4. Mario Kart
Mario Kar t
Elio
We walk by the fanzone, and I giv e them a bit of my time, trying to soak up their energy for the quali. I’m signing autographs when I notice something in my peripheral vision. Or rather, someone. She brought her hair up today, and she’s wearing a navy striped shirt with white skinny jeans.
“Lucy!” I call, turning to face her.
“Hey, I didn’t want to disturb you, and there were so many people around,” she says with a chuckle. “I waited near the turnstiles. But keep going. I’m filming this.”
She steps back and holds up her phone, filming me interacting with my fans again, and I oblige, chatting them up. They’re all wishing me well for the quali today.
Once I finish there, I join Lucy. “So, how was your night?” I ask her as we’re walking toward the motorhome. “Probably boring without me.”
She rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide her smile. “I got along just fine. What about you?”
I shrug. “The usual, but I went home early. Today is an important day. I need to get pole.”
“Pole position?”
I nod, running a hand through my hair. “Yes, first on the grid for tomorrow. You do understand how quali works, right?”
“It’s like a pre-race to get the starting order for Sunday?”
I smile, happy to be the one guiding her to understand the sport.
It reminds me of my childhood, when I was trying to get my friends into F1.
“Yes and no. It’s divided in three sections of just one lap, and we’re doing it separately, with the five slowest times being el iminated in Q1 and Q2.
Then, whoever gets the best lap will start first, and so forth. ”
“Got it,” she says as more fans stop us for pictures. Some are waving from the balconies of sponsors’ motorhomes or yelling out “ Forza Elio” as I walk by.
“Told you Italian fans were crazy about F1,” I say with a chuckle as her eyes widen at the heartfelt displays. “And it’s my home Grand Prix, so there are even higher expectations.”
She turns to me. “Home? You’re from around here?”
I nod. “Some say it’s their home Grand Prix when they’re racing in their home countries, but for me, it’s really my home. I grew up an hour away and still live about two hours from the circuit. That’s also where Rossi’s headquarters are located.”
“Right. That’s where our next hotel is, near the sea. I had a look online, and it’s gorgeous there. What a nice place to grow up.”
“It was.” I fix my eyes on her. “Did you grow up in Chicago?”
Her face lights up. “Born and raised. I love my city. So much culture, art, and good food.”
“Don’t get me started on the food,” I tease, bumping my shoulder with hers.
“Come on. You’ve never even tried it.”
We walk along the track, and a car speeds past, sparking an idea. “I should take you on a drive around the track.”
Her eyes flash with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“We have regular race cars—not F1 cars—that we can use to take people on tours of the circuit. It’ll be fun, come on.”
“Um. Are you sure we can?” Sh e glances at the speedway with a mix of apprehension and excitement.
“Absolutely. Follow me. You want something exclusive for your feature? This is it.”
Lucy
I don’t know how Elio got us a car for a track tour on such short notice, but I’m both thrilled and scared to death. He’s right—it’ll be an exclusive experience for the fans. What could be better than a “Get into a race car with Elio Spinelli” video? Fans will go crazy for that.
And I must say, I’m curious too.
Actually, scratch that. I know how he got the car so quickly. The woman in charge of the track tours is still batting her eyelashes at him as we speak. A few minutes later, he comes back with two helmets and a set of car keys.
“We’re good to go.”
I freeze, gaping at the pair of helmets. “What’s up with the safety gear? It’s this car we’re taking, right?” I ask, pointing to the Rossi sports car parked next to us.
He nods, putting his helmet on. “ Sì, però we’ll be going fast, and helmets are mandatory. Just in case.”
I gulp, eyes fixated on my helmet he just handed me.
“Don’t worry, Bella . Nothing will happen to you. We’ll have fun.”
Drawing a breath of courage, I put the helmet on. He’s right, it’ll be fine. It’s a racetrack, one that Elio knows well. And if they let drivers take the public on rides, it’s got to be safe.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Ready?”
I nod and follow him to the car, my legs wobbly. He takes a seat behind the wheel, and I crawl into the passenger seat.
His deep brown eyes study me. “Are you nervous?”
“A bit, but I’m sure we’ll be fine. It’s a racetrack. That’s what they’re built for, right?”
“Absolutely, and remember, I do this for a living. I know this track like the back of my hand. I could actually drive it with my eyes closed.”
My eyes widen. “Please, don’t!”
He laughs, and a tingle warms my body, helping me relax. “I won’t. Now, let’s power this baby up.”
He turns on the ignition, and the engine vibrates under us, louder and more intense than I imagined. I don’t just hear the roar of the engine—I feel it, a low rumble that races up my spine and settles in my chest. You can tell how powerful it is, eager to go, like a predator waiting to pounce.
“There’s no way I’ll be able to record any of this,” I joke, clutching my phone.
“Oh, right. I almost forgot,” he says, pointing to the phone holder mounted on the right-hand side of the window. “Just stick your phone in there to record. We often use these cars to take celebrities on a lap, and every thing gets recorded for social media.”
“That’s handy.” I hook my phone onto the mount, then make sure the angle is just right before pressing Record.
“Ready?” he asks, and I nod, taking a deep breath.
“Andiamo .” His lips curl into a grin as he presses on the gas pedal. “Let’s go.”
The first part of the track is a straight line, and Elio doesn’t accelerate as much as I thought he would. My pulse steadies as I look out the window. “This is fun,” I say, watching the grandstands blur past.
“We haven’t even started. I’m going to go faster now, so hold on.”
Before I can brace myself, the car surges forward, and I’m slammed back into my seat, the G-forces pressing against my chest like a weight. Vibrations rattle through my arms as I grip the sides of my seat. It almost feels like the car will take off, like the ground can barely contain its energy.
“We’re at 150 miles per hour now. How does it feel?”
“Ahhh! It’s insane,” I manage to blurt out, my breath coming in quick bursts as I struggle to maintain some semblance of calm.
He chuckles, the sound rich and carefree, as if we’re on a casual Sunday drive and not hurtling around a racetrack at breakneck speeds. He takes the turns with a smooth precision that defies the chaos swirling inside me.
“Holy moly! We’re going to di e,” I squeal, my words tumbling out unfiltered as adrenaline floods my veins.
He laughs again, and the sound somehow makes me feel safer, even as the car dips into the next turn. “You’re fine, Bella . Ready for a drift?”
Terror surges through me, knotting my stomach. I snap my head toward him. “No! You’re not serious.”
His eyes sparkle. “Come on, it’s fun.”
The car shifts, sliding into the drift with an elegance that feels impossible, like we’re dancing on the edge of disaster. The wall rushes closer, and my heart climbs into my throat.
“Oh gosh,” I yelp, my fear dissolving into a breathless laugh as the car straightens. “We almost died just now.”
“Wasn’t that fun? I love drifting,” he says, casually taking one hand off the wheel to press a button on the dashboard.
“Hands on the wheel! Hands on the wheel!” My voice pitches high, and my fingers clutch the seat tighter. He chuckles, his unbreakable confidence maddening. I swallow hard. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. You’re the best and the fastest. You can stop showing off now.”
“Thanks for noticing, but we’re only halfway through the circuit.”
“Oh, heavens,” I groan, my head falling back against the seat, though I can’t stop the smile pulling at my lips.
“You good?” he asks, slowing just enough to let me catch my breath before taking the next turn.
The moment lingers—his grin, my wild heartbeat, the roar of the engine—and suddenly, I’m not sure if it’s the speed or Elio that’s left me breathless.
“Yeah, but darn, it’s scary. I can’t believe this is what you do, like, all the time. Definitely not like playing Mario Kart.”
He chuckles. “ Sì, però I go a lot faster than this during a race, and I’m not alone on the track.”
Suddenly, the reality of the sport sinks in, hitting me like a jolt of adrenaline.
I glance at the track ahead, trying to picture dozens of cars zooming side by side, their engines roaring, the drivers navigating all these tight turns at unimaginable speeds.
Their cars might be smaller, but this track is still narrow.
The idea of putting twenty vehicles on this circuit is pure madness.
I glance sideways to study Elio, and I notice how much he shifts in his seat, his body working in rhythm with the car. Meanwhile, I’m plastered against my seat like a wide-eyed statue. It’s clear this isn’t just driving—it’s a full-body effort. The word "sport" suddenly makes a lot more sense.
As we drive onward, I’m screaming half the time, laughing the other half, the sound of my voice melding with the engine’s roar.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, the kind of thrill that leaves my heart hammering while fueling my desire to do it all over again.
I can’t believe I’m actually enjoying myself.
Still, I’m sweating so much, I’m not sure I’ll be able to climb out once we stop.
Hopefully, I’ll have shed a good pound or two during this insanity.
He pulls another drift at a sharp turn, and we skim so close to the grillage, I can see the bolts in the metal. My fingers claw into the edge of the seat. “This is insane. I’m going to cry.” I’m half-laughing, half-panicking as he floors it again on the next straight.
Finally, he slows down, and I melt with relief as we pull back to the starting point. “That was fun,” he says, his grin as wide as ever. “Let’s go again.”
“What! No!” I grab his arm instinctively, and he breaks into laughter, his joy as infectious as it is frustrating.
“I’m just kidding,” he says, reining in his laughter.
He parks the car neatly on the side of the track, and I blow out a shaky breath, releasing the tension I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m not sure I can even walk anymore.”
He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Just wait. I’ll help you.”
Elio circles around to my side and opens the door, his hand extending toward me.
As his fingers wrap around mine, warmth spreads through my arm and settles in my chest, steadying me, even though my legs feel like jelly.
Some might call it chemistry or whatever, but I know better.
I’ve just been through a sensory overload.
My body is probably still in shock. Case in point—I’m trembling from head to toe, my hair is a disaster, and my clothes cling to me uncomfortably, damp with sweat.
I must look like I’ve just survived a hurricane.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice softens as his eyes search my face.
“No.” I shake my head, and hi s brows furrow. “I mean—yes, I’m okay, and no, you didn’t scare me. It was just . . . intense. Wow.”
“I know. Racing is the best sport in the world.” He strolls away as if we just took a casual trip to the grocery store, rather than driving around a racetrack, dancing with death.
“I must say, that drive got me pumped for the race tomorrow. I can’t believe you’re going to do this for, like, two hours.”
His eyes lock on mine. “And I’ll make sure I win for your first Grand Prix.”
I scoff. “So cocky.”
His grin lights up his face. “It’s only cockiness if I don’t deliver.”