Chapter 28
Francesca
Italy has always been my refuge. I’ve traveled and lived all over the world during my racing career, but nothing is as peaceful as returning to my roots.
Normally I find sanctuary in the lush hills lined with the cypress trees, but right now, it’s like I’m in exile.
I came home Sunday evening along with my parents and Alessio. After I left the hospital, they weren’t long behind me and found me at my flat packing. I told them I wanted to come home and even though they tried to talk me out of it, they eventually did as I asked.
Although I wanted nothing more than the space that Ronan gave me, a part of me is grieving my loss of him. I said horrible things so he’d leave me alone and I know that I’ve ruined whatever was growing between us.
I know he couldn’t see. Couldn’t understand.
When I said I was done, it was because of him.
Yes, Carlos died and I’m still wrestling with the guilt, but all I could think of when we were in that hospital waiting room was that I’d never survive it if it was Ronan.
I can’t be involved in a sport that can take so much from me, and I don’t know if I can be involved with a man who is at such risk.
I didn’t just disappear though. I called Ronan on the way to the airport and told him I was going back to Imola.
It was a short conversation. Stilted, even.
I know I blindsided him, and I made sure he knew how horrible I felt about it.
I thought he’d argue, and part of me expected him to chase me.
He did, after all, give up his race at Silvercrest by pulling off the track to comfort me.
Instead, he said, “I understand. I just want you to be okay, Francesca, so whatever it takes, I support it.”
I was both grateful and sorrowful. I have since wondered if I did the right thing in leaving him behind.
I’ve wondered about a lot of things.
It’s been four days since the crash, and they’ve blurred together.
Mamma hovering close, pressing coffee into my hands each morning.
Papà walking with me through the gardens, even when I say nothing for an hour.
They’ve been patient, careful, like I might crack if anyone moves too quickly or speaks too loudlly.
And maybe I would. Because all I can hear, over and over, is Carlos’s teasing laugh, Carlos telling me I was good enough, Carlos promising to watch my back. And then the silence when they pulled his body from the car.
Everyone at Titans Racing has been wonderful. Brienne Norcross herself called me. She told me to take all the time I need to sort myself out. I was honest with her when I said, “I’m not sure there’s enough time for that.”
I read that they called Matthieu Laurent back to take my spot on the grid. If he performs well in Monaco this week, it may not matter if I want to go back. They could give him the spot permanently.
That stung in its own way, seeing how easily I could be replaced, but mostly—it was a relief. Because I can’t do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Ronan has called a few times but I’m not answering.
Same for his texts. I know he’s talked to my mamma, but she’s staying strangely silent on the matter of my love life.
She attempted to talk to me about it once.
Told me not to shut him out and to please not let fear decide my future.
I told her, “If I can barely survive losing Carlos, what would it do to me to lose Ronan?”
She had no answer and for now, they just hold space with me.
They don’t push, but I see the worry in their eyes.
And still I sit here, in the garden behind the villa, staring at the hills and feeling like I’m floating outside my own body.
My biggest concern is what to eat for lunch today and maybe how long I might nap.
It’s a far cry from the pressurized world of Formula International.
“Francesca.”
My entire body goes rigid, that rumbling British accent that has caused me to melt on more than one occasion.
I turn around and see Ronan standing on the patio, just outside our great room. My eyes drink him in as if parched, and he’s never looked more handsome in black denim with a lightweight gray sweater.
He looks so out of place against the soft Italian morning that for a second, I think I’ve conjured him out of thin air.
I’m frozen. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer right away, looking out over the scenery. But then those blue eyes come back to me, and they’re filled with censure. “You’re impossible, you know?”
“So I’ve been told,” I mutter.
He holds out his hands as if he can’t decipher the answer. “What’s a man supposed to do when you won’t answer his calls or texts?”
I blink. “So… you flew here to talk to me?”
“Seems like it,” he drawls.
“But,” I say, pondering the implications as I realize what day it is. “You shouldn’t be here. Monaco is in three days. You have free practice tomorrow.”
“Monaco can wait.” He crosses the patio toward me, the sun catching in his hair, his stride purposeful and unyielding. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“You’re insane.” My voice cracks, heat flooding my face. “You’re supposed to be preparing for the race.”
An event that could potentially kill him, and I shudder at the thought.
“I told Crown Velocity if I’m not back by tomorrow morning, I’m not racing.
” He stops a foot from me, eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to figure me out.
“So, unless you want Harley Patrick to have an aneurysm, putting this sport down one very capable woman, you’re going to have to pack your bags and come back with me. ”
I gasp at his manipulation. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe a little,” he says softly, rubbing a hand over his neck.
For a moment, we stare at each other. It hurts how much I want to reach for him, but I don’t. Can’t.
He breaks the silence. “What are you doing, Francesca?”
I look around wildly, because… I’m just standing here.
“You’re running from boogeymen,” he continues. “Phantoms that aren’t real.”
“Carlos dying was real,” I exclaim, incensed he’d make light of it.
“That’s right,” he says with a nod. “But we grieve, we process, and we move on. This isn’t news to you.
You know how dangerous this sport is. You know it’s a risk.
Hell, you put yourself in that danger every time you get out on the track, so I ask again…
what are you doing? This is probably the most un-Francesca-like thing I’ve ever seen. ”
For one wild and insane moment, I honestly have no clue what I’m doing. All the reasons that brought me here have been shredded by his logic. Yes, I know the risks and I have always voluntarily submitted to them.
“It’s different,” I say in a small voice.
“No, it’s not. It is what it is. Now I ask again, what are you doing?”
I huff out my frustration. “I’m protecting myself, okay?” The words rip out of me, ragged.
Ronan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if it hurt this bad to lose Carlos, I won’t survive losing you.”
He blinks in surprise, taking a stunned step forward with arms open.
I shake my head and step back. “Don’t you get it? If I keep racing, if I keep loving you, it’s only a matter of time before I’m back in that hospital corridor, watching someone tell me you’re gone.”
His jaw works, eyes blazing. “I know you think I don’t get it, but I do. I carry that same fear when it comes to you.”
The truth of that punches clear through me. “You do?”
“Of course, I do. Death is always real in our line of work. Always. But walking away from me won’t change that—it’ll just destroy us both right now instead of later.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” He steps closer, his voice rough and unshakable, and I let him put his arms around me.
“Because you love me. You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.
You’re running because it’s safer than feeling this.
But I’m not letting you, because I love you, Francesca.
And I know you love me. I can see it in every move you’ve made since the crash.
You’re walking away from the sport because of me.
I won’t let you throw away everything because of fear.
If it takes me weeks or months to get through this wall you’ve put up, I’m going to do it. ”
His words hit me like a physical blow. The fight drains out of me, leaving me trembling, hollow. “I don’t know how,” I whisper.
Ronan’s hands frame my face. “I promise we’ll figure it out together. But you cannot stay holed up here. You’re coming with me to Monaco.”
“I’m not racing,” I say, trying to back out of his embrace.
“Easy now,” he murmurs, pulling me in to press a kiss to my forehead. “You race when you’re ready to race, but you’re still coming with me. You’re coming back to the track even if it’s just to cheer me on. I’m not letting you walk away from a career that you were made for.”
“But I might never—”
“Doesn’t matter. However long it takes, but you’re going to do it by my side.”
And then it’s on me. The dam breaks and my tears fall hot and silent as I press my forehead to his chest and his arms tighten around me. Strong and sure, holding me like he can absorb every broken piece.
“I love you,” I choke out. “It’s because I love you that I ran away.”
“I know.” His mouth presses to my head, his voice rough with relief. “But that’s not the right reasoning. I’m asking you to come back because you love me.”
For the first time since Silvercrest, the air in my lungs doesn’t feel poisoned. Instead, it feels like maybe there’s a way forward.
Ronan tips my chin, his eyes searching mine as if to make sure I really believe it. I don’t look away because I’m spellbound by the devotion I see in him.
“I’m terrified,” I admit, the words tumbling out with the tears. “But I’m more scared of not being with you.”
The corner of his mouth curves, the relief shining in his eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
His lips find mine, the kiss steady and grounding. It’s like he’s staking a claim neither of us could ever walk away from.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Pack a bag, Accardi. We’ve got to catch a flight to Monaco.”
A shaky laugh slips out of me—thin, watery, but real. I curl my fingers into his shirt, hold on tight, and let myself believe him. Believe us.
Because love and fear may walk hand in hand in the world of race, but I’m never going to let fear be the thing that wins.