16. Santo
The engine’s roar vibrated through my body as I pushed the car around the Monza test circuit.
Every curve was muscle memory, every straightaway a chance to feed my addiction to speed.
The g-forces pressed me into the custom-molded seat as I downshifted into the chicane, the car responding like an extension of my body.
This was where I belonged—where I’d always belonged. The clarity that came with racing at the edge of control, dancing with disaster while maintaining precision, had been my refuge since I was old enough to reach the pedals. Today, though, my mind kept drifting elsewhere .
To Tia.
I pushed harder into the next turn, tires squealing in protest as I forced my concentration back to the track. Three weeks until Belgium, one of the most challenging circuits in Formula racing. My team needed me focused, especially after my disappointing finish in Barcelona.
I completed another five laps, each faster than the last, before finally pulling into the pit area where Nikos, my head engineer, waited with a stopwatch and tablet.
“Not bad,” he said as I removed my helmet, flaxen hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. “But you’re still two-tenths off your best time from last season.”
I grabbed a towel, wiping the perspiration from my face. “The suspension feels tight on turn four.”
“We adjusted it based on your feedback from yesterday.” Nikos frowned, making a note on his tablet. “Maybe we overcorrected.”
“Let’s soften it and see,” I suggested, already impatient to get back on the track. Racing always centered me and focused my restlessness into something productive.
As Nikos conferred with the mechanics, I checked my phone. A single message from Tia.
Your aunt gave me the original blueprints. Incredible details. Hope your practice is going well .
The simple text made my chest expand. I typed a quick reply.
Breaking lap records. Missing you like crazy.
“We’re ready when you are,” Nikos called, breaking into my thoughts.
I nodded, slipping my phone back into my pocket and reaching for my helmet. “Let’s go again.”
For the next hour, I lost myself in the pure physicality of racing—the precision of each gear shift, the calculated risk of each braking point, the satisfaction of a perfectly executed turn. By the time I pulled back into the pits, my mind was clear, my body humming with adrenaline.
“That’s more like it,” Nikos grinned, showing me the lap times on his tablet. “Best time of the season.”
I peeled myself out of the car, every muscle pleasantly fatigued from the sustained concentration and physical exertion. “The suspension adjustment made all the difference.”
“And something else,” Nikos observed, studying me with the perceptiveness of someone who had known me since my karting days. “You seem more... settled today. After the first few laps, at least.”
I nearly laughed. Settled was the last thing I felt .
My body might be here in Italy, but my thoughts kept returning to Greece, where an American with kind eyes and sweet lips had somehow rewired my priorities.
Desire was familiar territory for me, but this was different. I didn’t just want her body. I wanted her laughter, her opinions, her presence. I wanted to drag her into my world and dive headfirst into hers.
I shrugged, unwilling to share. “Just found my rhythm.”
I’d planned to stay in Italy for an additional week for testing, but now found myself checking flights back to Greece this weekend instead. Racing had always been everything. Now my priorities were shifting in ways I couldn’t fully comprehend.
As I dressed in jeans and a casual button-down, my phone buzzed with an incoming text. My heart rate jumped embarrassingly at the possibility it might be Tia again, only to settle back when I saw Katalina’s name on the screen.
I deleted the message without reading it, just as I had every communication from her since her STI results got leaked. Whatever desperate ploy or manipulation she was attempting now, I had no interest in it.
When I entered the hotel bar, I immediately spotted my uncles and cousin Matthaios seated at a corner table.
I hadn’t seen my cousin since last Christmas.
He left for school in the U.S. four years ago and rarely visited.
He was ten years my senior and the tallest in the family at one point nine metres.
Konstantin and Matthaios seemed to be in a heated exchange. When Dimitrios noticed me, he whispered something to the other men, causing them to immediately turn with welcoming expressions.
Matthaios got to his feet and pulled me into a bear hug. “Santo!” he said, clapping my shoulder.
“Did I interrupt something?” I asked, glancing between them, noting the lingering tension in the air.
“Nothing important,” Dimitrios said, while signaling for a waiter. “How was practice? Nikos said you were breaking records today.”
I settled into the worn leather chair, feeling it give beneath my weight. “The car’s responding well. We made some adjustments, and it made all the difference.”
“I saw your times,” Matthaios jumped in, leaning forward. “Vasquez must be sweating bullets.”
The mention of my chief rival sent a familiar competitive surge through me. Juan Vasquez and I had been trading victories and crashes since our junior formula days. Last season, he’d edged me out of the championship by a single point after a controversial final race .
I settled into the technical details of the day’s practice, the earlier frost between my uncle and cousin gradually thawed. Even the normally stern Konstantin leaned forward with interest when I described the new aerodynamic package.
“You’ll dominate at Spa,” Konstantin said. “Remember when you took Eau Rouge flat out last year? Even your father was impressed.”
“Though he’d never admit it,” Dimitrios added with a wink.
The conversation flowed easier now, their earlier disagreement forgotten. Whatever had sparked tension between them seemed insignificant compared to their shared pride in my racing career.
When the waiter arrived with fresh drinks, Dimitrios raised his glass. “To Belgium, and to Santo, who makes us all look good by association.”
Matthaios and Konstantin joined the toast without hesitation. I couldn’t help but smile at their unified support. Being the family favorite definitely had its perks.
My phone buzzed against my thigh and I pulled it out. This time, Tia’s name appeared on the screen alongside a photo of her and Zeus staring at the sunset. I couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on my face.
“New girlfriend?” asked Matthaios, his voice teasing as he leaned across the table, trying to glimpse my screen .
I had no intention of answering, turning the phone away from his prying eyes, but Dimitrios did it for me. “Our nephew here is enamored with our American architect,” he said.
“Architect?” inquired Matthaios, interest piqued as he reached for a bread roll from the basket between us.
Dimitrios went on to give Tia’s entire backstory since saving me and how she was now employed by the family to design the villa on Thalassía. His voice carried across our corner of the restaurant too loudly for my comfort.
“I still don’t understand why you’d agree to work for Olympus in exchange for her getting the contract,” Konstantin said to me, eyes narrowing as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Who is this girl, really?”
“Maybe if you spent time at the villa with your new wife, you’d already know,” I responded simply.
Dimitrios laughed uproariously, but Konstantin’s face hardened, his jaw clenching visibly. “Maybe you should stay out of grown folks’ business, youngster.”
I could tell I’d struck a nerve, the same way I could feel when a car was about to lose traction on a curve. I raised my glass in surrender, but I couldn’t resist messing with him further .
“Sure, I’ll stay out of it. I won’t even comment on the fact that Kayla has been keeping herself entertained by going out frequently with Yiorgos. They go off for hours—”
Dimitrios turned his head in my direction, his expression becoming serious. “Shut up, Santo.” His voice dropped low enough that nearby diners wouldn’t hear, but the warning was unmistakable.
“What are you implying?” Konstantin demanded, setting his glass down with enough force that liquid sloshed over the rim.
I shrugged, enjoying the rise I’d provoked too much to stop now.
Taking another slow sip, I explained with a casual tone.
“While you’ve been off gallivanting with your fiancée, your wife decided she needed to create the baby you two should create with someone else.
And Yiorgos has been filling that hole… I mean role. ”
Konstantin stared at me as though each word I’d said had been a tiny shard piercing his skin. His breath came faster, nostrils flaring. “You’re a disrespectful little shit. We spoiled you. But you should have been spanked.”
“It’s our own fault,” Matthaios added with a smile.
“I should beat your ass now,” said Konstantin.
“You can try.”
Konstantin rose, eyes fixed on me, smoldering with fury. Then, without another word, he turned around and stalked off .
Matthaios glanced toward Konstantin’s retreating figure, then back to me with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement in his eyes.
“You always did know exactly where to stick the knife. I better go make sure he doesn’t murder Yiorgos.” Matthaios hurried off behind Konstantin.
Dimitrios took another sip of his drink. “I warned Aristides to not allow Mama and Irida to handle your care. I begged him to hire a sensible nanny to do the job. Now here you are, turning into one of them. A gossip and a meddler.”
My retort died on my lips as I realized he wasn’t entirely wrong.
I’d always known which buttons to push, which secrets to probe.
It was a skill learned at the knees of my Theia and Yiayia during long afternoons of village gossip and family intrigue.
I’d simply channeled it into a more masculine form of provocation.
I shrugged.
Late that night, I video called Tia from my hotel room, the need to see her face becoming a persistent ache throughout the evening. She answered almost immediately, launching enthusiastically into a description of the progress she was making on her designs for Thalassía.
“I like your mind,” I said. “The way you think about structures, about space. It’s different from how I see the world.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Are you sleeping well?” I asked, holding back from ending with, without me? The thought of her alone in the room down the hall from mine made me anxious to return home.
“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping fine. I’ve got good company.”
I frowned, possessiveness stirring in my chest. “Company? In your bed?”
“Zeus hogs the blanket big time.”
I relaxed, a relieved smile replacing my frown. Then I noticed something different about her appearance. I tilted my head, studying the screen more carefully. “Your hair’s different.”
Tia laughed. “We’ve been talking for twenty minutes and now you notice?” She patted her head, which seemed to be braided on one side and loose on the other. I didn’t know enough about African-American hair to tell whether it was a deliberate style or something else.
“Kayla started braiding my hair while Yiorgos watched.” She patted the finished side. “She only got this half done before your uncle came stomping into the backyard, picked her up like a sack of potatoes, and carried her off. She was yelling the whole time.”
I burst into laughter. That would have meant that Konstantin had immediately flown back to Greece after leaving the hotel. “It’s my fault your hair is partly done, then.” I explained what I’d said to my uncle, leaving out the cruder implications.
“You didn’t!” Tia looked amused, her hand covering her mouth, but added, concern softening her features, “I hope Kayla is okay.”
“Konstantin is harmless. Just jealous. Him and Yiorgos have a longstanding feud.”
We shared a good laugh together, and then something shifted in the air between us. The conversation paused naturally, leaving room for the unspoken awareness. Tia ran her tongue along her lower lip, a gesture so simple yet so distracting.
“I miss you,” I said.
Her expression softened. “I miss you too. When will you be back?”
“Day after tomorrow. Earlier if I can manage it.”
The hotel room suddenly felt emptier, the distance more acute. I wanted to reach through the screen and feel her skin and the texture of her hair. The intensity of this wanting was unfamiliar territory, more complex than mere physical desire.
“Show me what you’re wearing,” I said .
Tia raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Not like that,” I clarified, though the thought had crossed my mind. “I just want to see more than your face. See where you are.”
She tilted the phone back, revealing she was wearing a simple gray tank top and what appeared to be pajama shorts, sitting cross-legged on her bed.
“Your turn,” she said. “Show me where you are.”
I reversed the camera briefly, panning it around the generic hotel room with its neutral colors and standardized furniture. “Not much to see. Just another hotel room.”
Tia yawned, the gesture both sleepy and somehow endearing.
“You should sleep,” I said, though I was reluctant to end our call.
She smiled, the expression soft and intimate in the dim light of her room. “Night, Chrys. Be safe tomorrow, okay?”
After the call ended, I set my phone aside, the room suddenly darker and quieter without her presence on the screen. The silence emphasized my solitude.
For years, I’d prided myself on being single. Now I counted the hours until I could return to her.