Chapter 25 Nicola
NICOLA
We didn’t say much as we walked back to the lobby.
“Thought we could go for a drive,” he said as he opened the door for me. I sat in the passenger seat, eyes out the window. The city was quiet, still too early for many to be out.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, fingers drumming like he had too many thoughts to sit still. Which, fair. I had approximately four hundred thoughts all trying to be the loudest.
I looked at his hand.
Long fingers. Calloused in all the right places. Always warm. Always steady.
Just hold it, I told myself. I had done it before, and it felt grounding. I needed that.
It took a beat. Or maybe ten. But I reached over and slid my fingers through his.
Matteo stilled like I’d short-circuited his entire nervous system. Then he looked over at me—and I swore he glowed. Like the damn sun rose for the express purpose of lighting him up in that moment.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft like he was afraid of breaking the spell.
“No,” I said. “But also…yes?”
He squeezed my hand, letting me be unsure. God, how did he always know when I needed that?
We sat in it for a minute longer before I took a breath. Okay. Here we go. Rip off the Band-Aid.
“I’m trying to not be freaked out,” I admitted, “I want to do this, to give it a real shot. But being in the spotlight, it doesn’t give us the option of just existing. While I’ve grown up with it, I should be used to it. It still…” I paused, taking a breath, “it pisses me off.”
There. Said it. Couldn’t take it back. My heart was hammering in my chest, but it was the good kind of fear, I think.
The kind that came right before something mattered.
Because we had an on or off switch with the press.
And I could ignore it, but it would always be there, dramatic headlines, ‘did they or didn’t they’ theories.
In another world, we would just be nobodies who lived by the sea in Portofino.
Matteo didn’t interrupt. Just waited, eyes on the road, thumb tracing slow circles on my knuckles.
“I built this armor around myself since I was younger, not letting it get through to me. But the press spinning shit about you makes me irrationally angry. So there’s that,” I sighed before bringing up yet again the fact that I was fucking terrified.
I felt like a broken record, but my mind just kept circling back to it, forever overthinking.
I went on, “And then the other half is my stupid head.” Matteo shot me a look like, ‘Hey don’t say that.
’ I squeezed his hand and continued, “I know we talked about it but it’s like there’s this part of my mind that’s screaming at me from the back, that I’m being stupid for listening to my heart.
That I’m going to get hurt. But then you hit me with that stupid smile and your stupid flirting and your ability to make me laugh even when I want to strangle you… ”
He snorted, glancing sideways at me, and my chest eased.
“You made me feel something I haven’t felt in a really long time,” I said. “Safe. Seen. Like I don’t have to be anyone else. Just me.”
I bit my lip. “And that scares the shit out of me.”
He pulled the car over and turned to face me fully, like he couldn’t wait another second.
“Scares the shit out of me too, Princess. But I’d rather be with you, figuring it out than anywhere else. And your head isn’t stupid. You’re allowed to feel it all, you should feel it all.”
“So what do we do?” I whispered.
“What we said last night: we try,” he said, “However messy or slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere, even if the tabloids try to get between us.
I’ll remind you every day that this is what matters, right here.
” He waved a finger between us. “And I know the pressure of the public eye, but this is worth it. I want to fight for this, to give us an honest-to-God chance.”
I smiled, and it felt real. Like the kind that started somewhere deep in my chest and rose all the way up to my eyes.
“You know,” I said, voice lighter, “this is the part of the romance novel where the heroine kisses the boy stupid.”
Matteo grinned. “Yeah? What happens after that?”
“Guess we have to find out,” I said, scooting closer. And when he leaned in, I met him halfway, stealing a kiss.
I stood outside the conference room at the Langlin Hotel, my red lips and heels serving as armor, a binder clutched tight against my chest. Chin high, shoulders squared.
“Good afternoon, Miss Moretti.” One of the older board members—Lance, if memory served—nodded politely.
It had been years since I’d stepped into one of these meetings.
As a teenager, I used to beg my father to bring me along so I could take notes and see the inner workings of his world.
Now I was here on my own terms, about to present a new direction for the Moretti Foundation.
Not just another fundraiser on the calendar, but a reimagined strategy.
One that involved partnering with local shelters and charities at every stop instead of sprinkling in a few token events each year.
When I entered, my father sat at the head of the long oval table, tall windows spilling light across the polished surface.
Familiar faces dotted the room—Lance among them—but there were new ones too.
My mother sat proudly at his side, her smile radiant as our eyes met, and the knot of anxiety in my chest loosened.
My parents had always been my greatest champions.
Even when they weren’t sure about me joining the race schedule, they could see I was thriving, and that was all that mattered.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted as I slid into a seat to my father’s left.
“Thank you all for coming,” my father said, rising and buttoning his suit jacket.
His presence commanded the room with effortless ease.
“The Moretti Foundation has been expanding, and we hope to see it continue to grow. I’d like to thank Henrietta and Lance for their dedication on this past year’s campaign, and also my daughter, Nicola, for leading the planning committee.
Her work not only broke fundraising records here at Moretti Incorporated, but also breathed new life into the Foundation.
With her perspective, we’re now ready to consider some fresh initiatives.
But before we begin, Henrietta has an announcement. ”
All eyes shifted to Henrietta. Her silver hair was pinned neatly in a twist, her tan suit sharp as ever. She stood with a composed smile, smoothing her jacket before speaking.
“Thank you, everyone, for gathering on short notice, and Nicola, for presenting next year’s plans today.
I asked for this meeting because I have something important to share.
” Her voice was steady, but the words landed like a stone in water.
“I will be stepping down as chair of the Moretti Foundation.” A collective gasp rippled around the table.
Henrietta had led for three decades, an institution in her own right.
I tried to school my features, but the shock must have flickered across my face.
“I’m so grateful for the friendships I’ve made and for the Moretti family’s support over the years,” she continued, “It has been my greatest honor to serve as chairwoman. Today’s vote will be my final business. Effective immediately, I’ll be retiring.”
The room buzzed to life, board members rising, shaking her hand, offering embraces and thanks. I lingered by my parents as the crowd swarmed her.
“You knew?” I murmured to my father. He gave a small, knowing smile and nodded.
“Wow,” I exhaled, still reeling.
“She’s been a force,” my mother said warmly, “And she’s been singing your praises nonstop since you got involved this year.” She nudged me, and heat crept up my neck.
“I really do love this work,” I admitted softly, “I want to do so much more.”
“You will,” she said with quiet certainty.
When the room began to settle, I made my way to Henrietta. “I’m shocked to the core,” I confessed, “but so happy for you. No one will ever live up to your legacy.”
Her smile turned sly as she squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, I think someone will.” Her brow lifted ever so slightly, as though she knew more than she was saying. “I’ve had a cottage in the south of France for years with hardly any time to enjoy it. I look forward to days spent living slowly.”
“That sounds magical,” I said, meaning it.
“Alright everyone, if we can continue with our next order of business,” my father said, his voice steady, and just like that, the room shifted back to order. Papers rustled, pens tapped. I sank into my chair, still reeling from Henrietta’s announcement.
The meeting moved forward without pause, discussion swirling around new strategies and marketing initiatives.
I forced myself to listen, to nod, to add a comment or two when the chance arose, but in the back of my mind all I could hear was Henrietta’s calm, deliberate words.
Stepping down. Effective immediately. Who would fill her shoes?
“Nicola has prepared a proposal for a new fundraising structure and update on the end-of-year event,” my father announced suddenly, and all eyes turned toward me.
His hand gestured with quiet pride, and I felt my nerves skitter up like static.
My pulse jumped in my throat as I plugged in my computer, fingers trembling slightly on the keys.
This was fine. I was ready, I knew my presentation by heart.
“Hi everyone,” I began, pasting on a smile as my slides lit up the screen.
“This past week at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, we tripled donations in one race weekend by teaming up with local charities. With the overwhelming success and positive feedback we’ve received, I’m proposing we expand this model to every race on the calendar. ”
My words were practiced and smooth as I clicked through graphs, numbers glowing across the screen.
“As you can see, marketing graphics on the track were a major investment that paid off in dividends. We also ran fan polls to vote on which local charities would be supported, which generated incredible engagement.”
Keep it steady, I told myself, They’re nodding. They’re interested. Just breathe.
The presentation moved to the gala. My voice strengthened when I revealed, “This year, our end-of-year gala will not only celebrate the season and the teams, but will also be officially sponsored by Formula One.”
Gasps rippled through the room, followed by applause. I couldn’t help the rush of pride that swelled in my chest. That official seal of approval had taken weeks of negotiating, and now it was real.
When I finished, voices chimed in from every corner of the table.
“These numbers are incredible,” Lance said.
“We should add more animal shelters into the mix,” another suggested.
“There’s a team in London that funds women’s shelters, worth considering,” a younger woman added. My mother smiled and seconded the idea, her eyes warm as she looked at me.
I scribbled notes, my chest buzzing with gratitude. I felt like I wasn’t just filling a seat at this table—I was part of it.
And then Henrietta’s voice rang out again, calm but carrying weight. “Thank you again, everyone, for your time today. I would like to end this meeting with a vote for the new Chair. I would like to formally nominate Nicola Moretti.”
The air left my lungs.
My heart stopped.
Did she just say my name?
My pulse thundered in my ears as my father’s voice followed. “Do we have any other nominations for chair?” He scanned the room. No one spoke. No one raised a hand. Heads shook.
This can’t be real. Me? Chairwoman? I only just stepped into this role, and now—now they wanted me to lead it?
“Do you accept this nomination, Nicola?” My father’s eyes were steady on mine.
I snapped my head toward him. My throat went dry. Chairwoman of the Moretti Foundation. The words echoed in my skull like a drumbeat. This was everything I wanted—to change lives, to build something lasting, to make an impact—but to be handed it now, so suddenly…
My legs felt unsteady under the table. My hands shook where they rested on the binder in front of me. But when I opened my mouth, my voice came out steady, clear. “Yes. I would be honored.”
Henrietta gave her signature pause, her gaze sweeping the room. “If there are no other nominations…all those in favor of Nicola Moretti as chairwoman of the Moretti Foundation?”
One by one, hands lifted into the air. Every voice around me rang out, “Aye.”
And I sat there, frozen, the weight of it pressing into me, trying to reconcile the girl who once begged her father to let her take notes in this room with the woman who had just been voted chair.
Holy. Shit.