Chapter 5 Nicola
NICOLA
The restaurant was low-lit and gleaming, tucked into a cobbled side street with just enough flash to impress the sponsors and just enough history to satisfy my father.
We arrived together, after staying too long on the track.
My father was always very involved, at the heart of it all because he loved this world and everything that went into being a team owner.
He worked closely with the principal, upper management, and admins.
He was already changed into a tailored navy blazer when I walked into his office earlier.
My own dress was hanging in there to change out of my day outfit.
I opted for wine-red tonight. Sharp lines and bare shoulders, a simple diamond necklace adorning my neck.
Red-bottomed black heels paired with a hint of subtle revenge.
It wasn’t for anyone in particular, just for myself. Or at least I’d repeated that mantra to myself. But getting a little rise out of Matteo would just be a cherry on top.
The team was gathered around a long table, already half-filled with noise and wine. Matteo wasn’t there yet. And I couldn’t help myself watching the entrance for him.
Carlos spotted me first and waved me over with that too-handsome grin that always made him look like he was about to charm his way into trouble.
“Ciao, Principessa,” he teased, pulling out my chair. “Finally gracing us with your presence after disappearing this week?”
“I’ve been busy,” I said, letting my fingers trail over the rim of my wine glass.
Carlos arched his brow. “Too busy to respond to my texts?”
“I’m sorry,” I sighed, and I was. I loved Carlos like family, but I was busy between self-care in the form of shopping and spending time with Lucia and Gianna, and working with the Moretti Foundation team on new ideas for upcoming campaigns.
After speaking with Henrietta, I had this new determination brewing; I wanted to keep doing more.
To prove myself. However, memories of a drunken night with the devastatingly handsome driver who I was supposed to hate kept flashing in my head.
I mean, sure, he was annoying, but I also wasn’t blind.
His hands on my hips, the swallow tattoos on his thigh that I had never seen before.
I was frazzled. And I didn’t do frazzled.
I prided myself on being composed, but here I was feeling uneasy at the team dinner.
Carlos leaned in, dropping his voice so only I heard.
“Funny. You were never one to get flustered. But lately…you’re twitchy. ”
I rolled my eyes and sipped the wine. “Twitchy?”
He grinned wider. “You’ve had the same drink in your hand for ten minutes and haven’t even made your rounds charming everyone.”
I tilted my head. “You’re the only one worth talking to.”
He chuckled but didn’t let it go. “So what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at me.
I gave him my best ‘I’m a Moretti and you don’t get to pry’ smile.
Carlos leaned back, unfazed. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with my teammate, would it?”
That made my stomach tighten. Not in panic, but in frustration. And a little guilt.
“Matteo?” I said, careful to keep my tone airy. “Why would it?”
Carlos shrugged, lazy and perceptive all at once. “Because you’re staring at the door and he’s the only one who has yet to arrive.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but—
He arrived.
Late. Loud. Charming.
Of course.
Matteo strolled in, clad in denim and a shirt clinging to his chest like it was sewn on. Silver chain around his neck, shirt unbuttoned at the top. His curls looked slightly damp, and when he saw me—
His smile changed.
Subtle. Slow.
Like he already knew he’d win tonight, even if it was just in a game I swore I wasn’t playing anymore. My father stood to greet him. “Matteo. Solid race today. You fought hard.”
Matteo shook his hand, polite. “Grazie, Signor Moretti. We’ll fight even harder next weekend.”
My father clapped him on the shoulder and sat. “That’s what I like to hear.”
I sipped my wine and avoided looking at either of them.
Carlos leaned toward me again, smug. “So…nothing, huh?”
I elbowed him under the table. He just laughed.
Matteo sat directly across from me, not letting me escape his gaze while each course was served, but not engaging with me once, setting my nerves on fire.
If Matteo was anything, it was chatty. He never stopped talking.
He always had something to say and was usually flirting with me while he was at it.
And granted, we were at a team dinner, my father on one side of me and my oldest friend on the other, but still, I oddly missed his charmed smiles and words.
After the courses had been cleared, I excused myself from the table, heading for the bathroom, heels clicking as I went. The air in the hallway was cooler, quieter. My reflection in the mirror looked like I was in control. The mask was back in place.
But I didn’t feel like it. My insides were screaming a different story.
I lingered a little longer than necessary, dabbing under my eyes, smoothing my dress.
When I stepped back into the hallway, I felt him before I saw him.
Leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for the fact that his gaze burned.
“Stalking the hallway now?” I murmured, brushing past him.
He didn’t move. Just stayed leaning against the opposite wall like he owned the damn place, arms crossed, ankle kicked over the other. A curl from his espresso-colored hair falling down the middle of his forehead. I wanted to push it aside.
Infuriating.
His eyes trailed over me with slow deliberation, and I swore I felt it, like heat crawling up the hem of my dress. I forced my chin higher. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of stopping to give him the attention he wants.
“You don’t run away from people when it meant nothing, Princess,” he said, voice low and rough with whatever game he’s decided we’re playing.
My spine stiffened.
God, that nickname. The way he said it—all teasing and intimate, like it belonged to just the two of us. Like he knew exactly which nerve to hit.
But my feet…didn’t move.
I hated that I liked the way his voice sounded when we were alone. Darker. Unpolished. It made something unsteady twist inside me.
“I didn’t run,” I said, keeping my tone even, bored. Safe. I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t.
“Then what do you call this week?”
He was closer. I heard the subtle shift of his body, the soft scrape of his shoe against the floor. My breath hitched before I caught it.
“I was busy,” I snapped, sharper than intended. I could feel him watching me. The air between us practically vibrated.
Then, softly—dangerously close, he said, “You keep playing cold, and I might believe it…if your eyes didn’t keep following me.”
My blood pulsed so hard I felt it behind my knees. I whirled to face him, heat and irritation bubbling up in tandem.
“Not everything’s about you,” I bit out.
But he just smiled.
Slow. Dangerous.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“You wore red.”
My stomach flipped, traitorous. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to drag him back into that dark hallway from last weekend and kiss him until I forgot why I hated him. I hated that he noticed things like that. I hated that I wanted him to.
“I always wear team colors,” I said coolly, refusing to let my voice waver.
I moved to brush past him, but instead of simply letting me—Matteo stepped aside with theatrical grace, a mock bow that brought his mouth just a little too close to my ear.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t look at him.
I just walked.
Because the last thing he got—the very last thing—was the last word.
The air outside the patisserie smelled like butter and powdered sugar. Gianna’s hand was wrapped around mine as she dragged me toward the next window display—a tiny boutique with glittery tutus and impractical toddler sunglasses.
“Look, the pink one!” She pointed at a frilly monstrosity of a dress.
“You already have three of those.” Lucia laughed.
“I think she’s eyeing number four,” I said, glancing down at Gia. “Very fashion-forward of you.”
Lucia grinned as we fell into step again, strolling the cobbled alleyway. It was a beautiful day, and the serene views of a small-town shopping day was just what I needed.
“I forgot what this felt like,” Lucia said after a beat, her voice softer. “To have a normal day.”
I nudged her gently. “That’s why you have me. And pastries.”
She smirked. “And fake dating a five-time world champion?”
“Minor detail.”
The park was quiet, probably because half the city was working on a Monday. But we needed it. A breather. Something soft.
Lucia was sitting beside me on the bench, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair and her eyes on Gianna, who was toddling her way through a patch of wildflowers with one shoe half-off and zero concern for personal hygiene.
She was humming. I think it was a princess theme song. Crazy that I knew that now, but in the last few months with Lucia and Gianna, I went from knowing nothing about kids to being rather fond of the mini version of my best friend.
“I used to think I was done,” Lucia said suddenly. “Like…maybe love was a thing I already spent. I had my chance and it didn’t work out; I picked wrong.”
I glanced over at her. She wasn’t looking at me—her eyes were still on Gia. But there was a heaviness in her voice I hadn’t heard in a while.
“Then this whole fake dating thing started,” she continued, twisting the strap of her bag in her fingers. “And I thought I could handle it. Just press and PR and pretend smiles for the cameras.”
I arched my brow. “You two don’t look like you’re pretending too much anymore.”
Lucia smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth trembling just enough to betray her. “That’s the problem,” she exhaled, looking down at her hands. “He kissed me. It wasn’t for show, no cameras, no one was watching, and it felt…”
“Dangerous?”