17. A Bit of Hope
A Bit of Hope
Lucy
When the checkered flags appear at the end of the Monaco race, a rush of exhilaration courses through me.
This is a lot more fun than I expected, and I’m pleasantly surprised by my performance.
Okay, I might have crashed into my fair share of cars at the beginning—those pedals are super weird and hard to manage—but once I got the hang of it, I was flying on that circuit like a pro.
“Woop!” I let out as I cross the finish line, and everyone in the room applauds. “I did it! ”
I turn to see Elio beaming, my phone still in his hand. “You were great. And you really got the hang of the Monte Carlo Hairpin—that tough 180 corner. I’m seriously impressed. And a little worried that RM will want to replace me now.”
“Haha,” I say, taking his hand when he offers it.
And it’s a good thing he’s an athlete, because I really need the support.
Between the fact that I was half-lying in that thing, and that my entire body is sore from those two back-to-back workouts, I have no strength left in me.
Those stiff pedals pretty much did me in.
“Thanks. I was all right, but I doubt they’ll be offering me a contract anytime soon.
I bulldozed through ten different cars.”
He scratches his head. “Yeah, that probably wouldn’t slide with Claude.”
Everyone chuckles, and we all chat about my performance before thanking the crew and leaving them to return to work.
“That was fun,” I say as we exit the room. “Thanks for bringing me here. I understand how it works a bit better now. Those pedals are hardcore.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Yeah, F1 pedals are not your typical brake and accelerator. You need to apply a lot more strength because of the G-forces. The simulator recreates that.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say, massaging my thighs.
“You really did great, even if you literally picked the hardest circuit,” he jokes as we meander down a long, suspended glass walkway. Under us, a group of people are working on a Formula 1 car with dexterity and impressive sp eed. I gaze at the scene, then snap a few pictures.
“Pit crew workshop,” Elio explains. “They’re preparing for the next race. Their job is just as important as mine—it’s a team effort. If they take too long to change my tires, or any other part during the pit stop, it can mean losing the race or missing out on valuable points.”
“And they have to guarantee everything is secure too. It’s amazing how fast they work.”
“Yeah, that’s why they train so hard. We’re literally trusting our lives to them. A loose tire can have dramatic consequences.”
Not for the first time, my chest constricts at the dangerous reality of this sport. “Are you scared? To race in Monaco?”
He frowns, seemingly taken aback by my question. “Scared? That’s not the word I would use. A fearful driver has no place on a racetrack. Plus, I know this circuit. It’ll be my eighth time there.”
“And you’ve never crashed?”
“I have. Twice. But I’ve also had two second-place finishes. This year, it’ll be a win. It has to be.”
I swallow hard, trying to process the many hazards that the drivers face, and why anyone would want to do this for a living. “Do you earn more points on a difficult circuit?”
“Interesting question. That would make sense, but no. I just want to win every Grand Prix at least once in my life, and I’m only missing a few. Monaco is one of them. It’s also such a legendary race that it would mean even more, winning there.”
“I hope you do,” I say, offer ing a smile. “You’ll definitely fare better than me.”
He laughs. “Let’s hope so.”
We walk back through the open-space offices, and my thoughts drift back to my mom and her family.
The idea of returning to Chicago and living the rest of my life alone, when there’s a chance I still have family in this world, is unbearable.
My mom meant more to me than anything. If I can get a piece of her back, there’s no way I’m going back empty-handed.
I can’t just accept that my search is over.
Besides, I’m a journalist. That’s what I do. I just have to figure out another way.
“Lucy,” Elio says, his deep voice startling me. “I know something’s wrong. You have to tell me. Please, I want to help”
I look up at him, amused. “You never give up, do you?”
“Nope. Why do you think I’m the best F1 driver?” He winks, and my shoulders relax.
With a sigh, I look around. “Not here.”
We keep walking, and he guides me into an empty meeting room.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “I can sense you’re not okay. You know you can trust me, right? I’m also a pretty talented problem-solver.”
I stare at him for a second, then look down. He’s right. I know I can trust him with this, and maybe if we put our heads together, we can find a solution. “Okay. Remember how I told you my mom was Italian but had cut ties with her family?”
He nods.
“Well, I’m starting to think I have relatives in Portovino.
When I was out the other night, a woman mistook me for someone else.
She was really sure I was her friend and kept calling after me.
It was only after she reached me and heard me speaking English that she realized I was somebody else.
I was caught off guard and didn’t say anything at the time—not that I could have. She only spoke Italian.”
“And you believe that person she mistook you for could be a family member?”
“I know it’s weird,” I say, taking a seat as the weight of my story wears me down.
“But I asked an old friend of my mom, and she confirmed that she grew up in Portovino and gave me her maiden name. I looked online trying to find addresses, social media profiles—anything. But I came up short. Then, I went to the town hall, hoping to get the addresses of all the Marchesi households in Portovino, but they turned me down. I tried sitting in the town plaza, waiting for that woman or anyone else who might recognize me to pass by, but nothing.” I shake my head and let out a sigh. “I’m all out of options.”
Elio shakes his head slowly. “Wow. I’m—this is crazy, indeed. But I understand your frustration, and you might be right. Portovino isn’t that big. Plus, the fact that this woman really thought you were someone else is too bizarre to be a coincidence.”
My chest tightens. “Ever since I arrived in Italy, and especially since coming here, I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot.”
He nods. “It makes sense.”
“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve been a little out of it this morning. I really am okay. It’s just that I’ve been racking my brain, trying to find another solution besides walking around town and checking peoples’ mailboxes.”
He scratches his head and winces. “Yeah. Portovino is relatively small, but there are still a lot of people living there. It definitely wouldn’t be practical.”
I groan. “I know. And I don’t have all the time in the world, either.”
“I tell you what,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “Why don’t we stop by the town hall together? I can plead your case.”
My nose wrinkles as I recall my prickly encounter. “They weren’t the friendliest, to be honest. Well, the fact that I don’t speak Italian probably didn’t do me any favors.”
“Exactly. Let me help. And who knows? They might be big fans and let us peruse their records without any supervision,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I burst out a laugh, probably because I’m so tired, and maybe a little desperate. But I’m grateful for his goofiness. It feels good, like the pressure is lifting a little. “Sure. That seems unlikely, but having someone in my corner who speaks the language isn’t a bad idea.”
He flashes a big smile. “Great. Happy to help. I just need to stop by the engineering office real quick, and then we can go.”
I blink back at him. “What, now?”
“Sure. Do you have other plans? ” he asks, leaning against the door, and I fight the urge to trail my eyes over his incredible body.
“Um, no, but what about you? What do you usually do on Thursdays after a race? We’re following your schedule, after all.” Yay me for remembering that I’m doing a job here and not just running around with a hot F1 driver in search of my potential long-lost family.
“Let’s see. Thursday is usually the day when I help out a beautiful girl.” He winks, and I can’t help but roll my eyes, even if his comment did send a rush of heat to my core.
“It’s true,” he says. “Do you want to call Pat to confirm?”
With a smile, I stand up, my heart swelling with gratitude. “Fine. Thank you for helping me with this. It’s not exactly in the contract.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really think I read the contract?”
I throw my head back in laughter as we’re exiting the meeting room, and it feels like a pressing weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Sure, we haven’t solved the mystery yet. But for the first time this morning, I have hope again. And it’s all thanks to Elio.