27. Nevaeh
“Nevaeh Emilia Fuchs,” Valentina says after opening her hotel room door, looking like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in the world.
She’s wearing a red dress that appears to be made out of pure glitter, red heels so high, just looking at them throws me in danger of breaking an ankle, and her necklace with a Formula One car-shaped charm. Her makeup is bright and bold, and I think I could look at this woman for hours and find more beautiful things about her.
“How did you find out my middle name?” I ask as she takes a step toward me and places a kiss on each of my cheeks, the typical bise.
“Adrian told me,” she says, waving me into her room. “You look beautiful,” Val adds, smiling at me.
“Thank you. So do you,” I reply, running a hand down the dark orange dress I threw on.
It’s tight in all the right places, and loose in all the others, simultaneously highlighting my curves and hiding parts of my body I’m not entirely confident with. I’ve chosen flats instead of heels, and more simple makeup. But looking at Val, who is shimmering with her dress and the eyeshadow she put on, I wish I’d gone a similar route as her.
“You know, orange is Adrian’s favorite color,” she says, winking at me as she walks toward her purse and slips it over her shoulder.
“Is it?” I ask, pretending not to know that when it was one of the reasons I chose this dress in the first place. Valentina looks right through me, humming a little after the words have left my mouth.
“Come on, petite menteuse, Gabriel, Adrian, and the rest of them are meeting us at the afterparty club,” she says, guiding her long, blonde curls over her shoulder and holding out her hand for me to take.
When we arrive at the club, Val and I have to show ID to the bouncers to make sure only members of the Formula One world may enter. This is an exclusive event, after all. I’m sure I wouldn’t even be allowed in there, being a reporter and all, if it weren’t for Valentina. She takes my hand again as we walk inside, keeping me close to her and reassuring me in the same breath.
I’ve never had a friend like Valentina Romana.
That thought is followed by another.
There is no one like Valentina Romana.
Just like there is only one Adrian Romana in this world, and he’s currently leaning against a high table, smiling at something James Landon is saying. The Monegasque is dressed in a simple black button-down with several of the top buttons left undone to expose his trained chest. His fingers are decorated in several black rings, and a simple black necklace hangs from his neck. The dark blue jeans he’s wearing do his round ass a lot more justice than his racing suit, and good God, it is a glorious sight.
All of him is a glorious sight.
Adrian might call me monange, but he’s the one that looks like an angel.
“Need a napkin?” Val teases, lifting her index finger to the corner of my mouth as if she wants to wipe away my drool.
“No, I need a drink,” I mumble, walking directly to the bar and ignoring the way my body has caught on fire.
“Don’t worry, bella, Adrian has that effect on a lot of people,” a short woman with bright green eyes, light skin, and short brown hair says. Her Italian accent is thick, and a scowl rests on her lips. “I’m Chiara,” she introduces herself, extending a hand. I shake it with a smile.
“Nevaeh. It’s nice to meet you,” I reply, although her comment about Adrian has me more confused than anything else.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” she says right as another woman walks up to us with an empty glass and a bright smile on her lips.
“I need another of these passion fruit cocktails. They’re so good,” the woman says, and Chiara takes the glass from her, shooting the bartender a death glare until his eyes widen and he hurries to make the other woman another drink.
“You must be Nevaeh. I’m Scarlette. Val has told me so much about you!” she says, genuine excitement wafting off her. I look from one woman to the other and almost grin at the polar opposites. Scarlette is pure sunshine. Chiara is a thunderstorm.
Chiara hands Scarlette her refreshed drink, staring at the alcohol longingly. Scarlette catches that look, too.
“Just have one drink. One drink isn’t going to mess with your milk,” she tells Chiara, but she shoots her a frown in response.
“It’s safest for my baby if I don’t drink anything, so I won’t. Not while I’m breastfeeding,” the Italian woman says, lifting a hand to place it on her left boob absentmindedly as a sad expression slips across her face.
“Is breastfeeding as weird as I’ve always imagined it to be?” I blurt out without really thinking. I half expect Chiara to give me a strange look and walk away, but she gives me several nods and a look that says, ‘You have no idea.’
“It’s wonderful and so weird, and when your nipples are sucked raw, it’s not fun at all,” Chiara replies right as Leonard Tick approaches and wraps his arms around her from behind. He whispers something into her ear that makes her blush and bite down on her bottom lip to fight a smile.
“Do you mind talking about taking care of your wife’s nipples when I’m not in earshot?” Scarlette asks with furrowed brows and Leonard mumbles a quick apology before whisking Chiara away, making her giggle in his arms.
“I didn’t know Leonard was married,” I say, Valentina coming up beside me with pink cheeks and her lipstick a bit smudged. Okay, I’m officially a little jealous.
I want a hot Formula One driver to sweep me off my feet, please.
My eyes drift to where Adrian is standing without my permission, but he’s already staring at me. His lips are parted ever so slightly before he licks them. My heart races as his gaze trails down my body appreciatively, drinking me in like he’s never seen a prettier sight. And I like the way his usual confidence has slipped away a little because when he notices I’ve caught him staring, a shy smile stretches his lips. I cock a brow at him, and he lets out a laugh I can’t hear, shaking his head like he can’t believe I just did that. Then, his eyes return to me, fire and lust in them as he takes me in again.
I look away before he has a chance to catch the blush settling on my cheeks.
“Leonard doesn’t like talking about Chiara and their daughter in public because the press likes to drag his name through the dirt for no other reason than who he is and where he came from,” Valentina explains, turning to the bartender to ask for an iced tea.
“Well, all of those journalists should not have the power and influence they do. Reporters who spread hate about good people, people who have worked their asses off to achieve good in the world, don’t deserve to have a platform to speak on,” I say, so passionate about the subject, I’m gesturing a lot more than I usually do. Val looks at me with her mouth agape and Scarlette nods in agreement.
“Nevaeh, I don’t say this to people often, but I fucking adore you,” Val says with a smile. “If the four of us band together, I think we could kick everyone’s ass for speaking badly about people who don’t deserve it,” she goes on. “We could call ourselves The Revengers,” she says and giggles at her joke.
“What, like in Thor: Ragnarok?” I ask with a laugh, and she grabs my arm, pure delight filling her features.
“You got that reference?” I nod, smiling at her excitement. “You’re a dangerous woman, Nevaeh. I might grow attached,” she says, trying to keep her tone light, but I feel the heaviness of her words deep in my gut.
Valentina doesn’t easily let people in, so I wonder why she’d give me a chance. Why I’m the lucky chosen one.
“Come on, let’s dance,” Scarlette says when a popular song I’ve heard a million times on the radio starts filling the club.
Val and Scarlette pull me toward the dance floor, both of them dancing a second later. I’m a bit clumsier at first, not as confident as the other two women, but they make me feel so comfortable, I’m swinging my hips before I know it.
We’re at a normal type of club. Lights dimmed, neon lights flashing around us with the beat of the music, and alcohol in the air. The difference between this club and others I’ve been to is that the floors aren’t sticky, men aren’t trying to grope me or slap my ass every chance they get, and it’s not nearly as crowded.
The respectful distance others keep is probably also due to the dozen security personnel I have already spotted around us.
Time passes in a blissful breeze. I’m dancing, having a few drinks, and laughing more than I have in a while. Carefree doesn’t begin to cover how I’m feeling, but I’m enjoying myself immensely.
Val outdances me in those heels of hers. She moves like she was born to dance, something Gabriel clearly agrees with because he makes it all of thirty seconds after we started dancing before he joins us, one of his hands on her hip and the other holding a bottle of water he keeps handing her. My friend revels in his touch, his attention, but doesn’t hesitate to shoo him away when she wants to dance with me for a song. He welcomes her back every single time she presses up against him again, kissing her cheek, temple, the crown of her head, or her neck.
It’s incredibly sweet.
A warm, solid body appears behind me, close enough so the heat radiates off him, but far away enough to give me space. His scent fills my nose, and I almost hum happily.
“I wanna put my hands on you, Nevaeh. Nod if you’re okay with that,” Adrian whispers after he leans down to bring his lips to my ear. His breath is hot and sweet on my skin, sending a wave of shivers down my spine.
I nod before my brain can catch up, but when I look around, I see we’re crowded enough to keep people from noticing us. This is a Formula One event, which means people aren’t as starstruck by the F1 drivers and watching their every move.
His hands slip onto my hips, spinning me around so I’m facing him. My arms lift to wrap around his neck of their own volition, but I don’t stop them. My head is floating from joy, and having Adrian Romana in front of me, sliding his hands onto my back and resting them right above my ass, has my body vibrating with need and contentment.
I want him.
Wanted him since I first laid eyes on him, and I hate that I have to keep putting distance between us. What I hate even more is that I know, even if I didn’t put it between us, Adrian would. He doesn’t date, and I won’t change that.
Right now, I can’t bring myself to care.