Chapter 31 Into the Storm
Into the Storm
She arrived at the Milan Duomo just before dusk.
The sun was a cracked egg, dribbling yolk down the black spires.
Tourists snapped pictures by the cathedral, and several people carried gelato shaped into delicate rose petals.
A security guard looked up as she approached.
He couldn’t have been much older than Juliette, and he wore a suit that looked unsuitable for the late summer heat.
She glanced at her own outfit—a white sundress and cowboy boots—and was briefly impressed by the man’s composure.
The security guard consulted a clipboard. “Are you here for the event, miss?”
“I am.”
“Who are you with?”
Juliette paused. “I’m a driver.”
“Oh.” The man shifted the clipboard. “Sorry. I don’t follow the sport, so I assumed…” He scratched his neck. “Can I see some identification?”
Juliette complied. The man handed her card back, looking slightly sheepish.
“Straight to the top. Lifts are on the left.”
“And the stairs?” Juliette asked.
He hesitated. “I wouldn’t recommend them in those shoes.”
Juliette bit back a smile. She’d once driven a combine in six-inch heels, and that was after two glasses of wine. “Can I take them?”
“It’s two hundred and fifty-six steps to the top.” Her face must have shown her resolve because the man sighed. “To the right.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped inside. The air was cooler, smelling heavily of dust and stone. Her footsteps echoed off the spiral stairs. Strange, she thought, how the burn in her legs could feel so satisfying; it distracted from everything that was happening in her head.
Her heated conversation with Cap before the race. The strangeness with Hastings. Her race strategist’s deliberate sabotage.
And now Anthony sodding Sinclair.
“Juliette!” a male voice called.
Speak of the devil.
As if he’d sprung from her thoughts, Anthony Sinclair raced up the steps. He wore a black velvet jacket, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. She slowed, her heart pounding. She hadn’t imagined confronting him like this, but sod it. Who was she to throw away an opportunity?
“Sinclair,” she said.
Anthony’s smile was slightly puzzled, and it was only then that she realized she’d used Dominic’s name for him. “You look nice.”
She ignored this. “Did you need something?”
Anthony gave an elegant shrug. “Just fancied the stairs.”
“I see.”
“And,” Anthony said, falling into step, “I wanted to say congratulations. Your win was well deserved. You’re an exceptional talent, you know.”
“For a woman.”
She didn’t bother to hide the scorn in her voice. Anthony slowed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what you said in the article,” Juliette said. “That I’m not bad for a woman. Among other things.”
Something flickered across Anthony’s face. “Who sent you that?”
“I have a press team.”
A muscle jumped in Anthony’s jaw. “Vance said—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind. I want you to know those remarks were taken out of context. I’m sorry for the way they came across.”
The oddest urge to laugh filled her. “And the bit about Hastings? Was that taken out of context too?”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Your PR team really showed you all of this?”
“Answer the question,” Juliette countered.
They surveyed each other. Dust motes settled in Anthony’s blond hair like a crown. When he spoke, his voice was measured. “I’m not proud of what I said. Hastings had just beat me in a race, and I was drunk. It was a private conversation with my mates.”
Something sour filled Juliette’s mouth. “What you said about him…” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it. “It’s disgusting.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”
She’d been planning to say more, but her hands were trembling, and it was probably best that she go before she did something stupid like shove Anthony down the stairs. She only made it a few steps before Anthony’s fingers bit into her wrist.
“Wait.”
Juliette’s pulse rocketed. “Let go.”
Anthony backed her against the wall. “You’re right to call me out on these things.
I need someone like you in my life. Someone to make me better.
” Cold stone dug into Juliette’s back, and she could smell the whiskey hanging on his breath.
“You know how much I want you, don’t you?
I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. ”
Juliette stilled. If only she’d read those articles weeks ago. If only she hadn’t ignored the shark before it had the chance to bite. “I’m not interested.”
“Let me show you,” Anthony murmured.
And then he was kissing her.
His tongue was cold and foreign, poking experimentally into her mouth. For a moment Juliette froze. Then she pushed him, hard, and Anthony stumbled back, wiping at his mouth. Blood roared in her ears.
“What the hell was that?”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” Anthony said.
His mouth was swollen, and Juliette tore her gaze away. Even looking at him…Disgust roiled in her stomach. “You will never touch me again.” Her voice was cold. “Never. And if you do, I’ll report you. Are we clear?”
Anthony blinked. Then, slowly, he smiled. “You want to make me work for it. That’s okay. I don’t mind earning my food.”
Her heart pounded. “You’re disgusting.”
“That’s okay,” Anthony murmured. “I like our little games.”
He moved toward her. Juliette climbed two steps, her mind spinning. Could he genuinely be that delusional? Or was this about getting under Dominic’s skin? Either way, if he kissed her again, she was shoving him down the stairs. For real this time.
“I’m being serious,” she said. “Touch me again and you’ll regret it.”
Anthony looked amused. “Let me guess. Your big, scary teammate’s going to swoop in and make me pay for it?”
Ah. So it was about Dominic. “Is that seriously why you’re doing this?”
“Well,” Anthony murmured, “it’s certainly an added benefit.”
Shadows striped his face in piano keys. His cologne was so thick that it burned her nostrils. Juliette hiked up her skirt.
“Piss off, Anthony. I mean it.”
Anthony’s voice chased her up the staircase. “You’ll come round eventually. We’re inevitable, you and I.”
She shot a rude gesture over her shoulder.
Every muscle was tense, but she forced herself to climb at a measured pace.
Like hell was she going to give Anthony Sinclair the satisfaction of watching her sprint up the final stairs.
Still, she didn’t fully relax until she emerged onto the safety of the roof.
The drivers’ dinner party was already in full swing; someone had set up a platform, and long tables groaned under caramelized miso scallops and fresh burrata, crisp duck salad and a fancy-looking Italian soup.
White spires speared the darkness, shaking loose the stars that glittered like the distant headlights of heavenly cars.
Still, clouds were gathering; it was going to rain soon.
She spotted Cap by the railing, sipping a glass of red wine as he took in the bustling square below. She scrambled down the slope, being careful not to slip on the slick tile.
Cap looked up. “Jules. Congratulations.”
Her brother’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. She slowed, her skin prickling in the evening chill. “Thanks. I looked for you after the race.”
Cap shrugged. “I had a media thing to get to.”
His voice sounded off. Unsurprising, Juliette thought, considering how their last conversation went. She’d sent him a series of text messages, but all of them had gone unopened. “Look, Cap, if I’d known about the sponsorship thing—”
“I need a refill,” Cap said abruptly. “Want anything?”
“No.” She paused, glancing at Anthony, who was emerging from the staircase. “But can we please just—”
But her brother was already gone.
Juliette shivered, rubbing her bare arms. A hand caught her shoulder. Cap, she thought with relief, half turning. She knew he’d come back.
“Are you all right?” Dominic asked.
He looked slightly breathless, as if he’d pushed through the crowd to reach her. Goosebumps erupted from where his fingers brushed skin, and Juliette shrugged him off. “Fine.”
The relief was trickling away, replaced by cold dread. Dominic searched her face. “You look…”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “Is this about the other night?”
Juliette’s voice came out more clipped than she’d intended. “Believe it or not, Hastings, not everything is about you.”
Dominic stilled. The bored amusement was back, shrugged on like a coat. “And what a pity that is. I find myself endlessly fascinating.” He tipped his drink. “Congratulations on your win. I’ll let you enjoy the evening.”
He disappeared into the crowd.
Juliette exhaled. Guilt settled in her chest, alongside something else.
She could still feel the ghost of Dominic’s touch on her shoulder.
Had she ever really thought that it was Cap?
She knew the rhythm of Dominic’s footsteps, the exact way that his mouth curved around words, as if they were ripe strawberries held between his teeth.
It felt impossible that she could mistake him for anyone else.
Even so.
They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything.
Better that she reminded both of them.
Juliette pushed through the crowd. Liêm was holding court by the food, waving his hands as he recounted the usual I-was-almost-burned-alive-at-the-Australian-Grand-Prix story.
Juliette could have recited it by heart now, although somehow the car always got smaller, and the flames grew inexplicably bigger.
She thought about joining him before she caught a glimpse of Dominic in the crowd.
Never mind.
She scanned the rooftop. Anthony leaned against the bar, and he smirked as she passed, tipping his champagne glass.
Her pulse picked up. She felt oddly disoriented, a ship turned around in foggy waters.
She needed a port. She needed somewhere safe.
That had always been Cap and Baz, but Baz was at the hotel looking after Clyde, and Cap apparently wasn’t speaking to her.
If only she could find him and explain.
She turned for the clump of artificial trees wreathed in fairy lights. A seating area, she realized, drawing closer; it was half concealed by a partition. She was about to push past it when she heard a loud German accent. Frederick Von Galen.
“Just have a cigarette,” Frederick was saying. “For god’s sake. One won’t kill you.”
And then, a second voice: “I don’t smoke.”
Juliette paused. That was Capulet. Why the hell was her brother here? He didn’t even like Frederick Von Galen.
“Take it,” Frederick said. “Don’t be a pussy.”
There was a pause.
“Fuck it,” Cap muttered.
There was the sound of a lighter being flicked.
Overhead, the sky gave a distant rumble.
Leaves scattered across the terrace. Juliette pressed closer to the partition, her heart racing.
A terrible foreboding crept over her. She ought to leave.
But she couldn’t bring herself to go, especially given Frederick’s next words.
“Your sister did well today.”
“Yeah.” Cap exhaled. “My parents are ecstatic.”
“She’s overtaken you in the standings, hasn’t she?”
A pause. “She’s had some luck.”
“Must be tough,” Frederick observed.
Cap’s voice was tight. “I have a shit car this year.”
“Hasn’t seemed to bother Sinclair.”
“They designed the car for him. Of course it doesn’t bloody bother him.”
“Easy,” Frederick murmured. “I’m just fucking with you.” More flicking of the lighter. “I just meant that it’s impressive how well Juliette’s doing, considering she’s a rookie. All the podiums, the fans, the media coverage…I hear Montessori even gave her a sponsorship.”
There was a long pause. Juliette squeezed her eyes shut. He’s goading you. Don’t rise. But she might as well have been wishing for cupcakes to remain flat in a hot oven. And sure enough, Cap exhaled.
“Of course they did.”
“What do you mean?” Frederick prompted.
There was a stomping sound. Cap must have been grinding the cigarette into the pavement. “Montessori needs more female customers, so they’re putting up a few posts of Jules wearing some overpriced watch. It’s not like they had other options.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s a good driver,” Frederick suggested.
“It’s because she’s a woman.”
There was a sly smile in Frederick’s voice. “But you do think she’s a good driver, don’t you?”
“Oh, fuck off, Von Galen,” Cap said, and she felt a momentary pang of relief. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Just answer the question.”
There was a pause. “Of course she’s good. But she’s not…”
Thunder cracked. The first drops of rain felt like ice against her flushed cheeks. Don’t say it. Juliette bit her cheek until she tasted metal. Please don’t say it. She wanted more than anything to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not until she heard her brother’s response.
“What?” Frederick prompted.
And then he said it. “There will always be opportunities for her because she’s the only woman in the sport. It has nothing to do with talent.”
Juliette closed her eyes. Her ribs gave a painful throb, and she pressed a hand to her chest. A fissure opened in the itchy gray sky.
Shrieking party guests ran toward the lifts, holding jackets over their heads.
Had Cap meant that? Every part of her rebelled against it—he’s angry; he’s frustrated—but he’d still said it.
“Capulet!” Liêm’s voice filtered through the din. “They’re calling everyone inside.”
“Coming!” Cap flipped up the lapel of his dinner jacket. “For the record, Von Galen, I still think you’re a dickhead. Even if you do have cigarettes.”
Frederick chuckled. “Noted.”
Juliette pressed closer to the partition.
But her brother didn’t look back as he passed, and neither did Frederick.
She waited until both men ducked into the stairwell before she moved.
Like hell was she about to follow Cap into that church; she couldn’t bring herself to have a normal conversation with her brother. Not after what she’d just heard.
Which left only one option.
She hiked up her skirt and pushed into the storm.