Chapter 21
JACK
It’s probably been the longest day of Minnie’s life.
I don’t know if she’s in the mood for company, but it feels like a dick move to see her walking across the car park as I’m getting in my Fiat and not check in.
Even after puking, crying, and continuing heroically with a whole day of work (the paddock grapevine’s unstoppable), she still manages to look fire.
What the hell’s wrong with me? What kind of weird perv checks her out after the day she’s had?
I pull up beside her. ‘Today sucked, huh?’
She flinches a little when she sees it’s me – and what I’m driving. ‘I look that bad?’
Not at all. ‘I saw him about thirty seconds after I saw you.’
She forces a smile. It looks hard won. ‘Today didn’t suck for you.’
‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘Could we please, though?’ she whispers, and it chips off something inside me.
I rub my eye wearily. ‘Get in, Roberts.’
‘Someone’s fallen on hard times,’ she remarks, not moving but sounding perkier. I’ll take it. ‘An 8C to a Fiat 500.’
‘Funny,’ I deadpan. ‘This is my stealthy car.’
‘Kinky.’
You don’t know the meaning of kinky. ‘It’s the car I drive when I want to be inconspicuous.’
‘Smart decision bringing it to the track. No one would think of looking for you here.’
I itch to smile. ‘Just get in, will you?’
‘Fine.’ She places her handbag on the backseat and straps in the passenger side. ‘Where are you taking me, oh master of stealth?’
‘I wouldn’t be very stealthy if I told you, now would I?’
We head down Avenue de la Porte Neuve. She leans back against the headrest and closes her eyes, the picture of calm.
The idea that I can help in some small way spreads warmth through me like a perfectly heated bath.
I can’t imagine how bad today was, and even though I’m itching to know what happened, I don’t want her to relive it so decide not to bring it up.
The peace is disturbed the second she opens her eyes. ‘Where the hell are you taking me?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘I don’t recognise this area, which is crazy since Monaco’s smaller than Central Park. There are only about five streets to recognise.’
‘Have a little faith.’
‘But—’
‘We’re almost there. You can hold on for another two minutes.’
We shore up on an empty street, the only light coming from a hole-in-the-wall eatery with a medieval font on its sign saying they sell pizza and crêpes. Even my French extends that far.
She looks at it, then looks at me. ‘Is this supposed to be a date?’
I recoil against the door. ‘What? No! Of course not.’ Why the hell would she think that? Because there’s food involved? Are friends not allowed to eat together now? ‘I’m hungry; you’re hungry. They can hear your tummy all the way in Villefranche.’
Her hand finds her stomach. ‘That’s very… thoughtful of you?’
‘Don’t give me too much credit,’ I say, getting out, ‘I’m ravenous too. Haven’t eaten since eleven.’
We walk side by side along the narrow street, sealed in by beige buildings that stretch up towards the sky.
‘This place is one of Monaco’s hidden wonders, and I want it to stay that way. Tourists don’t know about it so you can still get pizza and a drink for eight euros. I’m trusting you, Roberts.’
‘Why are you quibbling over a few euros? You could buy the restaurant if you care so much.’
I hold the door open for her. ‘Hey, you’re talking to a Fiat driver. Hard times, remember?’
She chuckles. ‘Not your usual chicken and steamed vegetables.’
I scratch the back of my head. ‘Yeah, don’t tell Georgie.’
As we wait for our orders, I can see the cogs in her head turning.
I nudge her with my elbow. ‘What you thinking?’
She looks at me for a moment, then turns and picks up some napkins from the rack. ‘Nothing.’
If there’s a sure-fire way to drive me crazy, it’s exactly that. ‘You sure?’
‘You’re not…’ she fiddles with the napkins, ‘nervous someone will see us?’
Where did that come from? ‘Like who, paparazzi?’
‘No, I know they’re banned in the Principality. Fans, crew, people who’d recognise you.’
‘So? What are you worried they’ll say? We’re not together. There’s nothing interesting to see.’
‘But we are together. They don’t know nothing’s going on. You know what assumptions they make.’
I shrug. ‘It’s cool. No one knows about this place.’
That seems to placate her.
Our rule of not eating until we get back to the car lasts all of five seconds.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t know about Luigi’s,’ I say, shovelling a slice in my mouth.
Minnie’s box remains untouched in her delicate hands. ‘You knew I wouldn’t, and you relished showing me somewhere in Monaco I didn’t know.’
‘Relished? Who knew I did something so fancy.’
‘Admit it. You loved it.’
I grin, face full of pizza. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’
She looks at me properly and recoils. ‘Why are you eating it like a caveman? Who rolls slices up like that?’
I glance down at my slice and back at her. ‘It’s the cleanest way!’
‘It’s psychopathic.’
‘If I didn’t, it’d be hanging all over the place and I’d get sauce around my mouth. This way, it’s contained. I’m a genius.’
‘Alright, Hannibal.’
I shove her off the pavement and wipe my smile with the back of my hand.
Pizza did the trick. She has more colour, more energy, more Minnie-ness.
As I palm the wheel one-handed, I glimpse her from the corner of my eye and she’s watching me back.
My junk stirs, pressing into my sweats. How can a girl looking at me turn me on?
You’d think after the session I had in the shower this morning, I’d be sorted until at least tomorrow.
The priority here is Minnie. She’s a vulnerable woman in my car; I have a duty of care. Down, boy.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask so quietly she can pretend she didn’t hear it if she wants.
‘No.’
‘Do you… want to go back to étienne’s?’ I hold my breath.
A pause. ‘No.’
It’s embarrassing how much I want to whoop right now. ‘Well buckle up because you’re about to be shown another place in Monaco you’ve never been.’
Ten minutes later, I’m driving straight towards an apartment block like I’m going to pass through it.
At the last moment, I brake sharply and cut the ignition.
I’m about to turn to her all smug when I remember, and instead thump my head against the rest. What a fool I am.
‘This would be a lot cooler if I hadn’t left the clicker in my other car,’ I mumble.
‘What do you—’
I’m already out and jogging behind the Fiat to kick it off manually. Before she can find me in the darkness, I’m back.
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘You’ll see.’
After a small snap, we start descending, car and all. This right here is why I do what I do. Part of it, at least.
She seizes my arm. ‘Jack, what the fu—’
‘Trust,’ I chuckle. ‘Just trust.’
The street gives way to brushed steel and LED strip lighting, and we sink further and further into the hill. I don’t stop watching her face, waiting for that glimmer of amazement. And if she’s so impressed she feels like climbing on top of me and going for round two, I wouldn’t be mad about it.
She looks at me, completely poker-faced. ‘All this. For a Fiat.’
I throw my head back and laugh.
‘Why can’t you just drive into a car park like a normal person?’ she mutters.
‘Where’s the showing off in that?’
‘Did you buy your apartment because of this lift?’
‘Course I fucking did.’
It’s not super practical, taking a good thirty seconds to leave us in the boring car park – but practicality is what the normal entrance is for. She won’t admit it but it’s written all over her face: this is pretty freaking cool.
I park up beside a Pagari Nova and the look she gives me indicates she knows full well who owns it.
‘This is a big step, introducing me to your car collection,’ she notes, getting out.
‘Don’t get a big head, these are only some of them.’
‘Where are the rest?’
‘Essex and Italy.’
‘Ah yes, Chelmsford, the home of the supercar.’
I just laugh.
Her attention’s caught by the Aurora two spaces down. ‘Wait, you don’t have just one Pagari, do you?’
I shake my head once. ‘No, ma’am.’
I can’t blame her for being hypnotised by them – they glow, two magnificent Italian race cars in a sea of mid-engine sports cars.
All charisma, drama and art. Timeless feats of engineering.
Georgie once described my Nova as ‘NASA meets opera.’ By contrast, the Aurora isn’t one colour; as I follow behind Minnie, the body shifts from green to blue to black.
‘Ask me how many times I’ve driven her,’ I say.
‘Is it that awful to drive?’
‘Three.’
Minnie takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘She’s theatre. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to drop four mil on theatre, but don’t mistake her for a usable car. Even on a track.’
‘You bought it?’ she cackles. ‘You drive for Pagari!’
‘You think they’d give me a custom paint job? Not a chance. They gave me that corker there, though.’ I nod towards my beautiful Nova. ‘To be fair, she’s much better to drive. Also quicker than the speed of sound, but so much smoother. She handles corners like a dream.’
‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: you drive a Fiat?’
‘You can’t take a Pagari Aurora to Carrefour, Roberts. You know that.’
That tickles her. ‘Which one’s your favourite?’ She’s looking at my custom black 488 Pista Spider in the middle. Cute.
‘My LaFerrari.’
I’m such a basic bitch. Petrolheads the world over agree it’s one of the greatest modern cars, and I was the loudest sceptic until I drove Tom Webber’s. One drive was all it took. Wicked fast, designed like an F1 car, petrol-powered supplemented by an electric motor. Chef’s. Kiss.
‘Of course you have a LaFerrari,’ Minnie says through a laugh. ‘It’s a race car built for the road.’ She glances around the garage. ‘Is it in Essex? If there’s ever a car to cruise around Monaco in, it’s that.’
‘Don’t worry, she’s here. I keep her covered, and away from the others.’ To look upon her is an honour, and one I don’t bestow on people who can’t tell the difference between glass and cardboard in the refuse room.
Minnie sidles up to me, eyes all mischief. ‘You said before that you don’t fuck girls in cars.’ She bites her lip and I can’t tear my eyes away. ‘Would you make an exception with a LaFerrari?’
I tongue my cheek. ‘I believe you misquoted me. I said a man doesn’t fuck a girl like you in a car.’
‘Would that change in a LaFerrari?’
Such a cheeky minx. ‘No.’ Her expression falters, and I feel bad for messing. Just a bit. I’ll make it up to her later. ‘Because it’s too tight for what I want to do to you.’