Chapter 22 #2
She crosses her arms, handbag dangling from her wrist. “You’re my son. I’ll see you wherever I please.”
She’s drawing attention. A couple of journalists have their phones angled like they’re pretending to check messages. Ronan’s clearly weighing whether to walk away, but I step forward before he makes the call.
“Ronan, your press conference starts in a few minutes.” Ronan blinks at me, almost in a daze, and Vivienne turns her eyes on me. I can feel the coldness. “They just called your name,” I lie because there’s no such announcement made for these things. I level a pointed look that says Trust me.
He hesitates, eyes flicking between me and his mother, then gives a small nod and steps back. He tosses a thumb over his shoulder as his eyes land on Vivienne. “They’re waiting on me, but we can talk later.”
I’m already turning to Vivienne, stepping into her line of vision so she’s no longer staring at her son. I bestow a warm, curious smile. “We met earlier in the week, Mrs. Barnes. I’m Francesca Accardi.”
I can tell she’s having difficulty recalling me, but I don’t give her time to search the memory banks. I glance down at her bag. “Is that a Hermès Birkin?”
Her head tilts just enough to let the compliment land. “It is. Limited release. Do you know handbags?”
“A little,” I say lightly, taking a chance that she’s pliable and loop my arm through the crook of hers.
I start walking in the opposite direction Ronan just went and his mother falls into step beside me as I steer her down the paddock lane.
“That shade’s impossible to find. You must have incredible connections. ”
Her expression softens slightly as she launches into a description of the boutique in Paris where she acquired it, the champagne they poured while she browsed, the dinner she had afterward. I keep the questions coming—fashion, travel, anything that keeps her focus on me instead of her son.
Eventually, when she’s talking about a gown she wore to an event in Monaco, I slide in, “So, what brings you to Silvercrest on a free practice day?”
Vivienne frowns in confusion and for the first time since meeting this woman, I have empathy for her.
Whatever her addiction, she’s not in control of anything and that has to be scary.
“Well… I’m here to support Ronan, of course,” she says, with the confidence of someone who thinks that’s a perfectly reasonable answer.
“That’s a shame,” I say with a sad shake of my head.
“And why’s that?” she asks, leaning into me as if we’re old friends having a deep conversation.
I smile, sympathetic. “Oh, Vivienne… you picked a terrible day for that. Today’s just practice—no excitement, no podiums, and you won’t even get to see him properly. The cars are in and out constantly. Plus, the forecast’s looking grim this afternoon—rain will have everyone diving for cover soon.”
She looks up, taking in the ever-present gray clouds. Chewing on her lip, she considers what I’ve just said. She makes a small sound of displeasure, eyes coming to me. “Really? Well, that does sound dreary. And I wouldn’t want my Birkin to get wet.”
“That would not be good,” I commiserate with her. “But maybe you can come back to qualifying tomorrow?”
I doubt Ronan wants her here, but it’s a tomorrow problem. Right now, I need her to leave before the media gets a hold of this and while she’s reasonably calm.
She considers, then nods once. “Yes… perhaps I’ll come back tomorrow.”
My time is precious before the next free practice, but I need to make sure she gets in her car. “I’ll walk you to the main gate. Can you ring your driver?”
“Good idea,” she says, pulling out her phone.
By the time we loop back toward the main gate, her tone is almost pleasant. I see her into her car, thank her for chatting, and wave as the driver pulls away.
I glance at my watch—fifteen minutes before I need to be back in our garage. The clock in my head starts ticking, and I pick up my pace, weaving through the crowd.
I stop short, heart skipping when I see Ronan waiting outside the Titans garage.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says quietly, his gaze holding mine.
“I know.”
“I guess I should say I wish you didn’t have to do that.” His eyes drift over the paddock, then back to me, darker now. “She wasn’t drunk. She’s high. I know the signs.”
I nod, tucking that away for later—not the kind of thing you press on when you’re standing in the middle of garage alley. “Well… she’s on her way home.”
His face registers both gratitude and disbelief. “You’re something else, Accardi. I wish I could kiss you right now.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. “Save it for later. For now, just wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” he says, stepping aside like he’s letting me pass—but as I move, his hand catches mine. The contact is warm, unexpected, and I come to a halt.
“I mean it… good luck out there. You got this.”
The sincerity in his tone hits me low in my stomach. “Thank you,” I manage softly.
I pull my hand free, forcing myself to keep walking toward the Titans garage. But the echo of his grip follows me all the way back like a tether I don’t want to cut.