Chapter Three #3
Apollo’s study was an impressive space, with a slightly darker colour scheme than the rest of the house.
One side of the room was dedicated to a large wooden desk and a wall of books and filing cabinets, while the other half of the room seemed to be a meeting space of sorts with sumptuous sofas and a monitor with a sleek video-conferencing set-up in the wall.
She remembered seeing this room in the background during one of their press briefings, as she had studiously tried to avoid staring at the small square on her laptop where his attention had been intensely focused upon her.
She had always been so keenly aware of him.
Most drivers squirmed during meetings, bored by the business side of the sport they loved, but Apollo was a businessman at heart, as evidenced by the large sportswear brand he had been steadily building during his absence from the sport.
An absence, she suddenly realised, which had begun the same week she’d been in Venice for the auction. He’d walked away from his grandfather’s team after a heated argument—over what, nobody knew—and had never returned. Her stomach tightened even more.
At the sound of her name, Astrid’s attention snapped back to the present and she saw that Apollo had taken a seat on the sofa and was beckoning her to join him.
Nervous energy hummed through her veins as she took a seat on the opposite end from where he sprawled, his dark eyes surveying her with keen interest.
‘Is this your only home in Italy?’ she asked, sliding out her tablet from her briefcase and blinking at the image of her son she kept as her screensaver.
Gulping, she tapped open the crisis management plan she’d studiously compiled on the flight over and tried to calm her thundering heartbeat.
Crisis management indeed; there was no handy list or bullet point plan to navigate how to find out if her work crush was actually the anonymous, scorching-hot encounter that had resulted in her becoming a single mother.
‘I have many properties, but none I’d call home,’ Apollo replied lazily, one arm extended across the back of the sofa towards her. ‘This was the first estate I purchased in Italy. My father lives here most of the year. I do, however, keep my collections here.’
He gestured to a wall behind them, one she must have walked straight past on her way in. The ornate glass shelves formed a modern art installation all by itself, but along them at stylish intervals sat trophies and statuettes, a mixture of his own achievements and art works. And in the very centre…
Astrid choked on the sip of water she’d just taken, tears filling her eyes as she caught her breath. ‘The…the golden helmet. You have it.’
He frowned. ‘Yes. I won it a long time ago…at a masked auction—’
‘In Venice,’ she finished for him.
An odd look darkened his features. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
Astrid stood up, her tablet falling from her shaking hands. Strong fingers caught it just before it hit the floor, and Apollo’s eyes searched hers with confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but no sound escaped. It was utterly absurd. It was against all reason and logic.
The reality was, the evidence could continue to mount and she would still struggle to comprehend how on earth this had come to be—how she had searched high and low for a stranger who had turned out to be one of the most famous drivers in the very industry she specialised in.
Their paths had likely crossed countless times in the years since they’d parted, in the years she’d tried to find him…
The cruelty of it was a strange ache in her chest as she heard his steps crossing the room behind her, his voice warm and husky as he called her name once, then again. She turned, taking in the look on his face and realising he must have asked a question that she had missed.
‘I’m beginning to think I need to call a doctor,’ he said sternly, the back of one hand lightly touching her forehead. She flinched, taking a step back as though burned.
‘I was in Venice too,’ she said quietly.
‘I would imagine so; working in Elite One, you’ve been to every major city in the world.’
‘I’ve been to that particular auction in Venice.’ She forced the words out of her mouth, turning so that their bodies faced one another. ‘Almost eight years ago. There was a thunderstorm, the entire city and airports suffered a blackout and the high winds kept rescue busy until morning.’
‘Astrid.’ Her name was a rough whisper on his lips. His eyes widened with disbelief, his mouth hardening into a line as he simply stared. She felt naked under his gaze, her throat dry as she tried to form the words that rushed to escape her lips. How did she even begin to tell him, to explain?
‘I met a stranger at the bar, and we wore masks as part of the auction. He invited me up to his penthouse suite for a drink, in his p-private lift.’ She felt her voice shake, but she forced herself to meet his dark gaze.
‘We got trapped in the lift for a while. We agreed to keep our identities anonymous, but I think…no, I know…that stranger was you.’