chewing his nails.
And then it was into the final lap.
He looked over to Abby, whose face was pale but she was talking very calmly to Pedro through her mouthpiece, even though she must be feeling frantic. Hunter was well ahead of Pedro, Evan was in close second; it was a battle for third and, holy smoke, Matteo thought as Pedro accelerated out of the turn, he was going to get there.
Abby was right; this kid was a genius. The pale, sickly faced twenty-one-year-old that had climbed into the car, sure he would place last, got out a triumphant third, as the Boucher team cheered and embraced.
And no, Matteo wasn’t on her mind right now because Abby nearly broke her neck just to get over to a jubilant Pedro.
‘What the hell!’ she screamed at him, her face split in a shocked smile.
‘She flew!’ Pedro roared back, simply elated. ‘She just took off.’
And they were back to talking about the car as if she were a person. This third was even sweeter than placing first.
