Chapter Eighteen
Georgia
Morning came far too quickly. I sprinted out of my room to the bathroom, showered and changed as speedily as I could, then hurried back, lest I see Luca in the flesh—or towel—again.
I wasn’t sure what was more horrifying, the fact that I had a sex dream about Luca or that Luca had caught me having said sex dream about him.
The latter. It was definitely the latter.
Grabbing my Valkyrie bag, I headed to the elevator. “Please be empty. Please be empty,” I quietly prayed to whatever deity might be listening. When the elevator dinged, I looked up at the open doors and realized one thing: I had definitely wronged someone in a past life.
There, standing in front of me, were Luca’s parents. As soon as his mother saw me, she put her hand over the doors to stop them from closing as his father eagerly waved for me to join them.
“Georgia!” his mother exclaimed, and I did my best to keep my beaming smile plastered on my face. “You look dashing in this blue Valkyrie skirt. They really do know how to dress you and Lily.”
“Morning,” I responded casually, hopping into the elevator.
Luca’s father flashed me a large grin as he patted me on the back. “We’re glad to see you. Luca said you couldn’t join us for breakfast. Something about you sleeping terribly? Hope you’re feeling better.”
Mortified was the only word that came to mind. I did my best to stop my cheeks from turning red, but I could tell I was blushing when Luca’s mum tilted her head, looking at me with the same gorgeous brown eyes that Luca possessed.
God, this was going to be a long breakfast.
“Um, yes, all good, just needed a solid night’s sleep.”
How can I get out of breakfast with the Rossis?
I questioned over and over again. In another universe, I would have died to have breakfast with three-time World Champion Michael Rossi.
As a kid, I had his poster hanging on my wall, and now all I could think about was my steamy dream involving his son.
Kill me now.
Running through various scenarios, I tried to conjure up an excuse believable enough that wouldn’t insult their intelligence.
Unfortunately, before I could think of an excuse worthy of Luca’s endearing parents, the elevator opened, and his mum linked our arms, gracefully dragging me toward the restaurant.
For a woman who knew our relationship was fake, she was certainly acting like it was real, but that was the magic of Lucile Rossi.
It was easy to see how she’d spent the majority of her life as a television host; the warmth of her smile and voice was absolutely captivating.
We stepped out the elevator looking like we’d been friends for decades, not mere acquaintances.
“Luca! Look who we ran into,” Michael called out cheerily. “Grab an extra chair, son.”
I thought Luca might refuse his father’s request, but after a couple of seconds of staring at me like a deer in headlights, he trotted over to the host stand and requested a fourth chair. His mother shuffled me into a seat and grabbed my bag, placing it underneath.
The host pulled up a chair, and Luca awkwardly sat down. There was a lot of pressure on him this weekend, and by the looks of his grim face, I suspected he wasn’t prepared to have breakfast with his pretend girlfriend.
“So, Flash, looks like you’ll have some real competition this weekend. Good! I look forward to an exciting race. That Valkyrie car has incredible speed, and your girlfriend clearly knows how to drive it,” his father preened.
I felt my heart skip at the word girlfriend. I knew I’d be hearing it all weekend, but hearing it for the first time left me with a weird mixture of butterflies and dread.
Luca’s face was the epitome of just dread. Staring at his dad with a stern look on his face, I could tell he was less than impressed.
Better get used to it, Rossi, I silently mused.
“Also,” Luca’s dad leaned in, his voice low, “I heard those photos from your excursion on Monday went over very well.” Michael looked incredibly pleased with himself.
“A great idea! I know Anthony’s father has been sniffing around, making offers to Francesco and the Hermes leadership team, but this sort of good press is exactly what we needed, Luca. ”
Luca gave a vague nod of agreement, but his mouth was tight.
Michael turned to me with a gleam in his eye. “So, Georgia, I heard you let my son beat you on the karting track this week?”
I shot Luca a confused look, but he just continued to stare down at his yogurt cup with such dedication, like it was a crystal ball willing to give him all the answers in life. Had Luca actually told his dad that I’d let him win? I wasn’t sure if I should be offended.
Georgia Dubois didn’t let anyone win.
“I think you’ve been lied to, Mr. Rossi,” I chuckled.
“I might have won a race in the morning, but Luca beat me fair and square in the afternoon, even if that pass at the end was vicious!” I elbowed Luca in the side, earning me a small, discerning smile from him before he went back to listening to his yogurt bowl’s sound advice.
“Plus, I’m not in the business of letting anyone beat me. ”
Michael let out a booming laugh. “Ahh, now that’s the winning spirit we’ve all heard about!”
Luca flinched. His solemn eyes told me he was enduring this breakfast, not enjoying it, and for a moment my heart ached for him.
“How do you feel about today, Georgia?” his mum asked, pulling me out of my trance. His mother had such a calming air about her. Dressed in a beautiful red dress and lovely beige heels, she looked just as much the movie star as her son often did.
“Truthfully? Nervous. This is the first time I’ve arrived at someone’s home race as their girlfriend, and while I know I shouldn’t feel any different about walking into the paddock, part of me does.
” All morning I’d dreaded the media circus Luca and I were about to walk into.
At a large event like Monza, our relationship would be front and center, there for everyone to comment on.
“I always feel so bad for the girlfriends,” she sighed. “It’s constant scrutiny: what they wear, how they speak, whether they’re ‘good enough’ for someone the public doesn’t actually know.”
I tilted my head, surprised by the candor. “Exactly.”
“Well, as far as we’re concerned, you’re walking into the paddock as one of the finest racers to ever step foot in a Formula 1 car.
Your parents must be so proud.” The compliment caught me off guard.
I nodded politely, but the words hit deeper than I expected.
Luca’s face was blank, but his eyes betrayed something else.
Resentment? Shame? I couldn’t quite tell.
“Well, that’s very kind of you to say, but I know they’re just as proud as you are of Luca.” Lucile’s eyes sparkled as she looked at her son. No matter the tension in the air, her adoration for him was unmistakable.
Meanwhile, the pressure of being Luca’s “girlfriend” at the biggest race of his career was beginning to chip away at my appetite.
I poked at my oatmeal, suddenly unsure if I could stomach another bite.
Luca must’ve noticed. He gently squeezed my leg, grabbing my attention, then leaned over, his voice low.
“You should have a little more breakfast,” he whispered. “It’s going to be a warm one today, and greeting all of my fans will be more exhausting than you know.” He flashed me a small smirk, clearly trying to make light of the situation, which I almost appreciated.
“Georgia knows what she’s doing, Luca,” his father chastised. “Clearly whatever diet the team has her on is working!”
Luca didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up. He just moved his eggs around his plate like they were pieces on a chessboard. I took another bite of my oatmeal, almost missing the frustrated glare from his mother.
Were all their interactions always like this? I wondered.
After a few more moments of watching him build an egg fort with his toast, I decided to break the uncomfortable chasm of silence that had settled.
“So, I’m curious, where did the Flash nickname come from?”
“Ahh, a good question,” his father pondered, taking one more bite of his eggs before setting down his fork.
“I wish I could say it had a long, riveting story, but it’s quite simple, actually.
You see, as a child, Luca was obsessed with go-kart racing, but his mother was always worried about him—even karts can be dangerous.
So, in order to quell his mother’s concerns, he would tell his mother before every race, ‘Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll be back in a flash.
’ An American slogan he had heard on TV, but it stuck with him.
Before long, it had become the slogan the family had adopted.
The fans came up with the lightning bolt logo once he got into Formula 1, and it’s stuck from there. ”
Across the table, Luca looked like he wished the story had stayed in the family vault. His spoon clinked gently against his bowl as he stirred what little yogurt remained.
“I can only imagine what a cute little momma’s boy Luca was.” I gave Luca a quick grin at my attempted jab, but Lucile just beamed at him with admiration, and he smiled back at her. For a moment, my heart warmed at their interaction.
“And tell me, where did Henri’s nickname Peaches come from?” Lucile asked.
“Oh,” I laughed. “Not nearly as good a story. My parents call me Georgie Pie, and as a kid we often visited America. One visit, we went to a peach farm in the state of Georgia, where Henri had his favorite peach pie and the silly nickname stuck after that.”
“Oh, what a cute story! It must be so amazing to race with your brother.” She smiled, and for the first time I noticed it: the dimple. Left cheek, just like Luca’s. He might race like his father, but the face? That was all his mother.
“Undoubtedly two of the most talented drivers of your generation! Imagine having two children madly in love with racing,” Michael exclaimed.
Luca slammed his spoon down hard enough to rattle the silverware. “Yep,” he said, exhaling sharply. “A real dream come true.”